There is no better word to describe Baseball.
Call it sand, mud, dust, coral, asphalt, small rock or ground cover.
It is Dirt, and in Baseball it’s the only thing a player wants all over.
On your face, on your hands, your glove, shoes, uniform and cap.
Dirt defines you. It is your life, position. Your desire.
Sliding to second, a catch in the hole. Baseball and dirt define what you aspire.
The smell. The touch. The want for it, the need for it.
No job, no occupation, nothing in life wants you to look down and embrace it.
No sport wants you to think about eating dirt.
But Baseball expects you too, and you become a hero when you want to too.
Exactly what draws us to this most common element?
Do we do it to honor our past or fear that we will still always be fighting the future?
Or is it Baseball, like us, help us to nuture?
We wallow in it both mental and body.
Yet through all the years there is no answer to it’s desire.
To connect , to forget, to remember, to forget.
Covered in Dirt, you are part of future, present and past.
It explains Baseball. And why it will last.