Hope

People ask me what I do in winter when there's no baseball. I'll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring. - Rogers Hornsby

I concur. In the gloriously short span of 4 days, pitchers and catchers report to Fort Myers, and life will again be in equilibrium. The thing about baseball, the Minnesota Twins in particular, is that after 4 months of frigid temperatures, dome-busting blizzards, and slippery roads, we're all in the mood for a carefree, warm afternoon day in the sun.

From my perspective, as much as I love winter, it is to a certain extent, an endurance contest. One wonders how masochistic he must be to live in Minnesota in January. We escape the cold by streaming through a maze of skyways, skittering like rodents in a blind search for food pellets; we try to convince ourselves it's no big deal; we (I) ache from shoveling sidewalks and driveways. Undoubtedly, there must be some degree of collective insanity to subject oneself to such harsh elements, year after year. It's really quite incredible this entire state hasn't become delusional.

However friends, there is hope. It arrives with the anticipation of a 3-2 count, the crack of a bat, the collective attempt of 40,000 people trying to will a ball within the foul pole. The oft-ridiculed pride at seeing a St. Paul boy play for the hometown nine. It arrives with the patience of nine innings, preferably aided by a Summit and a polish. It arrives with sun - sometimes rain, but that's okay too. It arrives with family, friends, and memories, some that even span lifetimes. Most importantly, it arrives with the simple belief that no matter how tough the Yankees are, this is definitely going to be our year.

Yes friends, spring training can't come soon enough.