Pitchers & Poets is conversation about baseball and its place in our world. Pictured in the banner is Fernando Valenzuela. Valenzuela flirted briefly with life as a cultural icon, blurring borders of sport and nation. But like most out of shape pitchers before steroids, he fell quickly from the baseball heavens to a seat in some nameless bullpen, from a front page headline to a sports page anecdote.
This isn’t so much about why teams win or lose, why some guys hit and some guys miss. This is about why we watch, why they play, and what that stuff all means. In other words, we’re making it up as we go along.
The name Pitchers & Poets comes from Robert Frost, who said Poets are like baseball pitchers. Both have their moments. The intervals are the tough things.
My name is Eric. I like my beer American, my coffee black, and my guitars electric (most of the time). The closest I’ve come to celebrity was being named Dodger Blues Fan Of The Month in April 2007, a mere 2 years after I submitted the application form. This isn’t supposed to be a partisan deal though, so if I slouch too much toward Chavez Ravine, feel free to throw a Barry Bonds bobblehead doll at me.
My name is Ted. I like my beer Texan, my coffee Americano, and my guitars indie. Astros legend and now first base coach Jose “Cheo” Cruz coached a 14-year-old team I played on, and I can report that he always wears his hat that high. I played a lot of baseball, and I was a catcher all the way up through college, though I should point out that it was a Division III school, so the Hummer they gave me only had the factory rims. In my baseball career, I laughed and cried and loved and lost and learned a lot more than I caught. Through all of the pain and suffering, though, the shame of riding the pine, and the long bullpen catching sessions in the frigid Vermont wind, I only regretted staying with it about twice a day. I’m an Astros fan, and you can read some more of my thoughts at my other blog, Waiting for Berkman.
Frost, the southpaw.
