Good morning. Within the opening pages of Moby Dick, Ishmael explains his choice to go to sea thusly:
At any time when I discover myself rising grim in regards to the mouth; at any time when it’s a damp, drizzly November in my soul; at any time when I discover myself involuntarily pausing earlier than coffin warehouses, and mentioning the rear of each funeral I meet; and particularly at any time when my hypos get such an higher hand of me, that it requires a robust ethical precept to forestall me from intentionally moving into the road, and methodically knocking folks’s hats off–then, I account it excessive time to get to sea as quickly as I can. That is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship.
Sure, the month of November is so miserable that our protagonist turns it right into a metaphor for the bottom level of his life, the time when he finds himself craving for both the candy launch of demise, or a years-long voyage cramped on a New Bedford whaler. That’s how a lot November sucks.
Did Ishmael hate November as a result of there was no extra baseball? As a result of he might not take the ferry over to Hoboken and catch a number of innings between the Knickerbockers and the Gotham Membership? He doesn’t say so outright, however the subtext is simple. An existence with out baseball is a darkish one.
The offseason begins in earnest as we speak. There are 143 days between now and the subsequent Crimson Sox baseball recreation. Speak about what you need and be good to 1 one other.
