Spring training has begun. Hard to believe since it’s under ten degrees outside [here]. It doesn’t even feel like spring. Winter seems here to stay. Unless you’re part of the grapefruit or cactus leagues.
It seems like only yesterday, in September, the teams were vying for playoff spots, wearing long sleeves (and even balaclavas), and nearly shivering. I can’t imagine it’ll be much better this April (it wasn’t last April).
Sure, it’s warm in Florida [where the Tigers play]; but opening day is in Detroit. Who knows what the weather will be like then…or if the snow will have melted completely.
I’m just glad the season’s almost here. Not for redemption. Not for fantasy leagues. Not even for 162 games to determine a playoff spot. I’m looking forward to wearing a new groove into my couch while I watch my team, win or lose, day in and day out (as long as I’m home); but most of all, I’m looking forward to baseball. The herald of spring–snow will melt–the forerunner of summer–seriously, there’s hope the snow will melt–and perhaps the hope that snow might melt (I mean, my street’s like a bobsled course, I can’t move out of the grooves because of the deep ruts of ice).
Baseball season begins. Kids look forward to the end of school. It’s nearly barbecue season. Dad’s look forward to standing in front of a grill. Baseball brings us together (in front of the TV), the American pastime (like eating apple pie), and unites us in a common cause: yelling at umpires (isn’t that the point of watching sports?).