Well…the pitchers and catchers are scheduled to report tomorrow.
Normally, today would be a day of hopeful anticipation. Spring will come and the voice of the turtle will be heard over the land. The boys of summer will go back to work…playing a game…THE game. The geography of grass and chalk lines – the textures of leather, and horsehide, and stitches – the susurrus of a shirt-sleeved assemblage, the crack of a bat, and the primal scream of a winter-rested umpire – will all hint that some un-urgent sense and poetry might still redeem us.
It’s gray and rainy almost every day.
Mr. Trump inhabits the one house he can never own but only continue to degrade.
We still allow 19-year-olds to slaughter our children with AK-whatevers.
And many Kentuckians fear the end of the world.
The Kentucky basketball team is threatened with losing a number four seed in the NCAA tournament if they fail to demolish their opponent today. If that’s not the end of the world, I don’t know what is.
My advice to the pitchers and catchers? Delay packing for tomorrow until the UK game is decided. Tomorrow’s reporting may be cancelled due to the end of the world.
But on the other hand…
It’s not snowin’, the house is snug and dry and warm, and inhabited by Janie on this Valentine’s Day.
I’m gonna vote every time I’m allowed and vote loud and the results of my winning vote will not be able to spell “NRA”.
And we might win today. Frankly, I like our chances.
Maybe that’s all just me lookin’ at the world through blue-tinted glasses. Ma vie en bleu, n’est-ce pas?
Maybe I’m just jonesin’ for baseball.
I gotta start workin’ on World Series tix.