The weather has slowed almost all my creative productivity to a halt. The Republican Convention bored me so much I have nothing to say about it. The only saving grace at my job is the coffee highs on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The last of three women I sought affection from during the summer has left town on her continuing vision quest. The summer blockbuster movies have busted without fervor. All these things clued me in on one glaring fact--the dog days of summer have officially arrived.

Only one aspect of American culture truly appeals to me during the dog days, and that's baseball. Three hours of throwing, hitting and catching a small stitched raw hide ball await everyone at baseball parks around the country. In my corner of the world, I have the Triple A Albuquerque Dukes, but not for long.

The Dukes were sold to a new owner who is moving the team to Portland after the season. As a bit of irony, the Dukes are having their best season since 1994 when they won the Pacific Coast League World Series. They are currently 21 games over .500 and a virtual lock to make the playoffs, which will briefly extend their time in my town.

Even if the Dukes were playing lousy, I'd still be at the ballpark. Unlike any other sport, baseball is a metaphor for life (football is a metaphor for war, but that's another column).

There's the intellectual side to the game. By definition of the rules, everything in baseball has the potential to be infinite. Every at bat could last forever if the hitter keeps fouling off pitches. Every inning could last forever if the pitcher cannot get three outs. Every game could last forever if the teams cannot break the tie. But just like life, which seems like it could last forever, baseball games always end. Someone steps up to become a hero, or someone screws up to become a goat.

There's the hurry-up-and-wait aspect. Baseball is a game of leisure, and nothing will happen before everyone is good and ready. Every glorious or disastrous moment is surrounded by a lot of looking around, checking the runner, warm up swings, calling the pitch, and crouching into position. All for a brief moment when the pitcher throws the ball -- sending the game in motion for one to five seconds of action. Life happens pretty much the same way. A lot of waiting around and warming up for the brief moments when we are expected to perform. A lot of people say baseball is too slow and unwatchable, but these are the same people who spend two hours preparing and another two hours looking for the party. They are doing exactly what baseball does, except people score a lot more in baseball.

There's the lazy side. Let's face it. Baseball demands very little from its fans. Football fans have to harass opposing quarterbacks, basketball fans have to scream at the top of their lungs at every jump shot, hockey fans have to pound on glass and throw things on the ice. But baseball doesn't expect anything. If you want to yell at the umpire, go ahead. If you want to clap along with the organ ditties, feel free. If you want to do nothing but eat nachos and drink beer, you can do that too. You can do whatever you want within reason. Once again, just like life.

Each game provides a few lessons. In the game I attended last night, the Dukes were down 7-0 to the Omaha Golden Spikes going into the bottom of the fourth inning. The Dukes committed three errors in the first two innings. Things looked lousy and it appeared that it was going to be a long grueling night. But then their bats came alive, and the Dukes proceeded to score in each of the next five innings. Final score--Dukes-13, Golden Spikes-8. Dukes win, Dukes win!

Baseball is unpredictable. You can be down so low that it doesn't look like you can possibly recover, and suddenly, for almost no reason at all, it can swing the other direction and you can do no wrong. Batters can get into a 0 for 10 slump and then go 5 for 5 the next game. Pitchers can give up eight runs in one game and shut a team out the next one. Anything can happen. Anything can happen! I said anything can happen!!

In the depths of the August heat, nothing illustrates that fact of life better than a baseball game.

Chris Jungle ended his baseball career in the fourth grade after being hit in the head with the ball while batting and getting laughed at by the opposing team when he started to cry. Life is tough.