So, following on from my intro to My Baseball Winter I thought I’d actually start chronicling my Wintertime baseball experiences. This is not in chronological order, so unfortunately my ‘journey’ may end up a rather fragmented one. I think I may end up offering these snapshots and hope that they add up to, well…something beyond the sum of their parts. Before I begin, a tiny bit of context. I recently tried scoring my first game (thoughts and scans to come in the near future, all being well). I’ve also been perusing last season’s stats. Generally with a confused expression on my face. OK, well, let us finally get this blog post started…

Sport doesn’t really matter. We could function as human beings without it. I hear that some people even do. Just as some people function without music, literature, art or any of that other useless stuff.

But boy, life would be empty without all those things. Especially sport.

While ‘art’ can, and does, engineer moments that transcend the everyday, sport doesn’t. But it still happens, from time to time. By chance, and as a wonderful by-product of the technique of those involved and of the contest itself. And that’s what makes sport magical.

That sometimes it can make us feel alive, without even trying.

On July 23 this year Mark Buehrle of the Chicago White Sox threw only the eighteenth perfect game in Major League Baseball history, and only the sixteenth since 1900. This is perhaps the ultimate act in the sport of baseball. To throw a perfect game a pitcher must, over the course of a nine inning game, allow no opposing player on to base.

This might not sound that impressive to someone new to baseball, but let’s think about this a second. This has happened on only eighteen occasions, in thousands and thousands of games. Bear in mind there are just short of 2,500 games played a year. So, in well over a quarter of a million games (if my shaky, hurried Maths is right), each starting with two pitchers (one a side), a perfect game has only been pitched those few times. July 23 really was a historic day.

So, as part of my ongoing baseballing education, I decided to sit through Buehrle’s famous innings. And I was struck by how much sport, this wonderful, useless pastime, can mean. Genuinely, there was a beauty in Buehrle’s performance, as it unfolded. Even though I knew the outcome, I was still overcome with tension and emotion on each pitch.

I think this was because the ‘perfect game’ isn’t entirely perfect. Bear with me here. Each pitch isn’t a strike, with the batter missing the ball. Some batters hit the ball, only for the ball to drop into foul territory. A matter of a couple of inches keeps the game ‘perfect’.

Some batters make contact with the ball but are out before they reach first base. Some balls are struck into the field, only to be caught. In the most dramatic moment of the game, in the ninth and final inning, the substitute fielder Dewayne Wise somehow juggled the ball from his gloved hand to bare hand as his body hit the outfield wall. His skill kept Buehrle ‘perfect’.

And that’s what makes the perfect game so fascinating. While the pitcher might look lonely on the mound, he is never truly alone. The perfect game only happens if his fielders can support him. Watching the game, each catch and each piece of fielding, to remove an opponent, takes on a real significance in hindsight.

What at first appears to be an individual milestone, proves to be the work of a team in perfect harmony in one particular game. How often do we really see that in sport, or, indeed, in life? Yet, on just a regular, run-of-the-mill day, this happened.

There’s the special thing about sport. It can be memorable, touching, moving, important at any time. This was just another afternoon game in another season, until events unfolded. Every game in every sport has the potential to be historic, or to bring joy to its participants or observers. Whenever we turn up or tune in, something incredible might be on the horizon. This was a great example of this. Perhaps this is why we cling to sport and stick with it no matter what disappointment it may throw at us.

Sport shows us that on any given day something amazing could happen to us.

Photo from The People’s Tribune via Twitter

Christmas is coming!

I’m really quite excited about Christmas this year. In previous years I fell into the trap of going ‘bah humbug’ until it was too late, and only feeling truly Christmassy by Boxing Day. Which is obviously no good at all.

So, in the past couple of years I’ve gone for it. This year is no exception. My life is currently soundtracked by Christmas songs, I’m chomping at the bit to decorate the flat, and my advent calendar is being opened at regular intervals.

However, there is one aspect I’m wary about, and that is Christmas shopping.

On the one hand, I work right behind London’s Oxford Street, one of the world’s most famous shopping thoroughfares. However, that also means it is one of the busiest. It’s not much fun negotiating the shoppers and tourists at the best of times, let alone Christmas.

Despite this, tomorrow I will brave Christmas shopping in London.

