It is July and the MLB All-Star Game is today, marking the half-way point in the near meaningless slog of six months of professional baseball before it begins mattering for a couple games in October. And hey, win or lose, just wait four months, and then try it all over again. I played organized (and semi-organized in the front yard) baseball from eight to 17-years-old. Then I took seven years off. It was during this seven-year hiatus from playing that baseball (and its close friend, softball) reemerged briefly in my life. This reemergence occurred in the summer of 2011 in Ukraine and accounts for Part I and Part II of the stories here.
When I came back from Peace Corps in Ukraine, I had an itch to do all the American stuff all over again I had missed and so I joined a church league,
Why Baseball Caps Are the Unraveling of Society (A Slightly Satirical Look)
While the humble baseball cap might seem like a harmless piece of headwear, lurking beneath that stiff brim lies a silent threat — the…