The holidays are over and it’s mid- February. Sports fans who don’t have a vested interest in the NHL or NBA are starting to get itchy. NCAA and March Madness will satisfy them for a little while. As will the various Hot Stove Leagues.
But there is still something missing. The weather starts to warm up, grass starts to green up, birds and bees return. Trees and flowers start to bloom, but are little noticed. It is spring and time for baseball. Baseball, America’s Past Time, hot dogs, brats, beer, soft pretzels and, of course, peanuts in the shell. The smell of the grass and crack of the bat brings it all home as you smile and turn your winter weary face towards the warming sun.
From the deck off of my writing studio, I can see the marquees of Cheney Stadium are lit up. Advising motorists on Hwy 16 of opening day, and ticket packages, and updates on the Rainiers parent team, the Seattle Mariners. When the season opens I’ll be able to hear the roar of the crowd, see the lights and fireworks, and music, maybe catch the drifting smell of elk sausage or brats being grilled by the tailgaters. By the bottom of the 5th inning, they will have opened the gates and we can come and go as we please. As the seasons of nature and sports change, I am going through my own personal change. I hope you will come along for the ride.
Yes, baseball is good. Baseball is pure. Baseball is American. And, for a little while every year, at the beginning of baseball season, we can forget about what’s going on for a few hours and concentrate on 3 and 2 while we shell our peanuts.
Play Ball.
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