On Wednesday, Ichiro stepped up and rapped a double down the right field line. Ichiro then stood on second base the holder of another record, albeit an unofficial one. In sizing up the sheer scale of the accomplishment, cold numbers fall short; it takes a long view to appreciate it. You have to have seen the stoic perfection play out day after day, year after year.
You are sitting in an oversized leather chair in your bedroom, watching the Rockies come back. Your stomach is cramping and your hands are shaking. As Matt Holliday rounds third base you drop your head in your hands and cry. Even though you are an adult with a child and a mortgage and a job, you cry. And you will never sit in that stupid chair again because it is absolutely the chair’s fault.
League standings are posted online and we study them religiously. It’s not clear why. There are no prizes for winning, not even, frankly, any measure of pride. Each twelve-game season folds seamlessly into the next, making a years-long comedy of lofted misfires, keeping gaffes, and defensive breakdowns. Mostly we win.