I TAUGHT FIRST-year college writing at Emerson College, and my classes always included two or three students who played on the school's baseball team. When asked to write a research paper on a topic of their choosing, the baseball players inevitably tried to solve baseball. Why is the sport dying? Are tickets too expensive? Is statistic-driven coaching overriding artistry? Are players hitting too many home runs? Does the pitch clock help the game, or hurt it? Should umpires be allowed to view video replays? During one energetic discussion about the demise of baseball, an older student with a thick Boston accent declared that the NFL season consists of 272 games in total. In contrast, each MLB team plays 162 games. "That's over 2000 games a season," he harrumphed.

He wasn't wrong, but the baseball players looked dejected. I moved on to another topic.

I call myself baseball neutral, but I am more fond of it than any other sport, if only for sentimental reasons. After my grandfather befriended one of the groundskeepers at Wrigley Field, my dad went to Cubs games for free. He must have been the coolest nine-year-old in town, just strolling in through the groundskeeping gate. We went to Wrigley often enough when I was growing up that I found it a chore and brought books to read during the games. Family lore has it that I missed an exceptional play—three men on base, a homer, that sort of thing—because I was so absorbed in my book that I didn't even look up when every other person in the stands was on their feet, screaming. In my defense, that was just one of 162 games the Cubs played that year.

I set aside my lack of interest in baseball over Father's Day weekend. My mother-in-law had a lifelong dream of going to Wrigley, and the Cubs were playing her beloved Cardinals. How could I not help her scratch this item off of her bucket list? Chad and I bought hot dogs and Budweisers and ice cream and the guy working the grill paid us the highest compliment: "You guys know how to do Wrigley."

Also, I enjoyed the game! Shota Imanaga is a joy to watch. The Cubs won, in part due to the Cardinals' dubious coaching decisions. Thanks to the pitch clock, it proceeded at a digestible clip, and I was able to explain the basics to Michaela. "Think of the baseball as the Snitch," I told her. Yes, I know that's a stretch, but Quidditch is the only other sport she knows. "Whenever someone has the ball," I said, "that person has all the power."

The future of baseball looks bleak in the fall and winter. Then other sports take over, with their speed and slick television presence and infrastructural superiority. But summer is different. In the summer, baseball rules.

"Study Hall" is a longer comic which grew out of the comic diaries I kept throughout 2022-23, the year I tutored at MCI-Concord, a medium-security prison just outside Boston. What follows is a preliminary section from the comic. I'm still playing around with format and framing devices...let me know what you think?

Three Things That Kept Me Going This Week (give or take a few days...)

1. This essay about Cricket magazine and this one about reading curricula in NYC elementary schools seem linked to me and brought back memories of my own childhood love of reading. I too loved Cricket and read it religiously. Reading was my refuge (see family baseball game anecdote above) and I don't think screens compare when it comes to providing a truly immersive experience, one that takes you completely out of your world. (I speak from experience, having also watched a lot of TV as a kid.) As I persist in my efforts to turn Michaela into a book lover, I can relate all too well to Xochitl Gonzalez's parting words: "Knowing how to read is crucial, but loving to read is a form of power, one that helps kids grow into curious, engaged, and empathetic adults." 
2. That is a perfect segue to my next recommendation. I couldn't put down the Booker-prize winning novel Prophet Song, even though I read it with mounting anxiety over the fate of its characters. The book is set in an alternate reality in which an authoritarian regime has taken over Ireland. I have been surprised by reviews of the book, which are along the lines of "it could happen here." Um, sure. It could happen here, but it is already happening in several places—Ukraine, Palestine, anywhere that people are forced into displacement. The real takeaway for me wasn't a clearer sense of looming disaster in my own country, but rather a visceral understanding of what it must be like for millions of other people who are forced to make terrible choices because there are no good choices to make. (Speaking of, don't miss this five-minute NPR interview with the surgeon who saved Senator Tammy Duckworth's life about the intolerable suffering of injured civilians in Gaza.)
3. I knew nothing about "Little Bear Ridge Road" aside from the fact that it starred Laurie Metcalf which was enough to make me buy tickets. She was excellent, of course. The play isn't perfect (a main character is underdeveloped, which makes them hard to find sympathetic), but it is poignant and often hilarious. Also makes excellent use of a worn pleather couch as its single prop.
4. Bonus Plant-Related Item: I have previously mentioned the Royal Horticultural Society's podcast, my go-to comfort listen when I need a break from the news. This past week they covered The Pansy Project, a guerrilla gardening action undertaken by artist Paul Harfleet, who plants a pansy at the site where a homophobic act took place. The etymology of the flower's name, as Harfleet writes on his website, "originates from the French verb; penser (to think), as the bowing head of the flower was seen to visually echo a person in deep thought."

That's all for this week. Thanks for putting up with increasingly random releases of Mushroom Head. I'm having trouble following my own deadlines as summer schedules keep throwing me off. I think I will continue to send out letters every other week for the remainder of the summer. That feels a little more sane.

xo,

Claire

Thank you for reading! If you're new here, welcome. Mushroom Head is a comic diary about me, Claire, a middle-aged lady who lives in Oak Park. Previous installments recorded the time I thought I'd ODed on THC and my experience parenting a person with ADHD as a person who has ADHD. There are also occasional forays into the surreal. If you'd like to get in touch with me, please feel free to respond directly to this email. I'm always happy to hear from you! (Also, you might want to put the Mushroom Head email address into your contacts to avoid having it go to your junk folder.) And if someone forwarded this email to you, I encourage you to subscribe.