Phoenix, AZ
Baseball is the perfect sport.
It starts in the spring, when the leaves turn green and the entire planet comes out of hibernation. It ends when things go back to sleep.
It is inextricably intertwined with the history of the United States. There’s an old story that a Civil War hero invented the game (not true). It has mirrored our struggles over race. Our difficulty determining where to draw the line on drugs, their use and their dubious legality. Our endless arguments over the limits to capitalism, to a suitable rate of return on investment, and the proper relation of labor to capital.
And if all that weren’t enough the mere fact of saying, “I am going to the ballgame” links you in an unbroken chain going back well over one-hundred years. Whether you go to Fenway Park and tread the same concrete people have been treading since the Titanic sank or go to Chase Field and soak in some AC on a 100 plus degree Phoenix day you are tying yourself to history, to the United States’ past.
And it never fails to make me teary-eyed.