Alright, I'm much calmer now. I think it has something to do with listening to my iPod and not to talk radio. Although I did spend an hour the other morning listening to The Razor & Mr T on KNBR, the Giants radio station. Barry had hit #756 and every man between the age of 4 and 94 had to call in to say something profound like: 'this record is tainted by steroids', or 'Hank Aaron called Barry to congratulate him. That's good enough for me', or the classic, 'We don't actually know, for sure, 100%, that Bonds took steroids'.
Uh huh, yeah, ok.
Ever since Mark McGwire tainted a home run record, ever since Sammy Sosa or Rafael Palmeiro tainted home run figures, they don't mean anything anymore. Hank, the Hammer. He's the Man. He always will be. Aaron, born in Alabama in 1934, started playing in an era when he was often separated from his own team by Jim Crow regulations in the South. The only steroid he took was his regular pork chop and fries.
I, by the way, am a big baseball fan. Used to share season tickets with Susie's mom, went to my first baseball game - yeah, yeah with Susie, in 1989, just after we started dating. And she led me to our seats in the upper deck and the first moment of seeing that green expanse and the diamond, and the quiet under the blue sky was a moment of pure joy. I was there the day Will Clark unleashed againt Mitch 'Wild Thing' Williams of the Cubs, to send the Giants into that fateful 1989 World Series against the A's. And, no, I wasn't at the game when the earth shook. Susie and I were sitting in Dolores Park together, probably both wondering whether this was a 'huge' love. And the earth trembled and undulated in front of us. And as we hurried back to our respective homes, me to my flat in Bernal Heights, Susie to hers in the Mission, we realised we should be together. Then we rushed up to Bernal Hill with a radio and a blanket, joining hundreds of others doing the same, watching flames erupt in the Marina, trying to imagine the chaos of the collapsed Bay Bridge, and taking the other's hand and knowing that indeed this was - if not a 'huge' love, it was - real.
Susie moved in. The other Susie, my buddy Susie Bright, who I shared my flat with, moved out. And so, I sometimes think - the first time I lived with a lover - aside from a very youthful disaster at the age of 19 - was the result of the San Andreas Fault, and the Giants. I'm sticking to this story.
Some people in my life tell me not to be so tormented by love. How come they are more cynical than I. I certainly wish that I understood the delicate interplay between love and companionship better. Wish that I had been less fearful. Wish that I had been able to bend instead of breaking, wish that everyone I love felt the same way I do. But the truth is, I believe in passion, in the world stopping in her arms, in the unconditional nature of it.
What am I talking about? I'm talking about baseball and that it is, for all you naysayers, a true metaphor for life. A successful baseball career is one when you hit the ball approximately a third of the time.
I listen to my iPod loud, inspite of the fact that doctors are warning about this. I figure that at my age, I don't give a damn. Aside from the fact that my years working with a post punk feminist rockband may have screwed with my hearing anyway - a band who briefly had a record deal with a great independent company, and who disintegrated in a haze of vodka, different musical styles and one of them becoming f---ing famous with a pop ska band called the Bellestars. Remember a cute, pretty, remake of the 1954 song Iko Iko? That was the Bellestars. Their drummer, Judy Parsons was the beat behind The Mistakes. They are not on my iPod. Gotta do something about that. No time like the present.
love makes you and breaks you and then, regardless if she is gone on to another, love makes you again.
albiet, perhaps a lonelier version of you. or is that me? sometimes i get to spinning so hard with the lack of passion i get a bit confused.
looking forward to your next post - you get me to thinking . . . and now i am even considering getting away from my "auto shoot" mode and investigating the game of apertures. i too, am in love with light. gwnm
Posted by: girl with no name | August 10, 2007 at 05:58 PM
Wasn't it Michelle who took you to your first Giants game when Will Clark hit the home run that sent the Giants into the World Series?
Posted by: susie | August 11, 2007 at 10:19 AM
Hmmm....one ex trying to remind me about another. No, Michele introduced me to baseball when I first came to the States in '86, but only on TV. You, Susie, dressed in a very tight dress and heels, those mauve suede ones, were the girl to actually lead me to the holy grail itself....
Posted by: Jill | August 11, 2007 at 05:27 PM
I love baseball and sitting in a ball park on a sunny day. Unfortunately, the Minnesota Twins play indoors which is almost a crime against nature.
The Twins will be getting a new open air ball park. I'm happy about that. On the other hand, some people here lately wonder about our priorities. New Ball parks or bridges that don't fall down? In my ideal world, we could have both.
Posted by: Deb in Minnesota | August 12, 2007 at 06:06 AM
You're right - astroturf is a crime against baseball, and a new ballyard, with real grass, will transform the area in which it's built. Let's hope that Minnesota has the smarts to name their park Puckett Field. Deb knows who I'm talking about - for all you non baseball nuts it's Kirby Puckett, a Hall of Famer who played his entire career with one team.
Posted by: Jill | August 12, 2007 at 07:22 AM