When I woke up this morning I felt sure that I was living in America. There is so much uncertainty in the world these days, but, nonetheless, I felt confident about this. My hunch was confirmed by the rather large American flag flying over the Green and the fact that everyone was speaking English. Seeing as this is America and springtime is finally here, I was determined to play catch with my roommate after class. However, in my haste to re-pack my bags before my return journey to Hanover, I apparently forgot to pack a baseball. For shame!
Despite this error on my part, I remained unfazed. Surely there would be someplace in town to buy a lowly baseball. This is America after all -- baseball is our national pastime. I remember when my dad first taught me how to play catch. I remember throwing a ball around with my brother every spring and summer from the time we were but wee children. Come hell or high water, I would find a baseball in town.
The first place I tried was Omer and Bob's, our local sporting goods store. If anyone should stock baseballs it would certainly be a sporting goods store. I do not think that takes a huge leap of logic. I confidently strode up to the counter and inquired of the salesperson where I could find a baseball. Then, like a bucket of ice water being dumped on my head at four in the morning, I was informed that "we don't sell baseballs here." I need not describe my disappointment and confusion at receiving this rebuff, but suffice it to say, they were both considerable. My assurances that a baseball could be easily obtained in Hanover, N.H. proved to be unfounded. I searched up and down, high and low, on avenues and side streets -- literally everywhere I could think of, but no baseballs. None at all. Maybe I was wrong about this being America after all. Maybe we're actually living in a (cue onerous music here) communist country.
This is disgraceful, darn disgraceful. Baseball -- like Chevy trucks, Lucky Strike cigarettes and apple pie -- is an American tradition, a necessity of American life that should not be cast aside lightly. In fact, I feel that my fundamental liberties as a citizen of this country have been infringed upon aggressively. Just kidding. But seriously, this subversion of the American way of life will not stand. Someone in Hanover must man up and stock baseballs in their store for the spring and summer. After all, you know you can at least count on me to buy a few -- scout's honor.
In the meantime it appears I'm straight out of luck. I must welcome the spring season with empty hands and a sunken heart. Because of the irresponsible and unpatriotic store policies of Hanover shopkeepers, who have denied me this annual rite of spring, I have no choice but to do the unthinkable, the unimaginable -- play Frisbee.
