When the English ask me what I miss most about America, the answer is easy: Baseball.You learn to live without closet space, customer service and huge tumble dryers. You realise that massive helpings, drive-thru everything and abundant parking is actually bad for your health. American food brands are getting ever more common, allowing me to buy both Oreos and Kraft Macaroni and Cheese within a few miles of my house, should I ever need to go on a real comfort food binge.
But baseball? There's no substitute, and up until recently, no satisfying way to follow it from overseas. I tried to switch to cricket, and while I've gained a bit of understanding and a great appreciation for the game, it's not my game. Setting the VCR to tape Channel 5's overnight coverage of its weekly baseball broadcast was some consolation, but wasn't my team often enough. And was the American League far too often. Going on line to check box scores and read game reports is OK, but lacks that lovely bouquet of sound (the hum of the crowd, the distinctive cadence of a baseball broadcaster, the muted yells of the fielders, the crack of the bat) that so typifies American summer.
To put this longing into context, let me remind you that I come from St. Louis, a town where baseball is on par with religion. Sure, we have other sports teams, but the majority of the population see them as a bit of distraction between the opening pitch and, hopefully, post season play on that beautiful, green diamond. Our passion is fuelled by a remarkable history: the oldest professional sports franchise West of the Mississippi (playing since 1882); the most successful team in the National League with 10 world championships, second only to the Yankees (with a probably un-catchable 26); linked indelibly to that other civic icon, the Busch brewery, through past ownership and the present ballpark name. The Cardinals, quite simply, have been woven through my life since before my earliest memories.
In recent years, that bond has become a distant one. But no longer. With a functioning wireless network, a powerful new Macintosh laptop and a $108 season subscription to MLB.com, baseball is now at my fingertips, on demand. The web site is an impressive one, offering me a full archive of both television and radio broadcasts of all the games in the league, and live coverage should I want to stay up until crazy hours.
And thus it was that I found myself in my garden all weekend, enjoying the spring sunshine and painting my new storage shed while listening to the broadcast of the Redbirds' visit to Wrigley Field. It's hard to imagine anything more calming than the smooth, repetitive stroke of the brush, matched with the soothing voices of the announcers. On quiet, working-from-home weekdays, I'm firing up the laptop at lunchtime, starting the game and letting it run on low volume in the background.
Everything else in the world can be angst-ridden and gloomy, but I can now feed on a regular diet of Albert Pujols home runs and give thanks that I may be living to see one of the greatest players of all time. And on my team, too. The counterpoints of wins and losses, home runs and strike outs, brilliant catches and errors provide escapism from the less thrilling ups and downs of the real world. In one lovely burst of Internet brilliance, I am as connected to my home team as if I still lived 30 minutes from the ballpark and was attending frequently. I haven't followed the boys this closely since I was a miserable rookie in my first, horrifically awful full time job. Come to think of it, the markets had collapsed and everyone was pretty miserable then, too. At least with about 150 games left to play before the post season, my emotional escapism will be well amortised before we reach the post season.
Sometimes, technology really is a wonderful thing.
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