The reason I love baseball is the middle infield. I love how it’s just out there, this open terrain undefined by any foul line. It is an airy place, unforgiving at times, and the people who pad around that ground feel a little more rough, a little more eccentric than the rest of the infielders. Their wildness is not of the pitcher—a self-centered and egotistical craziness—but of a different quality. They are quiet, exact, precise and yet prone to flair and beauty and brief violence. As a shortstop, you do not need the ball, but when it is hit in your direction, you are hungry for it.
The Shortstop
