Valentine's Day is generally perceived as an occasion where we let loved ones know just how we feel about them and how much they mean to us. While many have romantic dates and dozens of roses and delicious chocolates planned for tonight, I spend this Valentine's night offering tribute to one of the first loves of my life - the game of baseball.
And what a game it is. Baseball doesn't get enough love anymore, with the NFL growing as it is and our society steadily shifting pastimes towards the pigskin. People often question my love for baseball, as they would my love for a stripper if such a feeling existed. It's nonsensical to them, and why? Baseball is boring, they say. It is intolerable to watch on TV. There are too many games in a season. There isn't enough action.
These people are in love with the hot and flashy NFL, equivalent to a woman gorgeous on the outside but with no substance. Baseball may not have the looks the NFL does, but it has ten times the personality, and its inner beauty is what rings true when you come to know it as I have. To me, this is what matters, both metaphorically and in actuality. In baseball terms, its the mental wars waged in a 60-foot space between the pitcher and catcher; the chess game occurring between managers as runners reach base and bullpens are employed; the strategy present in each at-bat, which is so critical with only 27 outs to work with; the hundreds of statistics generated to evaluate a player's performance. These facets of baseball's inner beauty, hidden from those judging only the cover, are what lend the sport its radiance. Depth is the road to appreciation for this wonderful sport which, just today, rekindled its flames with pitchers and catchers reporting to spring training. Today, I celebrate my love for baseball, in all of its grandeur, inner or otherwise, and I implore you to do the same if you too are looking for the complete package this Valentine's Day. I wouldn't settle for anything less, and with baseball, I don't have to.
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