Pitchers, Catchers, And The Hope Of Spring
Baseball’s arrival brings freedom from the darkness of winter.
It’s February. There’s a light frost on my car windshield and a promise of snow next week. Some of my neighbors still have their Christmas lights up. Yet on this morning, I wake up with my thoughts on baseball, as if spring has already arrived.
The phrase “pitchers and catchers” has a way of confusing my brain into thinking winter is over. Even though the National Hockey League season is merely halfway done, the first sign of spring training pushes me into baseball mode. It means it’s not too early to start thinking about Opening Day, milder days and longer nights, and the possibility that this season will last well into October for my team.
The arrival of pitchers and catchers sets off sonic, tactile memories; smells, sights and sounds that are entwined with both spring and baseball. It ignites memories collected across more than 40 years — I won’t say how many more than 40 — as a fan of the sport. I store those recollections in a small compartment of my mind until each season, the floodgates open and it’s all there for me to experience: The powdery feel of the gum in a new pack of baseball cards; warm spring breezes that smell like lilacs; Bob Sheppard’s voice reverberating in my head (for some reason, he’s always announcing Don Mattingly’s name in these memories); the sound of the television in my parents’ backyard echoing the call of a game into the neighborhood; the slow motion cadence of the game itself, signifying the laid back nights of summer.
The arrival of baseball season brings hope along with it.
It’s a long season. Anything can happen. At least that’s what you tell yourself when your team starts off slow. April. May. June. Still so much time to enjoy the cover of warm weather, hoping that the respite from the snow and biting wind will never end. Baseball means freedom from winter’s doldrums. It means summer vacation and the promise of picnics in the park and lazy days at the beach. It means renewal, and optimism and a sense that anything is possible again.
It’s only February.
Surely, there will be snow and ice and early sunsets and the drudgery of sloshing through the rest of winter, but the mind works in mysterious ways. “Pitchers and catchers” signals that the fog of winter will soon disperse, and the crack of the bat won’t be far behind. Soon I will hear my father’s taunts about the Yankees, and I’ll retort with good natured jabs about the Mets. I’m ready. I’m ready for box scores and hot dogs and peanuts and Cracker Jacks.
“Pitchers and catchers” have arrived and hope feels eternal. Spring feels like it’s already here.
Play ball.
