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Rush, rush, rush.
There's always a clock somewhere ticking too loud.
Our lives just have way too much deadline pressure connected to them, even in what should be our leisurely pursuits.
Now baseball has to speed up to begin and get over with, with the pitchers under pressure to do what they do with time constraints in place. Ditto for the batters.
Play ball -- and hurry up while you're at it!
Why, I ask, must Major League Baseball attempt to speed up the pace of play.
Are spectators in a hurry when they go to watch a game?
Don't you go to kick back, relax and enjoy a $20 hot dog and get up during the seventh-inning stretch to sing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame," a song that hopefully won't be revised to include "But Get Me Home Earlier!"
Are the players in a big rush to leave the field and go home?
Now mind you I am not a sports person in general, I confess, so that makes me not much of a baseball person specifically although I can at least claim to have a playing connection to it -- or an attempted one at best.
One of them was being way out in the back yard/field where siblings, cousins and neighbors played baseball when I was growing up.
That same baseball field is now the pasture for a couple of horses/living lawn ornaments I call my own.
I was the youngest player so the pitcher didn't waste any time moving close to me to throw a ball my way that no one ever expected me to hit.
But I had delusions of grandeur, mind you, of hitting one way out yonder to everyone's surprise.
Later in life, decades ago, I attempted to play in the church softball league but I pulled a muscle the first time up to bat and never made it to first base. Out for the season I was.
Scratch those Hall of Fame hopes.
The conversation about the baseball changes came up when Better Half and I were watching the Pirates play Cincinnati on opening day Thursday -- and winning 5-4 (not sure if that was necessarily in record time or not, but the victory is sweet either way.)
I say let the pitcher have his moments on the mound. Do a little dance. Have a little throw-to-first base drama. Chew and spit.
If I were the pitcher's mother, I would want that. I wouldn't want to hear someone screaming, "Make it quick! I'm bored!"
In the grand scheme of things, I wonder how much time is really being saved when a game is played -- enough for me the spectator to get back home or out of my living room with precious extra time to do what -- the laundry? The dishes?
The next thing you know there will be deadline fishing, a timer in the row boat reminding me that the bobber isn't bobbing. Move on!
I'm looking forward to being of a certain age this month where I can purchase a fishing license at reduced cost.
Look out, bluegills, I'm coming after you all, a fish fry in my future.
I want to take my time fishing.
And I want to take my time watching the national pastime of America, not the national "fast time" of America.
Remember, play ball!
And take your time at it!
Ditch the clock.