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     Somewhere, there exists a world where Al Kaline's torments of excellence, and Koishikawa Miki's torments of the heart form concentric orbits around the brave and terrible sun of the human spirit. This, as you can quickly gather, is almost, but not quite, the place....but SOMEWHERE, such a place exists.

     Where you are now, The Sporting Life, is simply the batter's box, the first tee, the starting gate from which we might search for such a place. The horses are feral with anticipation, Tiger has teed up and the crowd is hushed, and you are in the batters box waving a big stick and waiting for me to wind up and bring the gas.

     My personal vision is not always congruent to these common cliches, but it is very much a part of them. Sports is a convenient metaphor....and anything can happen once the ball is in play. You're waiting for me to bring the gas, but instead I might drop down and throw you some side-arm junk. Anyone for tennis?

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