A brief introduction

I was born in India. I grew up in India. And, after a spell of five years spent in the United States, currently live in India. My maternal grandfather captained his state cricket team to their first national championship, and for almost 40 years, their only national championship. My paternal grandfather’s first cousin went one better, playing 46 tests for India.

So what I am about to say borders on heresy.

I love baseball.

I love the crack of the bat when it makes contact with the ball. I love the thud of the glove when ball meets leather. I love sliders, change-ups, curveballs, fastballs and the mythical gyroball. I love strike outs, ground balls and fly balls. I love walk off home runs. I love double plays, triple plays, stolen bases and the infield fly rule. I love little league ball, high school ball, college ball and the pros.

I love watching Derek Jeter play. I love watching Albert Pujols hit. I love watching Carl Crawford run the bases. I love watching Johan Santana pitch. I love that hitters know Mariano Rivera’s cut fastball is coming, and yet there is nothing they can do about it. I love watching David Wright play third base. I love watching David Ortiz hit in the clutch. I love watching Manny being Manny, especially when Manny hits like Manny. I love watching teams like the Detroit Tigers making improbable runs to the World Series and teams like the St. Louis Cardinals making even more improbable champions.

I love the rivalries. I love the New York Yankees. I love inter-league play and divisional play. I love that money doesn’t guarantee championships. I love that the game must go on until the final out is made. I love the history, warts and all. I love the numbers, all the numbers.

I even love the DH.

Okay, maybe not the DH.