Existentialism on Game Night: What is our purpose?

Life is mitigated chaos. It's mostly disjointed noise and arbitrary action that we attempt to ascribe meaning to, often fruitlessly. But there are salves for the existential burning; structures we employ to navigate the static. Baseball, with its rules and order, is one of the good ones. It makes sense.

And then a Colby Rasmus fouls a pitch that gets stuck in the rafters at Tropicana Field, and maybe it's a sign that none of us are doing what we're supposed to be doing at all:

These are the moments of lapse in our carefully curated baseball, the moments when we think we're going about our lives, doing our jobs and finding solace in the routine, and then the universe intercedes to remind us that it alone knows our true purpose. We are to do what it wishes us to do. This is existentialism on game night.

During a Padres-Pirates matchup on July 7, it rains. Each drop from the sky that falls onto the field is a symbol of man's futile attempts to control nature. When the Pittsburgh grounds crew tempts it with a tarp, nature answers back. It swallows a man whole in front of thousands of bystanders. 

A few days before, Kevin Kiermaier stands at first base, having just driven in a run with a single to center field. He thought he was doing what he was supposed to be doing. It's his job to stand on first as a baserunner. The universe sent a pigeon to argue otherwise.

As a shortstop, Eugenio Suarez thinks it is his purpose to stand between second and third base and field whatever baseballs come his way. This is how the position has been played for a hundred years. Baseballs are hit to fielders, who collect them in their gloves and send them on their way to other fielders. It's part of the contract between the humans and inanimate objects that make up this game of baseball. It is mutually agreed upon. Or at least, we humans thought it was mutually agreed upon.

Eric Hosmer knows all too well the curses of a rogue baseball. 

And what happens when two opposing purposes meet each other head on? What happens when baserunner Evan Gattis meets third baseman Adrian Beltre? The universe shuts down.

Adam LaRoche has been a hitter his whole life. He's had more than 6,000 Major League plate appearances. He's hit more than 250 home runs. But what if, all this time, he was supposed to be a pitcher?

Yordano Ventura is a pitcher, and pitchers aren't supposed to kick things. Or are they?

Another pitcher, Eddie Butler, finds himself on the basepaths. He knows he should run home, and he really tries to. But before he gets there, the invisible hand takes a break from manipulating the economy to manipulate Butler's skeleton.

Daniel Murphy tries to catch a pop fly, until it vanishes before his eyes.

Scott Van Skyle is bent to the will of gravity, even as he attemps a put out.

The month of July in MLB marked the halfway point of the season. Players continued doing their jobs, fans continued watching them do their jobs. Things were as they were supposed to be. We did as we should. But sometimes, the universe had other plans.

We are not meant to fight nature. We are meant to cower before its power.