Saved by the boys of summer: baseball to the rescue — again
At my age, I shouldn’t care so much whether the Boston Red Sox win or lose, let alone permit my daily mood to rise or fall accordingly. It’s only a game. It’s supposed to be a pastime (according to AI, something that “helps make the hours pass pleasantly when you are not working”), not an obsession. There are 162 games a year and letting your emotional state hinge on whether your favorite team scores more runs than the other team is obviously senseless. And yet. Generations of Americans have been swept up by the game. Children never forget their first trip to the ...