The Major League Baseball season starts today for the Brewers, with my home team taking on the Cubs at 1:30 down in Chicago.
I just can’t get into it this year. I’m trying, I’m trying. I bought a fantasy baseball guide but never opened it, I thought about renewing my XM subscription but didn’t – hell, I didn’t even know it was Opening Day until a co-worker whined about her husband taking a vacation day for the event.
Two Red Sox championships in four years did a lot of damage to my soul. The @$*7& Cubs taking the division in ’07 didn’t help. The Yankees post-season woes continue to dishearten me. And the Brewers epic collapse last year – while predictable – was another nail in the coffin.
Have steroids dampened my interest too? Heck no. It was all fun and games when Barry Bonds was the sole target, but now that there’s accusations to go around I find steroids a non-issue. I mean, does it really matter? There’s white guys being accused for pete’s sake!
That’s sarcasm, by the way. Save the angry letters for another day.
I can’t let this continue. I love baseball. I wrote my senior thesis about it. Someday I might get around to finishing my book about the subject. I collect baseball instruction manuals. I own an Arod jersey two sizes too small and I still proudly wear it, rolls and all. I angrily rebuked Lisa during YaYa’s labor in 2001 because the Yankee’s were on TV.
Seriously. I did. In the delivery room.
This apathy cannot stand.
So I asked my Dad if he wanted to join a fantasy league. Already in one, he said. Why didn’t you invite me? I asked. Didn’t think of it, he says.
He doesn’t have to like me, but he should at least do a better job of pretending.
I should venture over to Baseball Think Factory, ignore the snarky anti-Bush/anti-Dusty Baker/anti-Jim Rice/ anti-everything comments and bask in the great content.
I should find a fantasy league of my own on Yahoo and sign up for a quick, computer run draft.
I should bite the bullet, suck up the XM fees, and renew my radio.
I should overcome my aversion to going to the ballpark (a newfound dislike, barely a year old) and go out and see a game.
I should think about hopping out to New York to visit Yankee Stadium in this, its last year before it closes.
Or I could ignore all that and just go on with the busy and contended life that I’ve led for the duration of the off-season and pretend it’s still the dead of winter.
Whining me damned, I’m sure I’ll be angering Lisa by watching game after game on the TV before October is over. It’ll just come naturally, even if there’s nothing else to recommend the season to me.
Nothing else at all.
Certainly not a big screen TV.
A big screen TV in my living room.
A big screen TV in my living room across from my couch.
A big screen TV in my living room across from my couch with HD.
A big screen TV in my living room across from my couch with HD and 500 channels to choose from, many broadcasting games from different time zones so you can finish one game from Atlanta, bump over to the end of a contest in Chicago, and then wrap it up with a game from Seattle.
Yeah, it’s gonna be a good year.