Baseball and Proust: Memories of Games Past We run into trouble when we start double-checking those memories on that cerebral cortex of the ether -- the internet . . . By Kendric W. Taylor
Marcel Proust bit into a French pastry and all his childhood memories came rushing back. Probably not a baseball fan, for Proust, the crack of a bat against ball in spring signified nothing beyond annoyance, as he hated loud noises, but for my red-blooded American youth, that sound meant two immediate things: baseball, and cutting school for Opening Day. However, it turns out, unlike Proust, who seemed to have total recall, memories of those wonderful mileposts sometimes turn out not exactly as remembered, sort of an “Uncertain Remembrance of Things Past.” We all know memory takes on shades with age, and to delve into even more high-toned references, instead of retaining the sharpness of a Leonardo drawing, they become unfocused and misty like a Turner seascape. But they are no less cherished, not so much how accurate they are, but 42
