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You! Are! The Blogger!
by Derek Smart
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.
Much like mini-camps held in previous weeks, some have already begun this endeavor in earnest, myself included, but it is in the coming days that the yeoman's work will truly be done. Some of you may feel left out of this orgy of poeticals, feeling that, perhaps, any attempts at expressing the sentiments of the season would leave you embarrassed - that your efforts might not be up to public exposure - or that it's simply too much trouble and effort to bother.
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 , things were looking up in 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 .
Temperatures rose as the time until men were to meet and play over oceans of grass fell away like a 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 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 . "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 .
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 .
Yet closer still it comes, and thank 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 !
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 him. That is all.