I would argue that if you're trying to decide when to leave a ballgame, especially based on whether the game will be "exciting" or not, you've totally missed the point of baseball.

Whatever the reason, it seemed to me that I was investing more and more in baseball, making the game do more of the work that keeps time fat and slow and lazy. I was counting on the game's deep patterns, three strikes, three outs, three times three innings, and its deepest impulse, to go out and back, to leave and to return home, to set the order of the day and to organize the daylight. I wrote a few things this last summer, this summer that did not last, nothing grand but some things, and yet that work was just camouflage. The real activity was done with the radio--not the all-seeing, all-falsifying television--and was the playing of the game in the only place it will last, the enclosed green field of the mind. There, in that warm, bright place, what the old poet called Mutability does not so quickly come.

This link is getting fucked up because of the tilde inside (mk using \ before the tilde also doesn't help) but: https://mason.gmu.edu/~rmatz/giamatti.html