On why Thomas Boswell is absolutely right

Time, indeed, DOES begin on Opening Day.
******

That the estimable Mr. Boswell, longtime author and columnist for the Washington Post, is one of the finest baseball writers currently breathing is beyond dispute. His book, Why Time Begins on Opening Day remains, 25 years after it was published, required reading for anyone calling themselves a baseball fan. For me, it's an annual experience, one I usually undertake during Spring Training. In fact, I'm going to dig up my well-thumbed copy right now.


It's so much more than a game. It is, concurrently, a rite of time's passage, an exercise in history, and the background music of my life.

In Ken Burns' series on baseball, the eminent historian, Gerald Early, pretty much sums it up for me, thus: "In a thousand years, when historians of that time look upon the contributions of America, they will focus on three specific things: the Constitution, Jazz music, and baseball."

As spring once again segues into summer, we find ourselves as a family asking every day, "OK, who's got a game today, and where?" Our two boys play it compulsively and well (to their dad's ceaseless delight), and these evenings are filled with the sights and sounds of the game.

That these two young guys have inherited my love for this greatest of games makes all the running around, all the nights of concession-stand food, all the hours of coaching, raking, and exhorting more than merely "worth it".

It's what I do, and I'd have it no other way. To see a kid's face light up after he's succeeded, perhaps for the first time in his life, on the ballfield is so much more than just a moment's achievement. It's a sign that maybe, just maybe, I've helped create another baseball fan.

Until next time,

Excelsior!

On why March is just the bestest month

Thank God. It's March.
******

Bride's birthday, and her best friend's a week later, combine to form a week of reveling we call "Jubilee", and as this is written, we are in Day 6 thereof. We have conference championship basketball on the tube (ACC quarters, Duke-UVA), and the snow outside, twenty inches deep just two weeks ago, is steadily receding in the face of ten days' worth of actual Spring-like temperatures. The furnace is kicking in less often; can it actually be Spring?

Sure feels like it.

Sunday is Selection Sunday, the official start of the greatest sporting event known to Man. 65 teams from across the land (including our hometown Siena Saints, MAAC champs for the third straight year) will kick off play on Tuesday in the NCAA basketball championship.

God, I love March.

The tournament takes you through the balance of the month, which begets Opening Day, which begets the Masters. Hope springs anew; Mother Earth decides she'll start playing nice again with the weather, and my boys and I get back out onto baseball fields. The long winter of our discontent may not be completely over, but the end is nigh.

God, I truly love March.

Next up are tournament and MLB predictions, all of which are certain to go horribly wrong.

Until then,

Excelsior!