The Boys of Summer

Baseball is back. The boys of summer are out to play.

I'm not much of a sports fan, but there is something about baseball that is more compelling to me than other sports. Baseball is laid back and quiet. I can usually follow the action (though not always) and sort of understand the rules. The announcers have time to say the most ridiculous stuff while there is nothing going on, thereby increasing the general amusement potential. And there is usually a lot of time for people-watching. (I'm big on people watching.) There is just something universally appealing about the crack of the bat and the ridiculous organ music. And peanuts, of course. Hot dogs too.

Baseball is nice. Baseball is long leisurely afternoons in the sun. Baseball is playing hooky from work.

Baseball is weird, too. There is, for example, all the spitting. That can't be good. And all the bizarre superstitions about streaks and curses and winning-because-of-dirty-socks. There are Sentimental Favorites that are loved by fans no matter how many times they don't make it to the World Series.

And, weirdest of all, the odd statistics/trivia that is bantered about:

• What NL rival knocked the Astros out of the postseason three times in a five year span, from '97-'01?


• Who holds the record for most career home runs for an outfielder?


• Who is the only player to hit at least 30 home runs in his first four major league seasons?


• Who hit over .300 in the most consecutive seasons?


• Who was the first to hit 40 home runs and steal 40 bases in a season?

(And I'm betting that Todd and Greg, at least, know the answers! Probably Brent too.)

But most endearing are the mascots.

Hooray for Baseball!