Take me out to the ball game.

*(The first of a series of articles written for Whatacorker.com online magazine)

US Correspondent: gives an account of Baseball

A finer family day out could not be found in the entire United States. The national sport of baseball draws crowds in the region of 25 gazillion (metric,) every year.

“But why pay good green to watch a couple of dozen men smack a ball and jog around in a diamond formation!” I hear you cry.

But, little do you know, when you considered baseball, you forgot to count the myriad snack selection, and pre-game entertainment. You rash English! Perhaps you should listen for a moment before crying out of turn.

Have you ever been to a game of soccer that has a 35-millimeter cannon shooting t-shirts at you? Have you ever been to a game of tennis where a man, mounted on a novelty ostrich throws hot-dogs in your general direction? Have you ever been to a game of rugby where fireworks whoosh into the air every time there is a try? Well? Have you? Ladies and Gentleman, welcome to the knee-slapping world of Semi-professional baseball!

 

The Reading Phillies are a “farm team.” No. I do not mean that they play on a farm. They play in a stadium, but the team “sows” players, that are “harvested” by the Philadelphia Phillies, and swapped back and forth in the cutthroat world of Pro-Baseball. My family was privileged enough to accompany me to a game one evening, and I think it was a life changing event for them. Suffice it to say, I caught my dad on more than one occasion mumbling under his breath about wasted lives and opportunities in the new world, whittling down lumber to craft high-quality baseball bats.

“Oh say can you see!!! By the dawns early light!!!” Warbled a young girl scout (or a girly boy-scout with a frightening soprano). The national anthem of the United States of Whatever, echoed through the cavernous stadium, and through the standing crowd, (hats to chests). I chanced a sneaky peek at my mother, who shed a tear at the emotionally charged song. I chanced a peek, that is, and then pointed this out to my father and brother, and we quite rightly mocked her for it.

At times I could not help but get caught up in the jovial nature of the game, by smacking my youngest brother on the sides and top of his face in a gesture that mingled brotherly love, and manly camaraderie. With low level bullying and borderline psychosis. Oh the great American game.

The aim of the game is (much like rounders, a strikingly similar game from that bastion of sport creating excellence, England) to score as many runs as possible. As an interesting aside, baseball shares another similarity to rounders; the players must run around in a diamond. As another interesting aside, three strikes and you're out can also trace its origins to the fine art of rounders. In fact, instead of beating around the bush, this writer will just jolly well go out on a limb and say it. Rounders is a complete and utter rip off of baseball! I mean it, really! The sports are just too similar to ignore. Great Britain (yes, the entire nation,) must have travelled forward in time to the relatively recent period of the 19th century, stolen the American national past-time in its germinal state, and returned with it to 16th century England. I further suggest that they then knowingly and spitefully chopped half the length from the bat.

That, Gentleman, is just not Cricket.