A Passionate Celibacy
There is no sex in spring training, at least none involving me as far as I can tell. But a passionate celibacy is really what it feels like as of now.
So much information, so much baseball, yet none of it really matters. It's all foreplay, with the real thing a month away.
Which is really bloody annoying.
My frustration may also be at the fact that school work has conspired against me to give me no real leisure time in which to celebrate my newfound legality. It's been 3 days since my birthday, and no time for debauchery of any kind. I feel postively Puritanical.
Being neither a Twins fan nor old enough to remember him in his heyday, the passing of Kirby Puckett doesn't hit as hard as it might. However, as a fan of baseball history, I do mourn his too-early passing. My heart goes out to the Puckett family, his friends, and to Twinkies fans. I may mock them and their Hefty Bag outfield on occasion, but they are a really a sweet and lovely bunch.
May I respond to the recent sordid chapter of the Barry Bonds saga with a hearty "sdfjaskfpsasdfajkpfaspd."
At this point, I just wish it would go away.
Not in the manner of the ostrich, hiding his head in the sand.
The thing I hate most about this situation is being stuck in limbo like this, the hamster wheel spinning around and around.
Until the jackass out and out confesses. which he never will, there is no possibility of catharsis on the horizon. There is no way to exorcise this demon of our sport, there is no way to atone and move on. It's just this cloud hanging there, which we cannot disperse.
It will not go away. Barry Bonds refuses to just go away. There can be all the buildup and eveidence in the world, and yet nothing is really going to happen until it happens. That is the nature of the beast, and though Bud Selig is a weenie, it's not his beast, its creation is far and above this small little man.
And so I choose to read the articles, be angry for a while, and then be happy for the good things in baseball. Live my life as a fan without twisting in knots over the things that just have to work themselves out .
David Wells is staying. Hoo-freaking-ray.
Though it should provide some more entertainment for this year.
Dear Team USA,
You got your ass beat nearly single handedly by Adam. STERN.
Dear Adam Stern,
Where was THAT last year?
Dear Guys Masquerading Briefly As the Red Sox While The Captain's Away,
WE DO NOT GET BEAT BY THE FIRE SALE MARLINS 12-1.
NO, NOT EVEN IN SPRING TRAINING.
KEVIN YOUKILIS,I SEE YOU SNIGGERING IN THE BACK, THERE, DO NOT MOCK ME.
ASSES. IN GEAR. NOW!