Several years ago, I remember listing to a talk radio show when the hosts were debating ways to improve baseball, a sport that only rivals golf in terms of tedium. I called in and rolled out a few recommendations, among them cutting the game from nine innings to seven and new rules allowing foul ball strikeouts and runners to tackle basemen, in addition to the implementation of something similar to a goal post in the outfield. If a batter can hit a ball through the posts? Automatic grand slam.

The hosts didn't think much of my suggestions but, after spending over three hours in PGE Park on Thursday night, I stand by them. The Beavers were up against the oddly-named Las Vegas 51s. After watching over a dozen foul balls fly up onto the park's rafters and half innings that dragged on forever, I was ready to leave by the seventh inning stretch but I was there with other people. Plus, the team's Beaver mascot was working his heart to keep everyone awake. I couldn't let Lucky down by leaving early.

I'm not exaggerating when I say that half of the attendees were out of there by the bottom of the eighth. After years of giving this national pastime numerous chances, I confess that I just don't get it. I guess it's a game best enjoyed as if it were a BBQ - get drunk, eat your weight in greasy food and get distracted to the point where you forget where you are until the crowd starts cheering when something interesting actually happens.

Labels: sports