It's gone. The emptiness fills the early evening. The TV blanks, the radio silences. The buzz and blooming comfort of the game has receded. Now only silence and blank screens--baseball season is over.
Sports carves out seasons. Sports provides starts and finishes to seasons. During the season, the ebb and flow of competition provides a continuity of life and interest. You follow the game the night before. You check the standings and read the article about the game you watched or listened to the night before. You talk with your family and friends about the Mariners, Royals or Tigers or Giants. Now into the great silence.
Baseball begins in February and extends to November. The real season extends from April through September. During those nine months, the sounds and sights fill life. It provides a focus for interest, a way to commit to the outside world. A topic for conversation. A source of joy or sadness. It provides a sense of renewal. The games open connections across differences of geography, profession, race and sometimes gender.
The sheer length of the baseball season and its daily unfolding creates emotional and intellectual landmarks. It gives you reason to celebrate or suffer. The rhythm of games generates emotional substratum to life. You can drive listening to games without endangering your life. You can converse or work while watching the careful emergence of a baseball game.
The silence descends like winter. Winter brings death and stasis. It brings an open sense of quiet. No movement; no action; no rising and falling in life. Maybe the silence is an invitation to rest. Maybe it is to be still.
The silence of the season opens up other life. To every time there is a season and to every season a purpose. The purpose is to remember how much fun and joy the game is itself. The purpose is to remember other aspect of life. Then as my wife reminds me, the silence is a time to get a real life!
(Pictures courtesy of: impwards.com & best horror movies.com)