Almost Spring. . .

This image is an icon for what has become the best part of the baseball season:  the four or five wItsSpringeeks before it actually begins.  In the preseason every team is a contender.  Every rookie is about to embark on a hall of fame career.  Every grizzled veteran is going to have one more year of glory.

In that springtime of the imagination, the scoreboards don’t have jumbotrons. The only sound you hear between innings is the quiet chatter of fans trying to decide if the hot dog vendor is going to come around again soon, or if it’s worth making the trek to the snack bar underneath the grandstand.  Others are engaged in an ongoing Talmudic dispute concerning the virtue of speed versus power in the home team’s line up.

The batter steps to the plate–built like a Greek God rather than the Incredible Hulk.  He digs in with his spikes, and flicking the bat back and forth fluidly, squints out at the pitcher in the bright sunlight.  Play ball. . .

Does it get any better than that?

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