There are only two seasons - winter and baseball.
(Source: sf-gigantes)
“Baseball players , love them or hate them , it’s a brother hood. From missing fridays at middle school for roady’s to packing a pre game chew with the boys. It’s a life style some say it takes no talent but baseball is the only sport where going 3 for 10 is considered doing good. Girls think were lazy and guys diss us , and girls think were gross when we pack a dip in the back of class. The boys… of summer , softball is not in our vocabulary. It’s a culture wether or not your going pro , or livin the dream or re living the dream in mens leagues. We all share the bond , this is for the boys who have gone deep , hit a walk off shot or made a solid play on the diamond , baseball is a religion to us. To the boys who wear phitens and are asked daily what is that around your neck, real ball player swag is the confidence you have at bat or the confidence you have on the field or in the clubhouse, Winter is your most hated season of all time , baseball is not just a sport to us , it’s a lifestyle it’s our summer jobs , we give up summer memories with friends to make memories on the field with teammates , baseball is everything.”
(Source: fadedlikecrewcuts)
(Source: mannyleija)
My dawg.
(Source: cleatchasers)
(Source: cleatchasers)
Heard this today…really hit home. Rudy Francisco
“One. If I could, I would nail these hands to the edges of stars; I would sacrifice this body to the skies hoping to resurrect someone spiteful enough not to care about you.
Two. Staple me to a cross; pierce my side with a broken promise and I will bleed all the crippled reasons why you deserve one more chance.
Three. Your bed smells like the last thing that I was really good at.
Four. You wanna know how I got these scars? I ripped every last piece of you out of my smile.
Five. I whispered you stardust.
Six. I spoke you into sunflower.
Seven. I dipped my hands in forever, I touched you infinity, treated you as if you were the last molecule of oxygen inside of a gas chamber…I was good to you.
Eight. You wanna know how I got these scars? I swallowed my pride and then it clawed its way out of my mouth.
Nine. I realized that I was never really your boyfriend, I was just your fucking height man.
Ten. I hope your next boyfriend gets smallpox. Ten. Yes, I said Smallpox. Ten. I hate you. Ten. I miss you. Ten. I love you. Ten. It’s hard for me to count when I get emotional. Ten. I heard that over ninety percent of human interaction is nonverbal so…
Ten. If I could, I would tie your arms to a daydream and then auction you off to my fondest memories.
See, I wrote this poem in my own spinal fluid. I put it on the backbone of a white flag. So before you read it you already know that I’ve given up I’ll just keep you here shackled to the most important chapter of my life story, pressed into the basement of my eyelids like liquid salvation so I remember you beautiful with amazing underneath your wings and an orchid smile, you gorgeous earthquake. You cracked hour glass with sand spilling from behind your ribs, you wasted my time. How dare you linger on my lips then kiss me like a stuttering apology with excuses stapled to the roof of your mouth? I still remember you like a dream tattooed to the inner walls of my long term memory. But some days I wonder if you even existed at all. And of course, you wanna know how I got these scars.
Well, fine. I’ll tell you. I got these scars the day that I fell in love with you.
I landed face first.”
Babe
(Source: mightyflynn)
(Source: bryanwaterman)
