Baseball as Therapy

Yesterday we were given a half-day off, so I napped extensively in the oxygen-starved humidity of my hotel room and then drove to Arlington to see a Rangers game. It was an evening at the ballpark that novelists only dream of, complete with sticky Indian-summer air and the mellow buzz of a near-capacity crowd. The game was superb, with the home team coming back from a 6-4 deficit in the bottom of the ninth to win on a close-call slide at home plate. As cliched as this may sound, I sat next to an older Texan who fought in the Korean War and drilled oil wells across Texas. We sat on the third-base line, talked of baseball, politics and family most of the evening. If that's not Americana then what is? George W. would be proud that his stadium was put to such proper use last night; when I am a team owner someday, I want to create a thousand such encounters every night. Ballparks are like churches: community, fellowship, symmetry all blend to create a magical air that lends cares weightless and invisible. For a few hours, the world is simple and right. Here's a few photos:

View from my seat. Texas Rangers vs. Seattle Mariners. It was hard to know for whom to root.

After the game there was a fireworks display just for the sake of blowing things up I think. Or to celebrate how big Texas is and how happy everyone is to be from Texas. It's worse then a cult.

More fireworks celebrating how cool Texas is. Forget the USA, it's all about Texas. "Ya gotta see to believe..."