In struggling with the grief of the world in 2020, Blaseball was a respite. On its surface, it's a harmless free game that doesn’t ask for your money, only your attention. The tone of the game is soft despite the black background of the website. Emojis are used to represent each team, and with the abundance of strange team names like the Canada Moist Talkers, it's likely the available emojis informed those strange names. The communities that built up around each team were unique, creative, and fun. As the seasons continued we started to connect with the players and the fake world we had built for them, where glolf was illegal, Canada had sunk into the ocean, and the Seattle Garages were one large touring band that always had gigs in the cities they were coincidentally playing in Blaseball. The community is competitive like a good sport should be, but we were kind to each other, making sure we respected each other team’s choices. 

During Blaseball I grew attached to one player, in particular, Ortiz Morse. He was a bad pitcher, a half-star on a scale that sometimes surpassed five stars. He had one low stat in particular, "Ruthlessness", that made him super likely to throw balls rather than strikes. He was so bad, people made memes about not being mad at him. But he also threw a no-hitter at one point, for many seasons he led the entire league in walks, and was narratively connected to some of the greatest moments in Blaseball's narrative like Jaylen Hotdogfinger's reign.

For a few years there, I had that same sign printed out above my computer monitor. 

Now, in 2025, I kinda miss the community Blaseball gave me, in the face of the horrors that are all around us. 

But mostly, I really miss Ortiz Morse, because, in these times of modern horrors and fears, they're winning most days, just like they were in 2020.

Back in 2020, on a little sticky note below that sign, right below "Ortiz Morse is trying his best", I had written "and so am I".

I'm still just trying my best.