This baseball is representative of all that we are. Whether she be torn, broken, ripped apart, and abandoned on the diamond -- this baseball is us.
Each scratch upon its horsehide is a testament to the unflinching will of the American people, and each of its one-hundred and eight handwoven threads is a reminder of the blood that's been shed for all who call themselves free in the world.
We've been tossed around, battered, and drug across the dirt, yet we come back at the beginning of every inning, ready for the next at-bat.
We've struck out and flown afoul of our ideals and dreams, but with just as much effort we've soared into the heavens and beyond.
Far above the sweat of the pitcher’s brow and the clench of the baseman’s glove -- we tore across the sky in a comet’s ark to the realm where legends are remembered.
America may have forgotten herself for a time, but the relief of the seventh-inning stretch is only a few swings away, and there's still hope for the series to come.