That Time of Year

As snow turns to rain and ice to slush and the dirty piles of old precipitation are washed away from curbs and lots, our brains thaw to thoughts of spring. For some of us, particularly those of us out here in Oppo Field, thoughts of spring are automatically appended by thoughts of training, thoughts of diamonds, thoughts of cacti and grapefruit. It's that time of year. To wit: "People ask me what I do in winter when there's no baseball. I'll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring."

Rogers Hornsby summed up what I imagine many players and fans feel, but it's a feeling that can only be described as personal, despite the universal nature of the thing. Our individual relationships with the game are unique to each of us, and the overwhelming feeling of relief when it returns after a long winter next to a hot stove brings with it our own singular sensations, distinctive memories--such is the beauty of the beast. There are infinite possibilities.

When we’re young, we’re invincible. We’re not afraid. We walk on sidewalks without shoes. We crash our bikes on purpose. We play sports. We aspire. We have not yet lost the hopes of little league shortstops and sandlot pitchers everywhere, though 99% of us will. But as those fireballing bucket catch hopes fade (and they always fade, never come crashing down, because we’ll cling to them until the very last, and perhaps not even submit them then), another refinement emerges from the game. We notice the gamesmanship, the clockwork, the circuitry of it. It’s no longer a wild animal to be feared and conquered, but a curious creature to be looked upon and understood. It’s equivalent to growing up, to seeing the world as it truly is. And we realize, we may not be invincible, but neither is anyone else.

Welcome to Oppo Field. The season's warming up and so are we.