The Expos are still in Montreal, the Twins are in the Twin Cities and Bud Selig is still commissioner of Major League Baseball.
Somehow.
Break out the bats and balls and get the spikes out of the closet. On Thursday, the sun rises and the flowers bloom, at least metaphorically — pitchers and catchers will report to spring training.
It is the time of the year where hope springs eternal. The grass is just beginning to turn that beautiful shade of green, and the dew from the early morning is just right on those small blades of grass.
The crack of the bat is audible and has that sweet sound to it. Pitchers run wind sprints during games, hoping not to have to dodge long fly-balls hit by the opposing team’s batters.
And the fans can see a game without having to fork over $50 to sit four levels above the playing field.
It almost makes a person want to move to Arizona for that one month.
The games are played at places like Scottsdale Stadium, Chain of Lakes Park and even Baseball City Stadium. These fields and parks don’t have the distant memories and ghosts of past greats, but they do have an innocence about them.
Sponsorship deals haven’t invaded these pearls of baseball purity. There is no “Enron” stapled to the boards at Hi Corbett Field in Tucson, Ariz. “Safeco” isn’t plastered on the walls of the entrance to Peoria Stadium in Arizona.
The game is pure and natural to the fans who invade the turnstiles during the weekdays during spring training. The sweet Arizona sun and Florida mornings lend to the purity of spring training. Regular season games used to be played primarily during the day. Night games were the minority.
Now, all but a handful of teams play most, or all regular season games under fake light.
But that isn’t the case during spring training. Pitchers throw under the gleaming glow of the sun, the way the game was meant to be played. Batters have to account for the shadows overhead, and infielders have to shield their eyes from deep blue skies.
Beautiful.
The way the sun lights up the grass and brings the game alive is unrivaled by any other sport.
Football may have its rain, snow and sleet, basketball its glowing lights, and hockey its bone-chilling ice — but baseball has it all.
To spend one day at the old field, soaking up the sun’s rays and sipping a Coke while watching your favorite team play, well, is bliss.
What makes spring training even greater is that every major league team reports to Arizona and Florida with a full belief that it has the chance to win it all. Sure, the New York Yankees can rest assured that this will be the case come September, but at least everyone gets the feeling in February and March.
And yes, this means even the Cubs and the Red Sox.
But didn’t it just feel like the Yankees and Arizona Diamondbacks were capping off one of the most historical World Series of all? It wasn’t even 100 days ago that Curt Schilling and Randy Johnson were standing at the podium as co-MVP’s.
That, however, really doesn’t matter. Spring training is a magical place. Thirty-five-year-old stars mingle with newly drafted 19-year-olds for a month that is the closest thing to spiritual that professional sports can bring.
It is the time of the year where men can be boys.
Forget contracts, forget labor negotiations, even forget starting rotations. Spring training is the closest thing to purity on Earth. Baseball is paramount during spring training.
That’s hard to find these days.
Bring on the crackling sounds of baseball spikes on cement. Bring on the screams of the peanut vendor. Bring on the umpire calling out, “Play Ball.”
I’m ready.