The Rhythm of the Game

I have always been fascinated by baseball, falling in and out of love with the sport as the years go by. It elicits fond memories of my father surprising me after soccer practice, taking me to see the Toronto Blue Jays when I was seven or eight years old. I was on top of the world that evening. Years later, I was in attendance for the Bat Flip, and for the Edwin walkoff. I hear stories from my uncles about how they were there when Carter hit his famous home run and touched em all.

Baseball stands apart. It creates memories in a way that other sports can’t replicate. People get sentimental about baseball in a way they don’t with hockey or football. It's different because it has a fundamentally unique rhythm, that rhythm is its superpower.

With baseball beginning in April and ending in September (or October if you’re lucky!), the game becomes emblematic of the summer. It stands as a boon companion, a steadfast friend. It’s always there, and that rhythm, the two and a half to three hours, each and every day for six months, provides a totem for fans throughout the season.

As a fan, there are many rhythms you become immersed in. The daily rhythm, the rhythm of a game, and the rhythm of an at-bat.

The daily rhythm is waking up, going to work, coming home, and knowing there's baseball tonight. It becomes part of your summer routine, playing in the background while you cook or work on something more important, it’s a common ground to gather on with friends or family. It gives you something to think about, something to connect over as the dog days of summer roll along.

The rhythm of the game means seeing your starting pitcher take the mound and watching the batters go to work through the order. After every half inning, three outs, you can count on the small break. Two minutes to step away from the TV or the radio.

There’s the familiarity of the commentators, the relaxing, dulcet tones of Buck Martinez, Ben, & Dan Shulman. Friendly voices that put you in a trance.

There are the rhythms of the summer heat, the Hazel May reporter specials or mini exposés on your favourite players. There’s the all too familiar "noteworthy" things that seem to happen weekly: Either that no player has ever had a run quite like this, or no team has ever achieved these feats in this way. You feel those rhythms in your family room, on the dock at the lake, driving home.

And then there’s the most significant rhythm: the cadence of an at-bat. The batter steps in, kicks the dirt, and gets settled. The catcher gives the signal. The pitcher fires. A lightning quick second of action. Then ten calm seconds or so to reset. Then repeat. Again and again, the rhythm of the game.

It just so happens to be the perfect cadence to have a good conversation. You speak (the batter digs in, the catcher gives the signal), and you pause (the pitcher fires). They speak (the batter digs in, etc.), you pause. Repeat.

Sometimes the ball is put in play and there’s a brief crescendo, a moment of intense action, like pulsing waves, that quickly settling again. That conversation stops, and you have an opportunity - you can pick it up or you can pivot. Your attention drifts to the field, and back to the human you're sitting with. The batter digs in. The catcher gives the signal. The pitcher fires.

Sometimes, your team gets to October and the games really start to matter. The rhythm may seem the same, but in those tremendous moments, it feels completely different. The stakes multiply. The beats are what they've always been, but the tempo has hastened. Like an old favourite remixed, the intensity driving higher and higher. The batter digs in. The catcher gives the signal. The pitcher fires. But this time your whole being is on edge, you don't exhale until the ball is in the glove. There is no conversation, just total focus. Digs in. Signal. Fire.

And so it goes. And so it will continue to go. That’s what makes baseball timeless.

In a world where the pace is constantly quickening, immersing yourself in this simple pastime forces you to slow down. It resets life’s natural rhythms and tempo, like the metronome that used to sit on your grandparents’ piano. Steady, familiar, stalwart.

There’s nothing like it.