Well, spring training is beginning. Pitchers who don't want to be there and catchers who will be lucky to have equipment that fits report today. It won't be long before we're sitting in the bleachers at our favorite park, critiquing professional ballplayers younger than us, and hazily judging the acceptability to take our shirt off (Tip: Do it. Why, not?).
Because of blessed global warming, it's been an unusually warm February here in the Midwest. My buddies and I got the first game of wiffleball in last weekend. We play a bastardized version of "indian ball," where we employ arbitrary rules about what is a single/double/triple. This is all fine and dandy until I bat however. I am the only one of us that bats lefty. So while they hit home runs (over the fence in the neighbers yard) on a regular basis, I am left hitting the ball into brush pile, which convienient is always a single. (No matter what anybody tells you, it is impossible to hit a wiffleball the other way.) One of my favorite aspects of a wiffleball game is the lawnchair strike zone. It's such a perfect size that you know its dual use is the work of Divine intervention.
I plan on having a bit of a preview of the MLB teams soon, so keep one eye peeled and one open for that. The picture is Anthony Raneri of the band Bayside. It looks like someone just went up to him and said "hold this" *click* "thanks, yo." It's courtesy of major league wiffleball.
Here's a bit of what's been in my ear lately. It's from Ben Nichols new solo debut titled The Last Pale Light in the West. By the way, if anyone knows of a good mp3 player for blogs, let me know. I'm not sure how I feel about this one.
Otherwise, let me know how you are getting ready for the season. How do you think your team will do? Which one of your players is most likely to get indicted for using illegal drugs (thought I wouldn't mention it, din ya?)?