Not sure if anyone else out there can feel it, but it's that time of year again. This day can be poetic, as we discuss the smell of the grass, or the sunshine touching down in left field; but to me, it's about tradition. The winter is at its end, the days are longer, and sight of children dragging their parents by the hand, heading to the park, to cheer on their heroes, blooms like a flower.
To me baseball has always been about more than wins and loses; runs and hits. It may sound cliche, but to me, it has always been about hope. You hope every to see a no hitter, or that one big home run. You hope the rain holds off, and that the hot dogs are as delicious as ever. But most importantly, you hope that one of those kids, tugging at their parent's hand, leaves that day, falling in love with something more than a game, but a way of life.
My relationship with the game, and that with my father, went hand in hand to shaping my childhood. As a kid, it's a chance to be with your pops, and as you grow, it becomes a devotion. Soon, it will be a chance for me to share a passion with my children, and on and on, it continues. Joy, and heartbreak....and hope; passed on, through generations.
When asked what he did throughout the winter, Rogers Hornsby once said, "I sit at the window and wait for the spring". Well spring is upon us. Another season is upon us......more memories, wait in the wind.
So, as with the beginning of every season, put on the cap, pound back some franks, and get ready to stretch...and to start us off, in the words of the ump. Let's play ball!
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