It’s time

  • Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Itís time. Finally.

The ridiculousness that is the Super Bowl has passed.

We donít have to worry about whether or not anybody actually played during the halftime show or why Peyton Manning and the Broncos came unglued from the gameís first play.

We donít have to worry about the weather Ė not yet anyway Ė since everybody is in Florida and Arizona.

We donít have to worry about snow and ice, and blizzards, and why the City of Atlanta didnít call off school before the ice storm hit Ė almost exactly 14 years after the cityís last ice storm hit in 2000, which was coincidentally three days before the Super Bowl that turned into a nightmare worthy of an Arnold Scharzeneggar Mr. Freeze performance.

We donít have to worry about the dangers of falling ice off the Ravenel Bridge.

Or frozen pipes.

Four words make this all better: Pitchers and catchers report.

Hearing those four words are like a sigh of relief. I can feel the weight of the world slipping off my shoulders.

Yes, we are still in the throes of basketball season.

College hoops have their March Madness that doesnít end until April Anarchy before Easter. The NBA will be playing through July.

And hockey?

Except for the games played outside, who cares about hockey?

You canít play hockey when you have no ice and we live in the South where there is noÖ

Okay, scratch that, the South did have ice last week, but you canít play hockey where you have palm trees. Anaheim and Los Angeles, the Ducks and Kings, played a hockey game at Dodger Stadium. There are palm trees there. That doesnít work. Just like hockey doesnít work in the desert in places like Phoenix.

I hear the Stingrays are considering playing an outdoor game at Joe Riley Park.

That would be cool if it wasnít 75 degrees outside.

But itís middle February and a young manís thoughts turn not to love but baseball. The grass is turning green. The baselines are marked and that brilliant orange infield dirt has been smoothed over.

There is nothing more pleasing to the eye than a freshly cut, dragged and lined baseball field.

The dramas of the off-season are cast aside.

A-Rod is gone.

The Yankees may have signed every free agent available to seven-and-eight year contracts but they will still not advance beyond the first round of the playoffs next fall.

Will the Red Sox do the beards thing again?

And what about the Cubs?

Will they be that bad again?

And whatever happened to Albert Pujols and Josh Hamilton? Are either of them still playing?

Weíll find out the answer to all these in the next few weeks as itís time to play baseball.

Spring is drawing near, which means warm weather again.

I drove by Berkeley High School last night and I saw the field lights on at Bradley Field.

It reminded me of Field of Dreams.

And I just had to detour around the school to catch a look.

Seeing the guys on the field washed away all the angst and pent-up aggression that has been festering since I bailed on my New Yearís Resolutions about 10 days into January.

Yes, itís time.

Finally.

I slept like a baby last night.

Play ball.

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