It’s 9:15pm on a Tuesday night and I’m sitting in our living room with the dog, watching Game 4 of the World Series. The game is tied and Dotel just walked Scutaro with four pitches. I sat down in time to see Buster Posey’s glorious, by the skin of its teeth homerun to tie it up. It’s fun watching him round the bases, finger in the air as the ball sails into the seats. Posey rarely shows emotion on the field and to see him triumphant and satisfied as he rounds first feels like the completion of his recovery.
Baseball starts in less than a week. A very small part of me is afraid that the start date is all a big joke by the MLB and we’ll all be expectant on Monday morning, but there will be no baseball. MLB will tweet “#AprilFoolsSuckas” and there will be a revolt.
Erm…what was I saying? Ah, yes. The start of the season. The start of the season! Real baseball in all its proper places! AT&T Park, garlic fries, McCovey Cove, sunsets, motherfriggin’ seagulls, the smells and sounds and how loud the ‘MVP! MVP! MVP!’ chants will be the first time Posey steps to the plate and and and and aaannnndddddd