Not football.

I'm having trouble breathing.

I'm sure you know what's happening so I don't need to preface this with much.

Penn State fired football coach Joe Paterno [not to mention University President Graham Spanier] today.

Why? Because, over the course of a decade, they [and other University employees] failed to properly report and investigate a decade worth of child molestation accusations against Jerry Sandusky, an assistant football coach.

This should be enough to disgust me. But what's brought me to tears tonight is not just the tragedy of these dozens of [if not more] children who have been raped and molested by this man, or that there were multiple eyewitnesses to these assaults, or that Penn State didn't deal with it properly, but that there are people across this country who don't think the University is at fault and who don't think Joe Paterno should have been fired.

YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME

We do not dismiss allegations of sexual assault.

We do not protect our colleagues when they hurt children.
We do not assume that getting to the bottom of abuse is someone else's responsibility.
We do not suggest that college football is more important than the victims of these heinous crimes.

I read that Penn State students took to the streets, today, in response to all that's happening at their university. If any of that outrage was about some football games that are probably going be lost, I just might give up on humanity all together.

It is designed to break your heart.

It breaks your heart.  It is designed to break your heart.  The game begins in spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. 

A. Bartlett Giamatti, "The Green Fields of the Mind," Yale Alumni Magazine, November 1977


----

Baseball season ended last night.

It was a pretty good game --  I watched it at this Indian sports bar (right?!) with Kyle and Bri. We had a few pitchers and some serious curry and some great conversation while I watched the screen with one eye. The night before, I watched part of the game at home on my couch with Nick, listened to it go into extra innings on the radio in the car, and watched the final few innings at Yogi's with Dylan and Austin. 

Some nights to remember.

Sitting in Yogi's, I was practically giddy watching the score tie and break and tie and break...it was the real magic of baseball. And though Encinitas is not a hub of St. Louis or Texas fans, people in this bar cared. We cared about who won and who lost and who hit and who struck out and of course it's all just a game but it's the game and the series...ah, baseball.

I wanted Texas to win the series because they've never won one, but then I didn't want them to win because GWB used to own them (gotta have principles) and I wanted St. Louis to win because they're the NL team, but then I didn't want them to win because they beat the Brewers to get there...neither are my team and I could hardly have cared less about them a few months ago. But they were the two best teams in October that is what matters. 

When we were sitting in Zaika, I was cheering and groaning and not listening to the conversation at times because I was watching the game. Bri asked if I was really that into baseball. I laughed. In the words of my dear father, baseball is life -- the rest is just details. I grew up watching baseball on TV and in real life with my family. And playing softball. And watching my dad play softball in his Sunday league (in which he still plays).

To me there is much magic about the game. So many people think it's so long and boring to watch -- I can't even begin to understand that. Every split-second there are options to be weighing, decisions to be making. Swing? Bunt? Check? Look? Run? Steal? Fastball? Curveball? Change-up?

And then there's the joy of the ballpark. Hot dogs, lemonade, peanut shells on the ground...when we were kids, once, we pretended to be at the stadium and cooked hot dogs at home and ate peanuts and mom let us throw the shells on the ground like we were really there. That's how much we love how baseball makes us feel. And every time I go to a new stadium, I feel a sense of familiarity, there. No matter what city or team or level or section, it's a baseball game. 


A few weeks ago, Dylan tweeted an old joke, that the last two words of our national anthem are "PLAY BALL!"


My parents joke that if a movie comes out during baseball season, they'll probably never see it. Every Friday night they (or we when I'm in town) go out to Island's to get a beer and a burger and watch the Padres. The bartenders there know my parents by name and order. They got married in February because, as my dad puts it, it's a sports death valley. In the years since they got married, the Super Bowl has been moved from January into February and is now their anniversary weekend every year. But this is so far beside the point.


Baseball is a ritual part of me, of my family, of my country. As Allen Craig stepped back to catch that final fly ball, a giant smile spread across my face. The Cardinals bench stampeded  onto the field, and the crowd roared. It was pure joy. 


But as the confetti fell and the awards were announced and the champagne sprayed...the smile began to fade. It's over. For another year, baseball has come to a dramatic close. And the fall ends and the winter begins and there is no sunny, American, joy anymore. 


Pitchers and catchers report in 112 days. The ritual begins, anew.

October

What a great weekend for Wisconsin sports! Our Brewers, Badgers, and Packers all had wins this weekend -- the Brew Crew even had two! October is a great month because it includes college football, professional football, and the most important part -- postseason baseball.

My Padres are nowhere near the postseason, and neither of the Bay Area teams are either, so I went to my last ballgame last Tuesday. But my TV will be parked at ESPN for the rest of the month, bathed in the excitement of October.

My dad was in Wisconsin this past week, so he watched all three of his teams pile-drive their opponents in real life! Such joy.

If the World Series lasts more than four games (as one always hopes it does), I'll get to watch those final games at home with my dad! This will be the perfect ending to a baseball season.

I don't really have much more to say.

I just love October.