SPORTS AND LIFE:  SPRING, A NEW BEGINNING

You know, one of the things I love about sports is that...sometimes it's not just about sports, and games, and who won or lost last night.  It can be about hopes and dreams, or about hopes dashed and dreams not quite realized.  So it can be for example with baseball and spring training--and that's what this article is about; it's just something I found interesting, and I think you will too, whether you're a sports/baseball fan or not:

"I will be 72 on April 22, and still, after 54 years, the most important date every year is not April 22, or Jan. 1, but that day in February when pitchers and catchers report to spring training. Ever since I was 18, spring training has always meant for me a fresh start, another chance to pull up that little plastic sheet that wipes the slate clean, all those losses instantly vanished, replaced by a blank slate and the possibility of nothing but victories this year. So every February I escaped the cold, barren New England winter and headed south toward the sun by plane, train or automobile.

Spring training was a Baden-Baden for the body and soul. It had curative powers for whatever ailed you – sore arm, bad marriage, ungrateful children, the death of a parent, financial collapse, ennui. It was like one of those Caribbean cruises, a Ship of Fools for ballplayers, fans, and sportswriters.

It meant an escape for me, a newfound freedom, new experiences

But it was all a fantasy, an illusion. Spring training afforded no miraculous Lourdes-like cures: dead arms suddenly throwing heat, slow bats regaining their quickness, lost steps morphing into youthful speed, a dead marriage resuscitated, ungrateful children suddenly loving, a financial windfall out of the blue. Its hope was always false, but still, for 54 years, the first three as a pitcher in the Milwaukee Braves’ organization, and the last 51 as a sportswriter, I still returned to spring training each year, more out of habit than expectation, for as I grew older I no longer believed in miracles. Spring training for me became just a pleasant two weeks in the sun, or maybe not so pleasant as I chased some obnoxious multi-millionaire baseball player across practice fields, waving my notebook, shouting, "JUST ONE MORE QUESTION!" until I caught him, or at my age, didn’t.

But as a young pitcher from 1960 to 1962, spring training had a profound effect on my life. It meant an escape for me, a newfound freedom, new experiences, and before me, like a cornucopia, the infinite possibilities of an adult life."

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You can read the rest of this piece here.  Happy reading!