As I sit here and write it is an amazing -3 degrees outside the window two feet to my left. However at this very same time there is a truck being loaded a few miles away that will carry the gear of my Minnesota Twins down to Florida for Spring Training. Pitchers and catchers report in eight days which means there’s going to be plenty of coverage of Joe Mauer on my local news station for the next six months.
This is an amazing thing.
Being as the sun does not do much for my skin and where I live summer means humidity and tornadoes, baseball is what I look to in these months for entertainment.
I think what I love best about the sport is that it’s nearly a daily activity. And, even if your team stinks as badly as the 2004 Tigers did, you still get to see them win forty-three times. This is something that cannot be said about any other sport.
Growing up I got to see Kirby Puckett and Kent Hrbeck play together.
Kirby was in Minnesota to what Michael Jordan was to the entire nation. An idol.
Baseball games for me usually go hand in hand with family time. Usually my cousins and I gear up in jerseys and homer hankies before buying tickets from scalpers on the street. We like to think we are quite sly about our purchasing methods, and I am certain the scalpers feel the same.
Once in our seats with dome dogs, soda and cotton candy at hand we whip out the digital cameras and begin making memories of the current game. Maybe instead we should have other people take the pictures as the angle is usually quite off.
Once the game begins we watch every play. Unless of course the gentlemen in the seats below us offer to buy adult beverages for my sister who will then feel the need to high-five everyone in the nearest three sections.
The greatest games are of course the games against the Yankees. Being only because of the animosity felt for that team by every other place in the country. Two years ago I went the opening game of a three game series against the Yankees and beer bottles were flying along with fists over a statement made about Jeter that was not PG rated. And it was Good Friday for crying out loud. “Minnesota Nice” does not resound when New York is in town.
This year begins with two huge blows: The loss of Tori hunter, who I loved. Also, Santana just got traded for four nobodies. I would like to officially welcome the four nobodies, whose names I don’t even know. I doubt you will fill the void of our Cy Young winner, but I will yell your names loudly as they are announced regardless.
So, yay, Spring training and baseball are beginning. I think this year my Twins may be awful, which I can accept. Now you are going to have to excuse me, I need to go start my car again to make sure the battery does not die before morning because the word spring means nothing here until April is over.