Like the typical, stereotypical male, I have no list and few real plans. But I’m going to do it, anyway. I’m psyching myself up for the task. I may well plot a route, from shop to shop and back again. Or I might just wing it, like the maverick, loose cannon, play-my-my-own-rules shopper that I am.

I may, of course, decide to abort the mission after an hour and go to the pub, convincing myself that I was just ’scouting out options’.

So, why don’t I just order online? One – I’m not that organised. For most people I haven’t a clue what to get. Generally I leave shopping far too late, although this is probably the earliest date in living memory for me to start Christmas shopping (I used to leave it until Christmas Eve, but I haven’t the nerve for that anymore). Two – shopping online is just not the same.

As much as Christmas shopping can be a stressful and distressing experience, secretly, I think it can also be a lot of fun. Weaving my way around busy streets, bags of presents in hand, is sure to get me in the Christmas mood. And that’s just what I’m looking for.

A further report may follow in the coming days, depending on how well (or badly) it goes. In the meantime, how is your Christmas shopping going? And any tips on making the shopping more fun, or more constructive?

Steven’s post reminded me that today/yesterday is/was the 29^th anniversary of John Lennon’s death.

I was but a baby when Lennon was killed, and so I can’t offer any memories on that day. However, that does mean I was born during a period where the Beatles permeated everything. Parents and teachers were fans, and so the music was there at home (via the records) and at school (where Beatles songs were a handy resource for trendier music teachers). There was no escape, not that I was looking for one.

And as I grew older, the Beatles were a constant reference point, as most bands I cared about would mention them. Without the Beatles, popular music wouldn’t have progressed as it did. That’s not hyperbole, that’s fact. Even if I had doubts over some of their work, I had to respect their influence, and certainly loved many of their songs.

This year, through the remastered versions, I’ve continued my Beatles odyssey and especially loved all the non-hits. Maybe the one problem with the Beatles is their ubiquity. Nothing sounds new if you’ve grown up with the songs. So, to hear the lesser-known album tracks has been wonderful, and the closest I’ll come to experiencing the thrill there must have been in the 60s listening to a new Beatles track for the first time.

Lennon’s death was obviously tragic. One strange side-effect for me is that the complexity of his character has, by many, been glossed over, in favour of some sort of martyrdom, as has happened for many rock/pop stars who died before their time. I think this does the man a disservice.

Someone so caustic and witty shouldn’t be beyond criticism and proper analysis, as some sort of ‘Saint John’. Hopefully I’m not just setting up a straw man argument here, and certainly don’t intend to be inflammatory on this anniversary. But, while he played a part in some of the greatest music of the twentieth century, there is more to him than that. Acknowledging lesser examples of his work and other aspects of his character are just as important to understanding the genius he had.

But, first and foremost, boy, could he write a tune. And listening to ‘Twist and Shout’ he couldn’t half belt out someone else’s tune too.

Incredibly out-of-date post shocker! Last Friday saw the draw for next summer’s World Cup. I won’t go into a group-by-group preview just yet, although I will say England got off with an awfully easy draw. No disrespect to the USA, Algeria and Slovenia, but if England fail to qualify for the second phase I’ll eat my hat.

However, not every nation got off so likely. As in every major international football tournament draw, talk inevitably fell to that old reliable subject, “What group is the Group of Death?”. What was the toughest group, with the strongest sides and the best chance to see a contender knocked out in the first round?

This World Cup we have two contenders. Group D pits Germany against Australia, Ghana and Serbia, while Group G sees Brazil face Portugal, Ivory Coast and North Korea. Whatever way you look at it, those groups are tough. But is it the end of world? Far from it.

I’d like to say that I’ve undertaken a rigorous statistical exercise, but I can’t lie to you folks. I just looked up Group of Death on Wikipedia (since edited, sadly), and unearthed (or is that over-egging the pudding?) something interesting. Should a country survive the so-called Group of Death, they stand a pretty good chance of progressing well in the competition, if not winning it all.

In 2006 Italy had to get past Ghana, the Czech Republic and the United States. That they did, and then they went on to win the World Cup. In years gone by Argentina in 1978, Brazil in 1970, England in 1966 and Brazil in 1958 all negotiated incredibly difficult groups on their way to winning the World Cup. So, for every major side that has failed to survive (Argentina in 2002, Spain in 1998), there is a side that has gone on and prospered.

