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BLOGGING FOR BRITAIN

Winter is coming

by | 31st Oct, 2018

The baseball season in the States runs from the very start of April to the very end of October. Its beginning coincides with the first balmy days of spring; its end with the sharp dip in temperatures that signals the arrival of autumn proper and the earliest hint of winter.

As readers of this blog may know, I have become a huge baseball fan over the past ten years, with the MLB post season now, more or less, my favourite sporting event. Its conclusion is bittersweet: the World Series not only the culmination of a season but also the signal of an end – not just of baseball, but of summer. And, maybe, of more than that.

The melancholy that accompanies this passing of time is amplified by shorter days and longer nights; of falling temperatures and the prospect of three or four months spent trudging to work in the cold and rain.

This sense of an ending is not unique to baseball; I feel the same way when the English cricket season draws stumps a few weeks earlier. But I don’t get the same sense of loss when the football season draws to a close. It’s a summer thing.

Anyway, the reason for this post is this: an essay written by the late Bart Giamatti, read by the man himself. No, I had no idea who he was, either. I do now.

I heard this for the first time yesterday. Even if you have no interest in baseball, cricket or sport, take ten minutes out of your day and give it a listen.

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