It’s okay if you skip right on over this one (Kat has a great post on Afghanistan and drugs and large money outlays) because I am going to pay homage to one of my passions (baseball has been very very good to me), or I should say, an offshoot of my passion.
Perfection on earth is rare (‘There she goes’ by the La’s may be a perfect pop song but it’s about heroin) outside of the inspired construct of the baseball field. 90 feet between the bases..it worked in 1890 and it words today. You can’t say that about much else.
For the past 26 years of my life, I’ve met face to face or computer to computer with a band of gentlemen ranging in ages from 14 to 60. We meet to play a game called APBA. I’ll try not to bore anyone reading this far much more than I’ve already done, but APBA was/is a tabletop game that has evolved into a computer game based on the previous season of baseball. If you want to know much more than that, feel free to email. I’m not expecting a deluge of mail on this issue..
This weekend is Christmas to APBA managers. It’s our draft. Before the draft we get to lie our brains out about who we are going to pick. During the draft we get to make derogatory comments about the idiotic draft picks of our fellow managers. After the draft we can post-mortem until the left-field cows come home.
Why have I been doing this for 26 years? It’s fun for me and is a great companion piece to my rabbinical reading of box scores each morning during the actual baseball season. More importantly, I’ve come to know and love a band of men from across our country..a real estate agent in Oregon, a judge in Queens, an ex-cop from Long Island, a Fox Sports TV producer, a local radio baseball guru, and a host of others who’ve drifted in and out of leagues.
Women would be welcome, but so far the women to whom we actually tell the truth about APBA laugh and quickly move on. Those of us who are married have tolerant wives who quickly realize that APBA is cheaper than sports cars, eschews expensive equipment of other hobbies, and is 100% absolutely free of wanton women (or women of ANY kind). We’re not a he-man-woman-hating boys club, but we manage to entwine our lives with another passion – baseball.
The byproduct of this passion has led to some of the greatest friendships a person could ever want, along with annual baseball trips to nearly all the major league ports of call.
So, this weekend, my mind is on my personal Christmas, and I’m determined not to make the bonehead draft selection of the year. I have my charts, the fruits of my research and my rookie lists, but more importantly, I’ve got friends – some of whom I would have never met if not for some stupid game called APBA.
Salem's Lots 