Hey, Badder-Badder! The Essentials of Baseball

We place a great deal of importance on sports in America, bordering on religious fervor. Just yesterday Southern California saw the touring display of the 1909 Honus Wagner card, nicknamed the "Mona Lisa" of baseball cards, valued at $1.3 million. I take the liberty of speaking for all of you when I say:

'The bubblegum on that thing must taste terrible by now!"

By today's standards, it's not that spectacular-looking. Articles admittedly describe it as a scrap of cardboard, two and a half by two inches, not even a mini-hologram in the corner to confirm its authenticity. And it's simply a portrait of Honus, not even a photo of the great shortstop (I assume he was great, I never met him) in action, diving to catch a grounder. There are photos of the auction representative holding it up, and the press taking close-up pictures of the frame, bystanders making "oooooh-aaah" noises (again I assume they are making noises, it's just a photo in the paper after all. They could just be making silent, round "O" shapes with their mouths). But its condition is described as "near-mint" after all these years, which explains the huge amount of cash from whoever bought it. I keep thinking that the bicycle, where you would stick that card in the spokes of, must be made of solid gold. Or at least a bicycle made by BMW.

All this commotion over a souvenir related to a sport that doesn't seem that exciting to me. In the case of basketball, if you so much as blink, the score could turn over thrice in that tiny amount of time. When you are watching baseball, you can get up, walk to the kitchen, make yourself a sandwich, find the last can of soda in the back of the fridge, wash your hands, go outside, wash your car, change the car's oil, drive across town, pick up your children, visit with their teachers, stop by the video rental store, shop for a new pet complete with food and accessories, raise the pet to maturity, balance your checkbook, open a college account for your eldest, call your relatives abroad, walk across the street to borrow a lawnmower, water the plants, scrub down the bathroom, finish the laundry, then settle down with your sandwich and soda, check back at the game, and say,

"Oh Look: Strike Two."

I tried to grasp the rules and nuances of the game by watching it with my friend Eric, who is a big (team name censored here) fan. I conceal the name for two reasons:
(1) I don't remember it.
(2) Even if I did, I would receive a rabid backlash of (opposing team name censored) fans who will claim all (team name censored) fans are idiots, and practically challenge us to a knife fight, like in West Side Story. You know --just to add excitement to watching the game.

I aked Eric questions as the game progressed. This is an advantage in watching baseball. With basketball fans, you can barely get their attention ("Jim, your house is on fire!" "Yeah! Our team's on fire tonight! Whoo-Hoo-Hooooo!"). Here is how our conversation went:

Me: What is he doing?
Eric: What's who doing?
Me: That guy walking around.
Eric: He's on Deck.
Me: How do you know that?
Eric: There's a chalk square on the ground where he's standing.
Me: I don't know how you can see that from here. Is there any reason he's swinging two bats?
Eric: Yeah; to knock the foul ball back into play.
Me: Really?
Eric: Um...No. Gosh, you're so gullible!

Then I see somone in a team jacket who looks like he's doing "The Macarena".

Me: That guy just took off his hat, and put it back on again.
Eric: That guy? Coach.
Me: What was that about?
Eric: What? The sign?
Me: I don't know. He tapped his left and right arm, slapped a shoulder, waved his hat and tapped the brim before crossing his arms. Is that the Sign?
Eric: The cutoff man's on second, he wants the pitcher to walk the batter after a partial count, and next up do a
switch maneuver with the shortstop, because the following batter's left-handed.
Me: Can't he just use a cell phone?
Eric: Nope. The pitcher's deaf.
Me: Really?
Eric: Sheesh!

Feeling I was catching on to America's pasttime, I decided to test my savvy.

Me: There! Another Sign!
Eric: Hmph! Where?
Me: The pitcher took off his cap, tilted his head, and spat before putting the cap back on.
Eric: Did he spit brown stuff out?
Me: Yeah, Yeah! What does that mean!?
Eric. Nothing.

I felt I should try again.

Me: There, There! that's got to be a Sign!
Eric:Which one?
Me: The pitcher raised his right leg, and adjusted his cup and snorted, then swung his arm around in a circle --twice.
Does that mean an intentional walk, do a slider on the second throw, or get first base out?
Eric: It um, just means he's adjusting his cup.

And so on. It's very complicated, I'm learning. This continued for about five, maybe six entire minutes, when I realized I had some emergency laundry to do.
I'll check back with him later. In exchange for his helpful lesson, I'll teach him how to shop for recently-made, fresher-tasting bubblegum, preferrably one that was manufactured this year.