In much the same way as the Zen aspect, baseball is knitted together with dichotomy - yin/yang balances, conflicts, and comparisons. It's a team game that relies on a team mentality, yet is punctuated by continual strings of solitary man-on-man confrontations. Its dramatic swings stretch beyond the length of the field itself, or concentrate just inches in front of the plate. Every player relies on his teammates to win but always contains within himself the ability to alter the game alone. It distills the action and excitement into short bursts, leaving the spaces in between silent and elevating the tension by allowing a fan to contemplate the possibilities. It's also mathematical harmony . . . twos, threes, fours, and nines. Squares, spheres, straight lines, curving arcs. It must be something like phi or Fibonacci, where the numbers and data of baseball resonate something primal in the mind. I hear a lot of people complain about how boring baseball is. I try to convince them that a lot of the attraction is in what lies beneath the surface, and in the anticipation. "Boring" is subjective, but it's true that you need patience to be a baseball fan. Those who love and follow the game are well aware that having it rewards us more richly than immediate gratification ever could.