I’d suggest that this is perhaps the footballing equivalent of “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger”. If a team qualifies from a tough group it is already primed and ready for truly competitive football. Playing against other strong sides is a much better preparation for knock-out football than playing a minnow. What better way to build momentum?

And so, and boy am I going out on a limb here, don’t be surprised if Brazil do well next summer. And Germany too. Hah! You don’t get insight like that anywhere else, eh?

More often than not I will lay off the fiction when I’m choosing a book. For faintly ridiculous reasons, really. I like to know what’s really going on in the world, or has gone on in the world in the past. I like reality. I like facts and information I can utilise in a pub quiz (how sad, eh?). I like tidbits I can bore my friends and family with on high days and holidays.

This is, of course, forgetting that you can get all this, and more, from good fiction. I can find out just as much, and be just as moved, as I would be by a true-life story.

This was certainly the case with F Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby. After reading Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast, which features Fitzgerald around the time The Great Gatsby was written, the novel itself seemed a sensible next stop. Here I could perhaps flesh out that 1920s world, and see if Hemingway was right about this being Fitzgerald’s best work.

It did also help that the book is my Significant Other’s favourite. She has pretty good taste (well, she lives with me, right? OK, apart from living with me, she has good taste) and I doubted she’s recommend a book I wouldn’t go for.

You’ll be pleased to hear, dear reader, I wasn’t disappointed.

Here is a wonderful snapshot of 1920s decadence. Here was that sense of freedom and abandon after the First World War. Here was the truly modern(ist?) world, with its pleasures and its pitfalls. The book chronicles the recklessness of the age, which would eventually lead to the Wall Street Crash and the Great Depression (although obviously Fitzgerald was not to know of this when he was writing the book). People wallow in excess, on money that appears from nowhere, with no foundation, a modern Gomorrah, heading for disaster. Sounds familiar, eh?

Money is no object, and with Gatsby, he appears to have magicked it from thin air. The allusion is that he has gained his fortune by nefarious means (perhaps he is a con artist, perhaps a bootlegger, perhaps a fixer of the World Series). But the great and good are more than happy to accept his charming self, and more importantly are happy to see his money spent on their own enjoyment, at his countless parties. No questions asked.

I found Gatsby such a fascinating character as he does not seem of this (that?) world. He is a mirage. He seems to have appeared from nowhere, and can disappear just as quickly.

In the early passages of the book, Gatsby is but a mythical presence. The narrator, Nick Carraway, hears of him but does not meet him, despite living next-door. When he first catches sight of him, he vanishes. When they first meet face-to-face, Nick does not immediately realise who he is talking to.

Here is a character who is dropped into the ‘normal’ world and seems to unsettle everything. Yet, by the end, on the surface, normality has returned, or at least the unrest has been suppressed. This lends Gatsby an almost ghostly,dream-like air. For the main characters, to the outside world at least, it is as if nothing has ever happened. The status quo is restored.

He is soon forgotten by high society. They move on. Those who he genuinely touched will at least pretend to forget him, or wish that they could. Only Nick remains to mark and remember Gatsby. And so, Gatsby starts and ends a myth. He lives only in Nick’s words and memory.

Was Gatsby an illusion? Just as all that surrounded him was, and as the riches of that time were? It seems that way.

I love baseball. But it was never my first love.

I only really took an interest in the sport in 2005, when I spent a summer in New Jersey working on a kid’s summer camp as part of the Camp America programme (or should that be ‘program’?).

Among children and adults alike there seemed to be only two choices. You either supported the New York Yankees or the New York Mets. I was well aware that the Yankees were an all-encompassing monster, the baseball equivalent of Manchester United, and so really there was only one choice.

And a trip to Shea Stadium, the Mets home (until last year, that is, it’s now Citi Field, for those interested in getting me an all-expenses paid trip to see the Mets next summer) sealed it. What a wonderful experience. Much like cricket, this was a sport that you can let wash over you, that you can luxuriate in, that gives you time to think, or just shoot the breeze with friends.

From that day it was clear. I would be a Mets fan.

That that’s not to mention the other wonders of the day, such as the guy who would bring beer and pretzels to us, without us having to leave our seats. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. The Mets scored a run, and the family sat in front of me turned around to give me high-fives. I’d arrived! I was a New York Mets fan, and I realised that baseball was much, much more than the English stereotype of ‘glorified rounders’.

Even though the Mets lost that day. But, hey, I’d get used to that.

In 2007 I went to the United States again, this time to Texas. I spent a week on my own before being joined by friends, in Dallas, and then in Austin. I had plenty of opportunities to watch the baseball, either in my room or, more frequently, as a bit of a barfly. I found one sports bar in Austin that suited me with a world of beers (I remember Fireman’s Four being a particular favourite), huge plates of scorching hot chicken wings and screen upon screen of baseball.

It was the perfect entertainment for me, alone and in a strange town. I could while away a couple of hours, dipping in and out of games, seeing how they all progressed. It didn’t demand my attention, but it certainly kept it. Baseball seems to be a game you just slip into watching, much like cricket, and less like the full-on assault, hype and razzamatazz of football (American and soccer).

But how to follow the game in the UK? Catching the scores in the paper wasn’t really enough, and wasn’t the easiest means of keeping track on a season. Channel 5 showed games, but sadly I was living in one of the few areas left that just couldn’t get Channel 5. Ridiculous. And even so, was two games a week enough? Would there be enough context?

Then I stumbled across mlb.tv, and all was good in my baseball-watching world. Now I had access to each and every game across a season, in full and in highlight form, audio or video, whenever and wherever I wanted. Now I could immerse myself in the sport. I could catch a game live, or catch up later.

And so, here I am. I watch a fair share of baseball, read about it some more, but I want to learn, and preferably in time for the start of next season.

So, what is the plan between now and next April?

Well, I thought I could chronicle my explorations across the next few months in learning more about the sport. I know the basics, I know the big names and fair few of the smaller ones. However, there is always room for improvement.

So, what else can I learn? I tried fantasy baseball and enjoyed it, but how can I improve my team’s chances? Can I find out who is worth tipping for next year? Should I immerse myself in the sport’s statistics? Or its history?

I suppose that is where I hand over to you, dear reader. I’d love any suggestions, or requests, of what I could cover in My Baseball Winter…

Photo from Adam Finley via Flickr.

I worry about blogging about blogging. I fear that the blog might collapse in itself, unable to stand the introspection and navel-gazing. And then I realise that blogging is all about the navel-gazing, and there’s a whole swathe of blogs that do nothing but talk about blogging.

Hmm. So, on with the post. And I really don’t understand why I’m rambling and procrastinating as my problem is…I just don’t have enough time to write and to blog. Don’t worry readers, this isn’t some bizarre farewell, or unnecessary moan (hopefully not, anyway, but it is Monday…) but I thought it was something worth addressing, as I’m sure it is something that affects many of us from time to time.

In that ideal world we all dream of, I’d have hours to while away, honing sentences, crafting punctuation and creating works of literary art. I love the Oscar Wilde quote, “I was working on the proof of one of my poems all the morning, and took out a comma. In the afternoon I put it back again.” Oh, to have the luxury of that time!

It’s not that I lack ideas, either (‘then why the tired post about lacking time to blog?’ I hear you cry!). I know I’m really lucky in that sense, in that I’ve yet to suffer from any sort of real writer’s block. In the shower, on my commute, at my desk at work, here, there and everywhere, more often than not I’m mulling over ideas for blog posts, or stories or other things I might write. But where to find the time to actually research and then write the bloomin’ things?

Work is a necessary evil. Home life is lovely, really lovely, but awfully busy. Do I lack the discipline and organisation to find the time to write? Or should I scale back outside commitments? Then again, if you should ‘write what you know’, then you should probably get your share of living in, right?

And when I do cram in some writing time, do I give it enough attention? Blogging makes it easy, nay irresistible, to just throw something together and throw it out there. I might snatch a few minutes at the start or end of the working day, or during my lunch hour, or when I get a sit-down of an evening. But do I really give my best? Is there enough quality control? (‘No!’ cries the last exasperated reader left). If I had more time, would I have cut down on the questions in this post?

What do you reckon? How do you find the time to write?

