English class will never be baseball.
Cracking open a book can’t compete with the crack of the bat and the crowd’s cheers for you.
Fumbling through Homer’s The Odyssey will feel more like fumbling a grounder in the bottom of the ninth during a tied game than hitting a homer to win it all.
Throwing words around with a pen and paper to write an essay will never rival throwing warm-up pitches in the bullpen.
The thunk of the catcher’s hand pounding his mitt between curveballs and changeups will never sound like “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty” nor The Catcher in the Rye.
Wry puns and satire will never play hardball in your playbook. Three strikes you’re out and triple plays are more important to you than the rule of threes and idioms.
Sliding into second and shaking hands at the game’s end will never be sliding into the second act of a Shakespeare play.
And that’s just fine, sluggers, because English class isn’t supposed to be baseball, but the real MVPs and big leaguers value both.
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