Time is awful.

This human construct keeps us organized and on track, but it is just cruel on a consistent basis. When we need more time, we’re cut short. When we need time to pass, it drags.

We wish our teams could have more time on the clock to mount a comeback, or less time so we can just win already.

Baseball doesn’t have a clock. At least it didn’t until Major League Baseball started installing pitch clocks in the minors and other clocks in parks to keep inning breaks short.

But the game is largely the same as it was in the 1900s. Those games were quicker because there was no television, but that’s beside the point.

Baseball has always been a strategic and mentally taxing game. Nobody is in a rush in a baseball game. Time doesn’t matter on a diamond.

Some argue the problem with the game is simply that nobody is in a rush and that there is no clock. Our society moves so quickly that it has stripped us of our focus and our patience.

I struggle with both of those, but I will always love a baseball game without time constraints.

As a person who is always on the move, consistently working almost nonstop since elementary school, watching or covering baseball forces me to throw out the clock.

I’ve tried to take the same approach that I bring to a baseball field to my life this semester, sometimes unsuccessfully, but other times rewarding.

This is my last semester here. These are my last days at Point Park. This is my penultimate sports column.

My column has meant a lot to me over the last four years, and I’ll touch on that next week in my 100th and final Croup’s Corner in The Globe.

I’ve enjoyed writing these weekly pieces, but lately I’ve tried to ignore the clock when writing. Journalism is a deadline-heavy industry, and I’ll have those for the rest of my life. I never missed a deadline for this column and it hasn’t missed an issue since I took it over in January 2015.

But as the months remaining turned into weeks and the weeks turn into days, I’ve slowly been hit with the realization that the end is near.

I feel like I need more time here. I feel like I haven’t done enough. I’m my biggest critic and I look back with few regrets, but I’m never satisfied. Even still, I realize that it’s time to move on. Even when we don’t want something to end and something else to begin, we don’t really have a choice. When it’s time, it’s time.

I’ve had a great time in this corner and at this university. If I can encourage the reader to take anything away from this column and this life experience, it’s to throw out the clock sometimes.

Time really is awful. It never works in our favor, but it always will exist. We can’t control time, so we have to make the most of what we have while we have it.

Next week will be my last and I’ll say my goodbyes. For now, I’m doing what I hope I would do more: Worry less about the clock and more about enjoying the little things in life.

The clock will always move on, but moments in life will end. Enjoy them while they last. And take life one pitch at a time.