Photo from Nick Webb via Flickr.

So, Happy Thanksgiving to all you American folks out there. I’m pathetically jealous, what with this being a normal run-of-the-mill workday in the UK. Rather than enjoying day one of a four-day holiday, I’m still a fair way off a normal weekend. Boo.

On Mondays, I generally pick up the International Herald Tribune, and on the back page it lists the national holidays across the world in the coming week. And every week I envy Saudi Arabia, Denmark, Paraguay or wherever else that has a short working week ahead.

From some rooting around (ah, how did we manage before Google?) I’ve discovered that the UK has just eight weekdays off a year, compared to 16 in Italy, 15 in Iceland and 14 in Spain. I think we are due another holiday or two, and it would be wonderful to have one between the August Bank Holiday and Christmas. I’d like a Thanksgiving.

And not just for selfish reasons (although a day of turkey and watching sport sounds pretty much perfect).

Beyond the historical significance (which is obviously limited for a Brit), I think it is particularly appealing to have a day to take stock and think about all there is to be thankful for in your life. I know that I have a lot, and will take a moment to think about that today. It would be wonderful if a day’s work didn’t get in the way of sharing that thanksgiving with others.

The other benefit to Thanksgiving is in ushering in the countdown to Christmas. I’m really rather excited. I’m determined to get in the swing of things this year, and not be a grouchy old Scrooge. Today, there’s a lot to be thankful for, and a lot to look forward to.

Including some corny Christmas posts here, no doubt. You lucky things!

Footballers are increasingly perceived as being removed from the ‘real world’, and countless post-match interviews see players (and indeed managers) making excuses for poor performances. Supporters pay good money to watch bad football, often with no explanation or apology from those concerned afterwards.

Wigan Athletic’s 9-1 defeat to Tottenham Hotspur yesterday was obviously a very different beast. The best spin doctor in the world couldn’t squirm out of that one.

But even so, the Wigan players have responded in a creditable fashion today. Club captain, Mario Melchiot, announced that Wigan’s players would pay out refunds to each and very Wigan supporter who had made their way down to London yesterday to watch their team.

The statement read, “We feel that as a group of players we badly let down our supporters yesterday, and this is a gesture we have to make and pay them back for their tremendous loyalty.”

How wonderful and novel would it be if all sportsmen responded to bad defeats in this fashion? I’m not suggesting that every team that has a shocker should refund their fans, but it would be refreshing if more sporting professionals took responsibility for a poor performance and apologised to their (often long-suffering) fans. Who, less we forget, pay their wages.

So, what sporting performance would you have liked a refund, or at least an apology, for?

And outside the sporting sphere, do you think we hear the word “sorry” enough?

For those of you new to the blog, I quite often put together a list of sports-related links I’ve enjoyed over the past week. As part of the broadening of this blog’s horizons, I thought I’d put together a more general list this time. I hope it leads you to some interesting corners of the internet, and as always if you have any links to share, please do!

Non-sporting stuff for your enjoyment

Regular commenter and nicest guy on the internet, Steven Harris, has been talking about meeting celebrities, and remembering the time he met a Beatle. You might see in the comments that I have had quite a celeb-spotting week, seeing both Lisa Snowdon and Angela Rippon. Please note, I don’t mix in showbiz circles. Nor do I stalk people off the telly. Honestly.

Another commenter here, Nathan Henrion, has recently published his book for the Kindle. I’m looking forward to hearing how the experiment goes, with such a new and relatively untested medium. I’m going to have to buy the book itself very soon. It’s a steal at 99 cents.

Raven Mack is always worth a read. His lastest post is about pumpkins, and a whole lot more.

Sporting stuff for your enjoyment

The ever-reliable BaseballGB is reviewing the 2009 season a division at a time. Sadly, the verdict of the New York Mets as the “New York Mess” is right on the money.

Tim Lincecum won the Cy Young Award this week, ahead of Chris Carpenter, leading to a wave of controversy among the baseball internet-y fraternity. Wezen Ball serves up a nice little parody of the uproar.

There’s been a lot written about France beating Ireland to go to the World Cup, via Thierry Henry’s hand. Twohundredpercent writes perhaps the most level-headed assessment of events.

Enjoy the rest of your weekend folks!