If you have to be sick, there is perhaps no better time than the first week of October. You schlep through the morning, eat lunch, and then settle on the couch for the buffet of baseball that awaits. On Tuesday and Wednesday, there were games at 1 o’clock, 3 o’clock, 6 o’clock and 9 o’clock – nearly 12 hours of non-stop baseball. And not just any baseball; playoff baseball, in which every pitch, every at-bat throbs with significance. And the early games gave you the unparalleled sight of a sunlit outfield, shadows falling across the infield, the ancient architecture of the sport.
