It breaks your heart. It was designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. You count on it, rely on it to buffer the passage of time, to keep the memory of sunshine and high skies alive, and then, just when the days are all twilight, when you need it most, it stops. Today, October 2, a Sunday of rain and broken branches and leaf-clogged drains and slick streets, it stopped, and summer was gone.
-- A. Bartlett Giamatti
I read this every year. I didn't really watch much baseball this year. A few games here and there, Jeter's last game at Yankee Stadium. This was the first year since high school that I haven't participated in fantasy baseball. I'm not sure why. I just wasn't into it this year. But I still love the game, mostly in the ways that Giamatti's essay states.