Now people in Pittsburgh are falling in love again, with baseball — a game of surpassing beauty, with its own rhythms and its mysterious inner integrity, marred only by the designated hitter rule that, I am happy to say, does not apply in these precincts. They are falling in love with these Pirates, and also with the idea of being in love. There hasn’t been a postseason baseball game here since the presidency of George H.W. Bush.
So bring it on, with hearts and flowers, and a Whitman’s sampler of chocolates, and moonlight and love songs, never out of date. It’s an as-time-goes-by kind of moment here in Pittsburgh — you can sense it in the streets and in the stands — for it’s still the same old story, a fight for love and glory, a case of do or die.
It could happen. It might. Let’s hope, this summer, here.
North Shore native and Pulitzer Prize winner David M. Shribman is executive editor of the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette.