It is Valentine’s Day and I long to hear my beloved whisper those words that every woman wants to hear:
“Pitchers and catchers report on Thursday.”
It is the time of year when you start to forget what baseball feels like. It is 18 degrees. The fields are blank white pages waiting to be filled with the season’s stories. The baseball being played indoors seems like a cheap imitation. Crisp plastic astro-turf grass. Fielding drills without a field. Hitting off the predictable, soulless mechanical arm of a machine. Being Yasiel Puig on Playstation 4 instead of you. Soon we will be taunted and harassed by images of swaying palm trees and sunny, blue Florida skies.
The closer we get, the further away it seems.