For whatever reason, the official opening of Spring Training camps all over Arizona and Florida did not turn Getting Blanked into a writhing orgy of baseball bliss. Why? Probably because Spring Training is not baseball.
It looks like baseball and dresses like baseball but it ain’t baseball. The false dawn of spring fools us once again.
Call me a cynic. Call me a another victim of 24 hour news cycle, worn to a nub from overexposure to Bad Spring Training Twitpics and the same canned quotes year after year.
Maybe if I had plans to attend Spring Training, to venture down to warmer climes and get into the mix fighting over recycled quotes in search of the rare interesting spring storyline, I might be more into it. But I’m not. Spring Training is nothing if not a cruel tease, a sick joke perpetrated upon us by tour operators and motel owners. The non-alcoholic beer of baseball, for which I have no time.
As a resident of Southern Ontario’s frozen tundrascape, the images of palm trees and Sedona Mountains hurt my soul more than they make me think of the glorious pageantry of Opening Day. It’s cold here, dammit. Don’t rub it in my face that other people mustn’t live their lives in such adverse conditions. That’s just mean.
Best shape of their lives. twitter.com/CSNBaggs/statu…
— Andrew Baggarly (@CSNBaggs) February 13, 2013
Thankfully, the World Baseball Classic will arrive to distract us from the endless trudge of Spring Training. Until then, it is low-res iPhone video of Troy Tulowitzki taking 3/4 speed BP to tide us over until Cactus/Grapefruit League, itself just an appetizer for the good stuff.
I want to love you, Spring Training. But I cannot. I will tolerate you but there is no substitution for the real thing. For that we must wait. Even if we don’t want to. I suppose it beats staring out the window like poor old Rogers Hornsby.