[...]What are the actual rules of baseball? When I was around 8 years old, I asked myself this question while attempting to play it with my friends. We all had a completely different idea of how one plays it. A serious dilemma for half of a dozen kids outside post-soviet block building to decide who will be a hitter. A hitter was the coolest position one can have that's why every one of us had a DIY baseball bat ornamented with some permanent markers, with an obviously winning colour combination of red and black. Mine was made from a hazelnut tree stem that bowed just a few days after crafting it. I thinned out the grip area with a pocket knife that was secretly taken from the forbidden drawer at home. The knob had very clear knife marks that bothered me a little. It had my whimsical drawing of flames and the word "turbo" written in capital italic. The colour of barkless hazelnut changed over a few days, and I was concerned about how my flames were not looking as good as they used to. The most real thing about baseball for me was the bat and the craftsmanship behind it and the whole idea of Baseball. The only thing that excited me in the game was that split second of hitting a ball- an innocent burst of violent, childish force. I have to admit I still have no idea how to play baseball, nor I did I know that the little oval part at one end of the baseball bat iscalled the knob hitherto this reflection. Baseball was quasi-real for us- we knew of it, but the rules were like a myth entangled with different interpretations. It made sense, and it was completely nonsensical simultaneously. We could touch it, but it was slipping away from us with any attempt to define how we play it. Why did we have the urge to play baseball in the first place? […]