Bobby Brady and The Bambino

March 21, 2018


[Originally written 5/20/09]


Reliving what seems like the same broken patterns is futile, right?  When all other avenues have been explored, and all other possible excuses have been exhausted, the only explanation remaining - though not entirely plausible - appears to be past life repetition (I said it wasn't entirely plausible). It's as though somewhere in distant history, a great injustice was committed; the culprit never apprehended, and the crime to be recommitted for eternity.  A female folk duo so poignantly lamented, "How long 'til my soul gets it right?"


Like a child forcing mismatched puzzle pieces together and calling it a masterpiece, assembling disjointed shards of life's affects into a presentable image, without so much as a photo on the box cover for guidance, is possible, albeit not ideal. And as we've already learned when Bobby played ball in the house, you can glue a shattered vase back together without anyone noticing, but fill it with water, and it's gonna spring a leak.


And to top it off, Mom's gonna be pissed.

Taking the high road to resemblance doesn't always FEEL better. It feels awful. Where it should feel empowering, in actuality, it feels like defeat. Where the cream should rise to the top, sometimes it curdles into useless sediment, slowly drifting to the bottom and settling into a pile of rancid, stagnant debris. The dark horse should wear the silver-lined blanket, but instead he's in the back field with a shotgun to the head because of a hangnail.


Imperfections are rarely rewarded, but since when is stepping up to the plate repeatedly an imperfection? They never told Babe Ruth, "Hey...714 isn't bad. But you're kinda chubby, so really, it's a wash. Try soccer."

Scrambling for ill-fitted pieces to make the masterpiece isn't easy. I also assume hitting 714 career homers wasn't real easy either.  Personally, I'd take 713 dingers if it meant no one would call me fat.

The point is, pieces don't always fit, but no matter how many times they're jammed together, they can still be a masterpiece.  Love can be unrequited, but it's still its own beautiful mess.  The same vase can be broken a thousand different ways.  And home plate is always the same size. 


There's always a tube of waterproof glue somewhere.  


Or a beautiful pitch with a sweet spot and your name on it.

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