All week, pitchers and catchers have been reporting to Major League training camps, marking not only the start of Spring Training, but the official opening of what I call, "The Season of Rumination" - the time of year when, for lack of concrete subject matter, baseball bloggers turn introspective and write at length on the coming Spring and all its concomitant metaphors.

Which is why I have created this simple, easy to use form that will allow you to make your very own Paean to Spring. Simply choose the phrase that most closely matches your personal taste from the dropdown menus provided, and when you reach the end - Voila! - you'll have assembled your very own Ode du Printemps!

So what are you waiting for! Pick some phrases, have some fun, and most of all, enjoy the Spring!

As recently as Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday Sunday the 12th of Never , things were looking up in Chicago New York Boston Minneapolis Milwaukee Philadelphia Pittsburgh D.C. Toronto Baltimore Cleveland Detroit Kansas City St. Louis Cincinnati Denver Los Angeles San Diego Phoenix San Francisco Oakland Houston Miami Atlanta Dallas Seattle Tampa Bay (Insert My Town Here) Our Town and its environs. After a brutal series of days filled with wind and snow, cold and darkness, there was a glorious five day stretch filled with brightness and warmth (at least in a relative sense) that not only melted the winter's accumulated snowfall, but served to thaw this baseball fan's near-frozen heart foot clavicle spouse Ted Williams .

Temperatures rose as the time until men were to meet and play over oceans of grass fell away like a grizzly's winter fur lover's flimsy teddy drunkard's inhibitions Barry Zito curveball falling item tends to do on a soft, vernal breeze. Walking outside was transformed from an act of necessity to one of pure pleasure. Layers were shed, and as the city's sidewalks filled with those freed from their prisons of goose down, one could smell the hope dope Spring chocolate collective need to shower in the air.

It was early, we knew that, but on these days when by all rights we should still be tightly gripped by the Old Man's frigid fist, it's impossible not to think defiant thoughts of short sleeves and sunglasses. ice cream and lemonade. daisies and daffodils. snorkeling and Mai Tais. ball and bats. La Revolucion! . "Spring!" As one mind we transmitted the word, as if the intensity of our combined mental efforts would make what was temporary permanent, bringing the final push that sent the Old Man to his annual grave just reward house in the Hamptons favorite watering hole lover's waiting arms mommy .

That's gone now. This morning was gloomy and chill. It is jarring. Disconcerting. And despite continuing to creep nearer our object of desire - sans thought, sans effort, always moving forward - it seems farther now than ever; the perception of time's passing stretched from inches into feet and feet into fathoms by anticipation and need our own yearning an angry diety incompetent engineers that new guy on "This Old House" .

Yet closer still it comes, and thank the Maker Vishnu Buddha Allah Quetzalcoatl Bud Selig Mighty Mouse for small mercies. Those men will meet, and they will play, and more men will follow upon them. Together, they will signal an end and a beginning, both of them welcome as an old friend. Time marches on, and the days will come and go until our long wait is through. It will all be over soon, but how I wish it were sooner yesterday tomorrow Kwanza St. Olaf's Day !

The root text above was based on a horrid, turgid piece of prose that can be viewed in its entirety here. Should any of you recognize its author on the street, the recommended course of action would be to stone hug ignore arrest compliment pity him. That is all.