by Raphael Badagliacca
Aristotle reminds us
That time is relational, like space
Which is always defined by what’s in between
The things that happen to be in place
All around us.
Try moving the furniture in a room
And see how different the space feels,
Except with time the things are events,
Like Nunez hitting that squibber down the first base line,
Or diving into the stands to bring an errant ball back into play.
Sure there is a clock somewhere
Precisely tracking the minutes and the hours,
But it just doesn’t matter
On this field of play,
Nor in the one on which we live,
Else how can the action on the screen
Transport you back to the thrill of the day
You put on your first baseball glove,
Where is the linear tick-tock in all of that?
For sure, there are ends
And new beginnings
But sometimes there are nine
And sometimes there are eighteen innings
And you root for your team
And I root for mine
But there is something transcends all of this
Easier to see on remarkable days like this
Despite our differences
Time tells us we are all in the game
We all root for the game
In the important things,
We are all the same.