Not a big baseball fan, but it’s a great metaphor for life.
You’re born, and that’s home plate. You start with a good fast swing, but you don’t know how far that ball will go. The bleachers are packed with happy smiling cheering faces. The run to first is the stretch from birth to graduating college.
You know how to run now, but there are hurdles, and you still don’t know where the ball is. Gotta run hard and fast to make it to second. You’re about 40 yrs old now.
Congrats! You’re rounding second! But you’re breathing hard and pumping fast, and the ground is rough. Running isn’t nearly as easy. Gotta run smart if you wanna make it to 60 yrs old – whoops, I mean third base.
Oh, shit, you’re rounding third. Where is that ball? Did anyone see it? Am I out? I can see home plate, but it’s blurry, or moving, or both. Running sucks. Home plate is wavering ahead, it looks like it’s 80 yrs old – oh wait, is that me?
I can barely run. There are people cheering me on, but less than when I started and fewer with each step.
What was that? Sounded like a ball landing solidly in a glove. Fuck. Am I out? I almost made it to –