Baseball, though – there’s a lot of nothing. When people want to make fun of baseball, they imitate dudes standing in the outfield scratching themselves in uncharming places and spitting onto the grass. (This isn’t entirely inaccurate.) But it’s true: it’s hard not to be romantic about it. Baseball is made up of all of these great moments that are sometimes huge – Lawrie’s walk-off shot, Longoria’s home run to beat the Yankees and knock Boston out of the playoffs – but sometimes tiny, like a little almost-wasn’t infield single that drives in the winning run, or a dropped catch in the outfield that sets up a rally, or even a walk-off walk. You never really know.

And that’s the beauty of baseball: that you don’t know. You have no idea, when that batter gets up to the plate and stares the sixty-and-a-half feet to the pitcher’s mound, what is going to happen. Before each pitch, you are – even just a little – on the edge of your seat. And nine times out of ten, nothing exciting happens – but you don’t know which of those pitches is going to be the tenth. And that tenth pitch, when it comes, makes everything worth it.