Spring has sprung here in Cincinnati, where your inveterate host is stationed for the foreseeable future. Spring brings us to the inevitable thoughts of baseball, and hot dogs, and high skies, and pop-flys; strike outs, dugouts, and blowouts; double plays and backwards K's; Take Me Out to the Ballgame, The Hall of Fame, and learning the new guys' names. The Poet-Commissioner A. Bart Giamatti said it best and this is an excellent place for his words :
" It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. You count on it, rely on it to buffer the passage of time, to keep the memory of sunshine and high skies alive, and then just when the days are all twilight, when you need it most, it stops."
A love-song in prose, to a game nonetheless. Luckily, we stand today on the precipice of "the spring, when everything else begins again," and wonder what surprises and glories time has in store for us this year.
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