My dad and I discuss the finer points of baseball
Dad: Remember the seven ways to get to first base?
Me: Of course. You put on Dire Straits and get in the back seat…
Dad: Ha ha you know what I mean.
Me: OK fine. Base hit, walk, error, hit by a pitch, dropped third strike, ball lodges in umpire’s mask—
Dad: What?
Me: Seriously, I think I read that somewhere.
Dad: How could that possibly happen?
Me: Maybe he’s wearing one of those clay Mummenschanz masks.
Dad: You know, I bet that’s actually covered in the official rules.
Me: Of course it is. But if a situation like that comes up in a playoff game, you better have someone on the field who’s seen it before.
Dad: Yeah, otherwise the ump would have to stop the game and get out his rulebook and look up “Mummenschanz mask, play interference by.”
Me: It’s in the “Mime and Pageantry” section.
This is what I love about baseball. The pace of the game leaves time for conversation, for jokes, for storytelling. The play on the field is almost secondary to the narration in the stands.
