The best thing about baseball is the legends that build up around the game. There’s always a story, and it always has a whiff of the unreal, whether it’s Yogi Berra’s leaps in logic, Dock Ellis’ psychedelic-fueled no-hitter, Bo Jackson’s left-handed homer or the Curse of the Billy Goat on the Cubs (the bad vibes only being broken by a goat-eating contest at Chicago’s Taco in a Bag restaurant). Football is a game that mimics a medieval battle, but baseball is a carnival: Players don’t blitz and drive to conquer new land like helmeted knights, they run around a while, touch base with different people and then go home – hopefully driving a few other buddies home, too.

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