The Boys Of Summer… Are Back!
The Boys of Summer are back! The crack of the bat, the roar of the crowd, the gentle warm breeze. Yes gents, the Boys of Summer… are back! Finally, it’s come time for the guys to come out of the bushes, emerge from their man caves, wake from hibernation. They are wearing ball caps again: the sports plumage meant to let other men know which group of sports-males have won their favor.
It’s for the fans.
What exactly are fans? Depends on who you ask — both fanciers and fanatics alike are here for that Baseball Magic. Yes, the Boys of Summer are back! Hungry for the thrill, the camaraderie of fans, the stomping in the bleachers and that sweet, sweet treat of stadium food: red hots, cracker jacks, and a good coldski. Sitting in the stands with a corn dog the way it was meant to be eaten, slowly licked like a lollipop over the course of an afternoon.
What better way to spend those dog days of summer? Oh, we had players then: Shoeless Joe, Branch Ricky, Gustave McGillicutty, Honus Wagner, Jeskimo Patnaha, Sincerity Gabralter… Was Babe Ruth the Greatest that ever lived? Hard to say, hard to say. Folks say he never went against Josh Gibson, the slugger king of the Negro leagues, or faced off against Satchel Paige of the Kansas City Monarchs. So you can’t truly say. When you systematically exclude an entire race of people you diminish your own accomplishments.
It’s tainted.
Yes, the Boys of Summer are back! The whiff of the bat, the spit of the chew, the slap of the glove. How would the greats fare against today’s top-class power athletes? Can’t deny steroids or cameras, that’s unfortunately a part of the game now. Also, you have to drop the bat after you hit the ball rather than use it as a weapon against other players while you run the bases. Teams no longer have to be related anymore, either.
But no matter how the game changes… the Boys of Summer will always be back! The snap of the buckle, the tear of the brassiere, the spit in the air. It’s timeless, watching a game drip down the slow of the afternoon. Is it worth it? For one of those once-in-a-lifetime plays that men huddle about at barbecues and dinner parties analyzing for years? Brother, you bet! Give me that ole Baseball Magic.
When I was a young boy, I remember it like it was yesterday, Joe Mancuso was at bat. A weak grounder dribbles to the shortstop, suddenly the stadium lights explode in a spectacular razzle. It feels like slow motion. Mancuso rounds first. Another stadium light explodes, frightening the crowd. The first baseman for the opposing team starts to cackle with joy. Marcuso at 2nd. The baseman is still cackling. His teammates exchange worried looks. Later, we find out that he had electrical poisoning. (This was the inspiration for the film Field of Dreams.) These magic moments, baseball is full of them.
Baseball, at its heart, is a game of balls and strikes. And here’s the secret… the pitcher can throw them in any order — he doesn’t have to tell. The game hasn’t changed much in 100 years. No, not much. Sure, there are rumors every year about adding a 5th base, but if you ask me, it’d throw off the symmetry of the game. No, baseball’s as old as time and it’ll never really change. No one knows who invented it or where it came from. MLB is mentioned only twice in the Bible, but hey, that’s good enough for little ‘ole me.
The cheer of the crowd, the wink of the eye, that come hither stare. The Boys of Summer are here. They’ll live like kings for a few scant months only to be ridiculed and hunted. The adolescence of autumn will roll in soon enough, shedding a light on these millionaires who play the game of children trying to navigate the adult world as inscrutable as their opponents’ batting signs. So raise your glass and shed a tear… for the Boys of Summer.
