Anticipation. Every spring I look forward to the start of the baseball season—perhaps this year we'll have an exciting team, win it all.
Here it is March and our weather is spectacular—high 70s and in some places 80 degrees. The heat just hastens the allure of baseball. Growing up I lived several subway stops away from Yankee Stadium and on the few occasions that I went with my father we sat in the bleachers, "Affordable seats," he'd say.
It's no longer affordable to go to a game unless it's a minor league game. Besides the cost of a seat there's parking—or the train. Add on to that the outlandish cost of a bottle of water, a hot dog, or any of the other eatables and the cost keeps going up and up.
I try to ignore the salaries that professional athletes garner. Who could possble be worth ten, fifteen, twenty million dollars a year? In fact who , in any field, is worth millions a year?
Is there a ceiling? There's a bottom. Some people I know refuse to watch professional sports because of the outrageous salaries—but then you'd have to add business CEOs, actors and actresses—and so on.
So I'll anticipate the season with some moral tinges brought on by recognizing the absurdity of paying athletes those outrageous salaries.
So while I abhor the wrangling for even higher and higher salaries—I won't take the high road and refuse to watch . What's fan to do?
in medias res
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