Spring is in the Air – Training, That Is

Last week was official when our “summer millionaires” headed to Jupiter, Florida, to wallow in the fresh green grass, do endless sit-ups, and make the rest of us wish we had worked harder to snatch that little jump home. . he left when we were twelve.
This ritual of the arrival of mid-February brings hope to all humanity, especially in our city. I just know that I can visit one of our teachers and learn about the return of pitcher Chris Carpenter or Skip Schumachers opportunities to dominate second base. The other day at Shop & Save, the developmentally disabled courtesy clerk I know ran down the frozen food aisle when he saw me wearing my Cardinal jacket to tell me that he had just bought tickets for his annual trip south to see his friends. beloved Redbirds.

And then there’s his son, Tim, who’s such a fan of the Cardinals that he rarely leaves the house without one of his ST / L hats stuffed on his head. Of course, I know that professional athletes get a little overpaid. I know the steroid mess is only going to get more complicated. I remember how the club owners complained and held their breath and threatened to take their ball and go to Collinsville to seal the deal at their new stadium. And yes, Ball Park Village has been a local joke for over three years. Visit:- https://www.yankeejournal.com/

The logical person knows all this. But color me crazy red if you wish, I am still excited about the arrival of a new season.
Maybe it’s because of those 50’s nights when I sat half a meter in front of the black and white TV console watching the games on Channel 2. I’m sure it can be traced back to falling asleep on a wet night of summer listening to the almost magical broadcasts of Harry Caray. Or it could be the pride of the winning tradition of a franchise that was for many years the most western and southern major league team, with fans scattered across the country. It might explain why I’ve stowed myself to petty theft, picking up a handful of warning clues from both old Busch and Yankee Stadium. (Don’t tell anyone, okay?)

Whatever the reason, however it happened, I’m ready to play baseball. I can even get to a few games, despite this being a beer and a warm hot dog that costs more than my first car. It will bring back the memories of taking the gang to the seats in the nosebleed section, or Jill and I sitting with Gramma Mamie in the right-field corner, or the playoff game with my kids in 04 when Pujols and Rolen threw themselves back. with back. home runs in the eighth inning to come from behind in a steady rain and beat the hated Astros.
Simple, can you say? Yes, guilty of the charges. But as any true baseball fan knows, there’s nothing in sports quite like the chill that runs down your spine on opening day when the umpire points to the mound and the first fastball appears for a called strike.

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