I’ve been wondering for two days about how to word this post.
And what picture could I even use to describe the experience I had in a western suburb this past Thursday night? I knew whatever image I used would fall short, because a) I’m not that good with this monster lens, yet, and b) I didn't get anyone's permission to use their photo for this post.
So I am burying the one with his fly Resting Pitch Face deep in the post. :)
And how I could explain what happened without sounding how I do, sometimes - all hoobee doobee doo but with no beginning/middle/end.
But I haven't posted in two days. Chop, chop, blogger.
I think I’m gonna have to broad stroke this one. Maybe I'll come back later with a more well-crafted piece when the bigger picture is a little clearer to me.
But for now let’s just say that after going to grad school for screenwriting but having switched to a "creative non-fiction" focus in my heart (NOT A MOMMY BLOGGER) then dabbling in podcasting while stopping and starting and stopping again on a couple of works-still-in-progress (oh, I’ll get to them, just give me a decade or so) and ooo lookie! a DSLR! hey why haven't I been taking pictures this whole time? hold my camera while I edit this silly lip-dub video, then mix it all together with three cosmic experiences since last fall that inspired me to become a “minor league photojournalist.” (what does that even mean?)
And then one dark and stormy night, I was given the opportunity to put it all together: to create the thing I’ve always wanted to create.
And it’s gonna be about baseball. (wait, what??)
More specifically - it’s gonna be about the cult of baseball.
Even more specifically - it’s gonna be about the gentleman’s game played outside of the Major Leagues, and the love for the game that never dies.
And it’s going to be my opportunity to lose/own/drop the ball/ROCK/offer/neglect/create something from nothing.
And that's all I can tell you right now.
Yep. I was right. I’ve failed to explain exactly what happened. Hoobee doobee doo. (That might be why I was so terrible at screenwriting.)
Maybe just think of this post as a wicked curve ball. But the count is only 0-1. Stay tuned....
That's my piece, and that's my peace. Thanks so much for taking the time to read my silly words. It truly means the world to me. Carry on...