Baseball is erotic
The sweat rolling down the back, the tight white pants and the pooched out butt, the heart beating against the ribcage, the Oscar Meyer wieners, covered in mustard, going into everyone's mouth. It's a metaphor for sex, and the eroticism is below the surface, it can only be felt, not seen. The pitcher has extreme focus, like a predator eyeing it's prey. The batter's contorted, like stress on a spring, waiting til the exact moment to burst. A white ball is thrown across the field. The batter has a split second to decide to swing or not, his mind explodes in two different directions, and it's a strike. He has just a moment before he has to raise the bat again and lock in his focus. Takes a few breaths, and then tenses his body up again. Every muscle from the feet to the fingertips to the eyes, contracted and held, and the heartbeats are getting louder. Another pitch and he doesn't swing, it's a ball. A moment of relief. The back and forth between stress and r...