We were just kids and a mile was the distance to the moon
And an hour seemed like an eternity
We hadn’t been going through life too long yet
And a thirty-year-old seemed ancient
I used to read the box scores every morning during baseball season
When my father would finish with the sports section of the newspaper
I would grab it and quickly turn to the back
And feast my eyes on all the numbers
All those perfect lines of digits
The categories marked by a few letters
AB R RBI HR SB
ERA W L SV
I would read them intently
Feverishly
Like I was looking at some sacred text for the first time
My fingers turning black from the ink
Drool dripping onto the page below
I loved the long abbreviated vowelless player names
Sometimes a letter or two from their first name
EDavis Mttngly DHndrsn Lnsfrd RgJcksn
Or some that just came out plain
Gwynn Boggs Weiss
I loved the aesthetics of a 4 for 4 night
The way a 1 for 4 with a run and 3 RBIs
Stood out as an obvious Home Run
The complete game shutout was a thing of beauty
As was the perfect ninth of 3 Ks for the save
I still look at the box scores every morning
While I’m drinking my coffee and enjoying the sun before work
And it always brings me this sense of excitement
And also peace
A sense that everything is right with the world
As I mumble to myself and add things up in my head
Scan the standings
And try to forget about the rest of the world for a while
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