I go into a panic when I accidentally fall into one of the many dead spots I've yet to discover, especially at the start of a critical play. The whiteboard marker is still in my hand while I dance around, trying to lean my body in just the right way so I can finish taking down notes on the board while still getting enough reception to hear the conclusion. It's okay, I remind myself, because they'll surely recap anything particularly fantastic.

I never had myself pegged as a baseball nerd, but the rules of the game are just specific enough to allow for constant anticipation of nothing really interesting happening, and it appeals to my appreciation of tedium and ability to keep large amounts of information in my head. I know the shape of PNC Park from every angle, and the startlingly dense stream of information packed in by a talented announcer gives me enough detail to fill in the field in my head.

I'm in the second basement of an ancient building full of strange machinery, and I do not understand radio signals, but there are spots I can stand and receive perfect clarity, while other spots give me nothing but noise. Luckily, somehow, the clear spots hang right over places I might spend a lot of time standing anyway.

24 April 2014 12:34

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