Pitchers and Catchers

Only two more days remain when the three most glorious words in the English language are realized. Pitchers and Catchers. For some, these words mean everything. Others it means nothing. So, what it means for people who care, this coming Sunday, Major League Baseball returns from its somnolent winter solstice to the front lobe of baseball brainiacs around the country with the arrival of pitchers and catchers to their spring training camps in Florida and Arizona. To those who don't care about baseball and this annual spring rite of passage, stop reading right now and switch on the Animal Planet and watch the march of the Emperor penguins in Antarctica.

Spring training for the baseball loving faithful represents everything....especially hope. As Andy Dufresne wrote to Red about hope in Shawshank Redemption, "Hope is a good thing. Maybe the best of things. And no good thing ever dies." With all due respect to Andy, I can't see much hope coming out of the perennial baseball wastelands of Kansas City, Pittsburgh, Miami, Baltimore, San Diego, Phoenix, Oakland or Seattle. Thank God I'm not a baseball fan of one of those cities. So much daily summer torture for those fans. God bless 'em. For the rest of us, notwithstanding, superb Giant pitching and a retooled Red Sox battery, there are many other teams out there, ie., St. Louis Cardinals, that have a chance to wear the crown in October. One thing's for certain, we all start fresh 0-0. How we finish at the end of a 162 game season is whole other kettle of fish.

This time of year I get the urge to migrate south to Roger Dean Stadium in Jupiter, Florida to see my beloved St. Louis Cardinals get in shape for the season. A couple of years, I surrendered to my passion flew cross country and visited RDS to see the Redbirds with my son, Jack. We wanted to see how the ballclub looked in person before the drama of the regular season. Crack of the bat. Pop of the glove. Spitting. Patting. Yanking crotch. Teaching. We experienced it all. We were this close to the players. Major and minor leaguers, relaxed playing the game we all loved and love. We were like little kids in a candy store. There's Albert...there's Yadi...there's Tony.

Don't know what it is about baseball but it makes you feel like you're back in third grade. A mystery of life, I guess. You remember, the first sign of spring, you sleep with your glove/ball under the mattress to get it broken in just right. Then oil it to soften the leather. Warm up the arm with your brother or friend. Now those ARE fond memories of one's past.

Enough nostalgia. If you love baseball, go to Spring Training. It's on my bucket list to do every year.

Play ball.