German Baseball: A Cure for Insomnia

On a morning so fine that most Germans dared to wear their sandals without socks, I cycled past Berlin’s Apostolic Nunciature where Polish-language services had just ended. It was the day of the Poland vs. Germany European Cup game, and as I pedaled through a blast of excited consonants, I could tell exactly what the Poles had been praying for at Mass. It may seem callous, but at that particular moment, I didn’t much care if their prayers were answered. Two years ago, when I made the decision to move to Berlin, I imagined how liberating it…

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