A Satisfying Weekend at the Ballpark

There is an old saying in baseball that goes a little like this: Everyone wins 54 games, everyone loses 54 games.  It's what you do with those other 54 games that counts.

Now that the A's have reached the obligatory plateau on both sides of the ledger, and have thus run their record to 1-14 in games that "count", what do you, dear reader(s), hope for in these next 39 games?

Are you secretly hoping the A's continue on this pace to maintain their current draft position?  Maybe you're eyeing the standings, and thinking, "Third place isn't out of the question."  Perhaps you're counting down the days until the September call-ups.

Or maybe you are like me, and you wish to enjoy the last two games for a little while longer.  Like Tony La Russa once said, "There are days to pat ‘em on the back, and this is one of them."  Yeah, there have been better-played contests, and surely more exciting finishes, and when all is said and done, few will even remember these games (except maybe the Detroit Tigers).

But if you had walked in my shoes the last two months, maybe you'd understand why I am not yet ready to turn the page on what was an exceptional weekend, which began by rubbing elbows with the AN elite, and ended with me and my goddaughter enjoying the serenity that only a Sunday afternoon at the ballyard can bring.

Good thing, too, because Saturday reminded me that I am not getting any younger.  But it was my first AN Day, so next year I'll know better.  Or not.  But what a true pleasure it was to see so many wonderful people, many of whom who were quite complimentary, leaving me, in the words of Rickey, "very, very humbled."

After Saturday's walk-off win put an end to a personal nine-game losing streak at the Coliseum, the pressure was off, for a change.  So Sunday was just about baseball, outstanding weather, and family.

And a chance to admire those things that we too often take for granted.  Like the ability to hit a tiny ball traveling at a frightening speed to faraway places.

Baseball is that box of chocolates that Forrest once preached about; you never know what you're going to get.  One day the starting catcher sends ‘em home a winner with late-game heroics, the next day his back-up throws out a would-be thief, picks off another, and puts the game out of reach with an eighth-inning jimmy jack.

Man, I love this game.

And guess what?  There's another one tonight.

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