We both know that I like baseball for superficial reasons. I couldn’t begin to explain most stats. Half of the time I can’t remember if Juan Marichal is still alive. (He is.) I try to deepen my appreciation of baseball by comparing it to life, and using it as an introspective tool for my own life, but who would ever confess to that when they are sitting at a game? First I became a Giants fan, then I learned of your existence and then I expanded to other areas of baseball like other teams and general history. The whole process unfolded in that order, starting little by little in 2002 and was then suddenly and completely laid out in 2009. Back then, I used to watch you pitch and with every strikeout I would think with stupidly breathless fandom: I’m going to marry that man. Last night, I was over at Spencer’s house having some girl time with pizza and some Wes Anderson movies, but before we started on the movies we caught a little bit of the game. Two Mariners hit homers off of you, and the camera would opportunistically zoom in on you every time you paced around the hill looking frustrated. I thought: I’d still marry that man.
Something happened during my workout today. I managed to get through three sets of fifteen pushups — probably unimpressive for you, but an achievement for me, and I barely even got through the last set. I stopped at ten, let the world spin, lurched through the final three and then thought: I hate life. But that’s not the something that I want to report.
A bug flew into my mouth while I was running. I had picked up the pace and the pavement was steadily sloping upward, so my breathing was getting heavier. I caught sight of the bug’s wings, which protruded from a fat brownish dot. The next thing I knew, the dot was in my mouth. I almost tripped over when the shock overcame me, but then I didn’t know what else to do, so I shut my mouth and then I… swallowed the bug.
It went down really strangely. I could feel it tickling my throat, and although my normal inclination when my throat feels itchy is to cough a lot, instead it contracted so that I was swallowing like I had willfully eaten something. And that’s the last I ever detected of the bug, although by that point instead of nausea, I was overcome by fear of slowly transforming into Jeff Goldblum in The Fly.
So far, so good.
Would you be my Geena Davis?
If you or anyone else stumbles upon this never-to-be-sent, I was wondering if you’d be so kind as to help me make a big fundraising deadline. I have until October to raise my goal of $1800, but the team has set these mini-deadlines as an incentive to get to each of our fundraising goals ASAP. There are prizes for making the deadlines. For example, if I raise $900 by July 15, I get a team sweatshirt. If I raise all of my goal by July 15, the prize is a yoga mat. To tell you the truth, I think that these are just OK prizes, but I really would like to try and make that deadline. Here’s my fundraising page:
OK, maybe that’s not the wittiest title I could have made up for my fundraising page. Or maybe it does make you laugh. Who knows.
So far, I don’t have much — but I did get the biggest donation yet. The other day, a friend gave me $100. To me, that’s pretty awesome. I mean seriously, $100 should be a lot, even if you’re rich.
The most awesome part about this donation from this friend of mine is the nature of our friendship. I only know her because of Mary, who introduced us in college. They went to college together. Since Mary and this friend went to college on the east coast, I’d only ever see them whenever I went home for summers and Christmas. At first, I was annoyed by the friend, but not for anything that she did. The reason why I was annoyed was because I was actually annoyed by Mary, who brought her along for what I thought would be a reunion of just Mary and me. Instead, Mary seemed hopped up about introducing this brand new friend of hers and foisting her into our lives, and when we eventually shook hands, I was really distant about it. Now I can’t imagine my life without her — I’m not just saying this because of her big donation, btw. We’ve had years of good times since that first encounter which was frankly quite bitchy on my part. I don’t miss being 19. At all.
My runs often involve me wanting to throw up and now I’ve eaten a bug. Most of the time afterward I’m ambling like an old man because everything is so sore. Yesterday, I slipped into a pair of jeans that I’d given up on back in February, so at least the effort is paying off, if only little by little. So come on. I’m taking care of the physical, and now I sure could use some help with the fundraising. Not necessarily from only you, Linc. Maybe you, stranger reading my never-to-be-sent. Or you, lurker who is one of my friends or someone from my family but for your own bizarre reasons you have never confessed to me how often and in-depth you read the crap that I write. Or maybe you, computer.
I think the Matrix is real.
Baseball 2.0 is the blog and living memoir of San Francisco writer Joe Ramelo. At 30-years old, he is an internet veteran, having been a cyberspace colonist since 1994.
Written in the format of unsent (“never-to-be-sent”) letters to San Francisco Giants starting pitcher Tim Lincecum, Baseball 2.0 discusses baseball, the world and life — though baseball could be considered to be all of the above. In particular, there is special emphasis on baseball and life through the author’s background as a gay Filipino.
All that introspection is time consuming, so there’s not a lot of opportunity to hope that Tim (variously and vaguely referred to as either “the Avatar” or “Linc,” not really because of movies or video games but due to the author’s personal superstition/belief about the power of names) actually writes back — which he likely wouldn’t, anyway.