gemstone-gynoid:
E
A
Sports
Somewhere in the world, there’s a young man named Andrew Gilligan.
He’s got a great life: he works as a software engineer, he lives in San Francisco with his girlfriend, and he regularly attends the Giants home games.
He’s not a big sports fan. He lives in the Bay Area, where the Giants are, and he is surrounded by Giants fans. And the people around him, in his small Bay Area town, are big sports fans.
Andrew goes to the games, and he enjoys them. He likes watching good baseball. He likes the men on the field, the catchers, and the bullpens, and the pitchers. He likes the pitching and the hitting and the fielding. He likes hearing the crowd, and the players, and the umpires. He likes watching the game.
But his favorite part of the games are the commentators, the analysts. They are the ones who make him feel like a part of the game. They aren’t just talking about the play on the field. They’re speaking in a voice that is a part of the game.
Andrew likes it when they speak in voices that aren’t too loud. He likes it when they aren’t yelling at him, when they’re talking calmly. He likes it when they sound like they’re actually inside the stadium.
Andrew loves to watch the commentators on television. He likes the sound of the commentators’ voices, the shape of their faces, the way they dress. He can’t help himself. He’s watching TV.
Andrew sits in front of his TV, and he watches the game. And he likes what he sees. He likes the commentators.
[the commentators are very funny – then again they haven’t had much of a lot of material lately, and it’s hard for them to come up with anything new. I am really curious to see what they come up with this year. Maybe there’ll be some outstanding live-action material? I’m willing to go with that]
When Andrew thinks of the commentators, he thinks of P. J. O'Rourke. P. J. O'Rourke used to be Andrew’s favorite sports commentator. But then, Andrew thinks, P. J. O'Rourke used to be Andrew’s favorite political commentator. The pundits had grown distant, and Andrew no longer felt the pull that used to pull him toward them.
Andrew stares at the screen of his TV. There is a break in the action. A little girl is running to catch a baseball. Then, as she runs toward home plate, she trips over a piece of baseball equipment. She is now lying on the ground. There are sparks from the switch.
Andrew, standing on the bleachers, listens to the commentary.
The commentator speaks.
How the bleachers shake!
It’s a wonderful, heavenly moment.
Andrew feels the atmosphere rise around him.
Andrew feels like he can hear the echoes of P. J. O'Rourke’s voice in his own head.
There he is, P. J. O'Rourke, standing on the bleachers, listening to Andrew Gilligan cry.
Andrew spreads his arms wide. P. J. O'Rourke, on the field, is only half a person to Andrew. This one is personal.
P. J. O'Rourke steps onto the field. He steps onto the tiny field. He is a giant among giants. And Andrew feels that giant’s presence.
P. J. O'Rourke looks down on the boy who got tripped up.
Andrew jumps back.
P. J. O'Rourke’s giant eyes are now shining like stars in Andrew’s very soul.
P. J. O'Rourke looks down at the boy. He touches the boy’s head. It is as if he were caressing a tiny human child.
P. J. O'Rourke is sad.
[ANDREW IS NOW A CHILD]
He looks up into the eyes of the boy, whose face has grown steadily, almost imperceptibly, older.
The commentator, still, is still P. J. O'Rourke, dignified and amused and filled with pity.
The commentator closes his eyes and closes his mouth.
Andrew is both small and great.
The commentator opens his eyes. He smiles. He is a child again.
Andrew feels the nostalgic pull toward P. J. O'Rourke.
The commentator, now, stands up and he walks toward the Giant’s mound.
He looks down.
He looks up. He looks at the field.
[the Giant’s mound is slowly growing closer and closer to the sky]
The Giant, now, laughs a long laugh.
[the Giant’s laugh is getting closer and closer to a scream]
