Monday, October 19, 2015

Baseball is in My Blood

Walking through the kitchen, a dish towel thrown over my bare shoulder, I feel a wad of spit forming in the center of my tongue. I purse my lips, shoving my tongue expertly to the roof of my mouth, sharpen the end of it, pressing it hard against the back of my massive upper front teeth, then prepare a breath to send a beautifully arched stream of saliva, twenty feet from where I stood.

"Oh dammit...," I mumbled, "I'm inside." I swallowed piteously.

But it got me thinking:

What do baseball players do when they aren't playing baseball?

When they're giving a motivational speech in front of a corporate annual meeting, attended by thousands of the best and brightest minds in that company, and they walk out from behind the podium with the mic, reaching their grooved crescendo, what stops them from grabbing their crotch and hiking up their perfectly trimmed pants?

That thought led me to thinking about my career as a software developer and how a baseball player, knowing their worth, would go about coding up an application.

Would they stop after every line of code written, back up their chair, stand up, step off the plastic chair rollie thingie, give a long hard look at their boss's cubicle, adjust their rubber typing condoms, reach over to their desk and grab the empty Mountain Dew bottle, spit into it, return it to its hallowed place in the open, walk back onto the plastic thingie, sit back down in the chair, stretch and crack their knuckles, roll the chair back under the desk, expertly stopping it with their growing and softening stomach against the edge of the desk, then writing the next line of code?

If that was the case, I have a feeling that all code wouldn't pass QA with a .300 average, but be more perfect than the whites of a newborn baby's eyes.

Somehow, I think a baseball player's profession is more in line with the weather man's.

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