Baseball Nomads
I'm still gathering my thoughts about Texas and New York, which will one day become a multi-part epic on this blog. I might even make a Ken Burns series out of it.
But for now, I'll just point out, for the thousandth time, that the northeast and southwest certainly provide distinct experiences of space-time. I'm starting to think about starting to plan a road trip in the spring with my friend Jon. Last June, we went on an eight-day journey visiting baseball stadiums from New York to Chicago, and back. We did our best to record the whole shebang -- which included lots of hillbilly jokes, Jon risking his life to find a restroom in Ohio, our suggestions for new state mottos, my potent rage directed at stupid fans, and both of us inexplicably falling in love with Pittsburgh -- and you can read all about it here, if you haven't already.
We're optimistic about making the trip a tradition, and hitting a different region of the country every year or two, as long as we can afford it, and as long as Jon's lovely wife doesn't threaten to file divorce papers. So, I figure we've got another trip or two in front of us, at least.
This spring we're hoping to get to Texas, where I can catch up with some friends and family while observing the sociological ramifications of a Jewish person spending a full week in the Lone Star State. As I look at the map, though, it's going to be a much tougher planning chore -- and here's where space-time comes in. On our first expedition, we were traveling through the midwest, where there's a minor league baseball stadium at nearly every rest stop. Conversely, there are two major-league and five minor-league teams in all of Texas, a state where there's often upwards of 4,500 miles between major cities. So, we've got our work cut out for us to find enough teams that are home at the right time to make the whole venture copacetic. With the right computer program, and lots of patience and caffeine, I think we can get it done.
But for now, I'll just point out, for the thousandth time, that the northeast and southwest certainly provide distinct experiences of space-time. I'm starting to think about starting to plan a road trip in the spring with my friend Jon. Last June, we went on an eight-day journey visiting baseball stadiums from New York to Chicago, and back. We did our best to record the whole shebang -- which included lots of hillbilly jokes, Jon risking his life to find a restroom in Ohio, our suggestions for new state mottos, my potent rage directed at stupid fans, and both of us inexplicably falling in love with Pittsburgh -- and you can read all about it here, if you haven't already.
We're optimistic about making the trip a tradition, and hitting a different region of the country every year or two, as long as we can afford it, and as long as Jon's lovely wife doesn't threaten to file divorce papers. So, I figure we've got another trip or two in front of us, at least.
This spring we're hoping to get to Texas, where I can catch up with some friends and family while observing the sociological ramifications of a Jewish person spending a full week in the Lone Star State. As I look at the map, though, it's going to be a much tougher planning chore -- and here's where space-time comes in. On our first expedition, we were traveling through the midwest, where there's a minor league baseball stadium at nearly every rest stop. Conversely, there are two major-league and five minor-league teams in all of Texas, a state where there's often upwards of 4,500 miles between major cities. So, we've got our work cut out for us to find enough teams that are home at the right time to make the whole venture copacetic. With the right computer program, and lots of patience and caffeine, I think we can get it done.
posted by JMW at 11:46 AM
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