baseball.

you watch black and white film of the 1953 world series, and you think, that's so long ago. but then you think of how in the context of the history of the universe, that's, like, not even a second ago. then you notice, when you look beyond the black and whiteness, that the movements the players are making, the way the left-handers swing the bat - that sweet, buggy-whip, cracking in the air right in front of them, the way singles seem to drop in the outfield like accidents, the guy overrunning third base during a teammate's double, too eager to make it home, are all exactly like they are today, the game hasnt changed, no matter the giant outfield walls they had back then, or how no one wore batting gloves, and the men in the stands seemed to all be wearing bow-ties and straw hats.
and then you realize, this is why you love baseball. because 1953 to 2009, from your parents being little kids to you being a fucking adult, is no time at all to the universe really. and so we need to pool our eras together, and keep certain things alive throughout them, and do them the same, each and every generation, until the whole of it makes some mark, however minimal, in the fabric of time, all that infinite time. and baseball is a way of doing that, it's the kabuki we have in america, from the prairies to the los angeles canyons, to the asphalt fields in harlem, the solid sacrifice bunt - the barrel of the bat absorbing the ball like a peck on the cheek, to the sweet-spot-struck homerun, like releasing lightning from a bottle, it's always been like that, and i dont care how many people understand it, i dont care how much time there is between the spaces in the game, and how much space there is in the outfield and between the bases, that's why baseball is misinterpreted as slow. because, really, how fast could infinity ever seem?