The Cure for What Ails Me

Meant to talk about this earlier, but I went to the Cubs' home opener on Friday. I don't want to get all Bob Costasy here -- though I wouldn't mind being as eloquent just once -- but there's something about going to a baseball game (I'm speaking mostly about Cubs games at Wrigley Field, but it does hold true elsewhere) that just brings me a great deal of peace. It doesn't matter if the Cubs are lousy (as is their history) or if they're doing well and the games are tense (as has been the case the last two seasons). I immediately get a sense of calm, right about the time the game starts. I've settled into my seat, I can relax, concentrate on the game and take in everything around me. Granted, the drunks and the foul-mouthed fans do get annoying, but I have an easier time blocking them out than I do, say, the inconsiderate patrons who talk during a film.

I went by myself, thanks to a last-minute, face-value ticket. While I certainly enjoy going to games with other people, attending solo can be kind of soothing. When I go with my very-understanding wife, I feel compelled to make sure she's having fun, often to the point of annoying her; if I go with a group, it's often more about the conversations you have rather than the game. I wouldn't change anything about either situation -- other than maybe my wife knowing what guys play what positions when I quiz her -- but the random solo outing allows for a bit more focus on what's happening between the lines. Not sure this is making sense, but...

Anyway, all of this brought to mind a quote I read years ago from Steve Earle. I'm not a fan -- I don't dislike him, I've just never really connected with his music -- but I couldn't have said this any better (though I did try, I guess):

"It sounds weird, but ballparks are the most tranquil structures human beings have ever built. For me, more than any church, more than anything else...As soon as I get to the top of the steps and see the green, I start feeling better. The shape of the fields, the colors, everything about 'em, I love 'em."

On a semi-related note, my friend Jeff talks about a "dream job": serving as a music producer/coordinator for movies. Contemplating his post on that subject brought back a recent unpleasant memory: I applied for what I felt was the perfect job for me -- not necessarily a dream job, but damn close -- and I was unable to even get an interview, despite having the qualifications and, or so I thought, the ability to do the job well. I don't want to get into specifics, but I also had a couple of decent connections to the place, connections that I thought would at least get me in the door. Uh, no. There are worse feelings in the world, but there was a period soon after this played out where I was really low about the entire situation. I've mostly gotten over it, but whenever I think about the opportunity missed, my heart still sinks.

So it's a good thing baseball season is here. I can worry about Mark Prior's health instead of my own occasionally fragile mental state.