Semi-Dangerous Idea: Interpretive Scorekeeping

I keep score at baseball games. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I desperately need some concrete evidence of my own existence, some flimsy bond of participation between myself as unnecessary spectator and the game I love. Maybe it’s because people always ask me why I keep score, and I want to think of a simple and witty response, the same way that someday I’ll come up with a good way to answer the question “How are you?” and I’ll be set for life. Maybe it’s because keeping score is a minute, insular form of expression, a method of translating baseball into verse, always individual, always unique; like sheet music unplayed. Maybe. Regardless, I keep score at baseball games.

On August 30, 2014, I attended a game at Safeco Field between Seattle and Washington. The Nationals won 3-1; it wasn’t a very good game. Here, posted for your brief diversion, is my scorecard from that game (click to embiggen):

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Patrick Dubuque is a wastrel and a general layabout. Many of the sites he has written for are now dead. Follow him on Twitter @euqubud.

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Paul G.
Guest
Paul G.

Having perused the greatness of a baseball scorecard that defies both convention and the human experience, entwining the game of the base and the ball and clown questions (bro) with a deluge of historical tidbits, pop culture references, avant-garde impressionist artwork, one of the greatest poems ever to grace the English language, revealing slivers of everyday life, doodles, the nothingness that is an Endy Chavez pinch hitting appearance, and the glorious subliminal hashtag, all mixed into a giant philosophical cauldron that calls to one’s inner being to stare deeply into the universe and attempt to understand its glory even if madness ensues, nay, because madness ensues for that is the way of enlightenment (and, also, apparently Jose Lobaton grounding out to short), I have one one question from the great philosopher:

After studying your masterpiece of baseball notationally glory, should I be ashamed that this was the first thing that came to mind?

Mmmbop, ba duba dop
Ba du bop, ba duba dop
Ba du bop, ba duba dop
Ba du, yeah
Mmmbop, ba duba dop
Ba du bop, Ba du dop
Ba du bop, Ba du dop
Ba du, yeah

(Damn you, Kyle Seager!)