I broke up with baseball tonight

It's true. The relationship is over. I was watching my team as they opened the ninth inning in a tied game, and instead of worrying and hoping and rooting ... I realized that I don't care anymore.

I deleted the game without seeing the final inning and canceled my upcoming recordings of Nationals games (and Mets games, for that matter). I threw my Nationals keychain and my Bryce Harper T-shirt in the garbage. I'm not going to record baseball or check scores or glance at the standings ever again. I'm not going to talk about baseball or think about it.

It was a great relationship for a while. Don't get me wrong. In my heart, I wish nothing but the best for baseball. I hope it finds another fan to replace me.

But I've moved on.

The cold hasn't stopped, but hope springs eternal

It was minus 10 this morning. I've never seen so many double-digit negative temperatures in NY, and I've been around for a good long time. This is one heck of a winter. (Somehow, "hell" doesn't work with "winter". So "heck" it is.) But, but...are there signs of spring on the horizon?

Well, not quite. But I did see two lonely temps in the 40s in the 10-day forecast for NYC. It won't be that balmy here in upstate NY, but it's a sign. Spring, she is coming.

Providing more proof, there are actual baseball games in the next fourteen days (the furthest out that my TV listings can see). I've scheduled the DVR to record about 10 games. Woot! I miss baseball so much in the off-season. All winter, I try to make believe it's okay, that baseball will truly come back and I'll still be alive to see it -- but it doesn't work. Winter is a lonely, dead thing. And this one, with its fierce temperatures and winds, has been a nightmare.

But the nightmare is almost over. Just think, all us guys will soon be able to wear our shorts, nail polish and bracelets again. Double-woot! I cannot wait.

Scully a whiz at 86

Yay, baseball is back! Well, spring training, anyway. The other day, I had the pleasure of hearing Vin Scully call a Dodgers game. This guy is amazing. At the age of 86 (he'll turn 87 this year), he has the nimble brain of a perceptive 23-year-old. It's as if he's completely immune to the fallout caused by aging.

He's also the only "lone" announcer I can think of. Other baseball teams use two and even three announcers so the load doesn't fall on one guy. Not the Dodgers, though. They have Vin Scully, and that's all you need.

Just listen to a few of the things he said during the game I watched last week:

"And adding to the fun, there are two Marte's in the game, Alfredo and Andy!"

"Tuiososoppo strikes out and takes himself and all his syllables back to the dugout."

(While watching an outfielder run around the park and dive dramatically to make each catch): "He's covering the field, both literally and figuratively."

(And when a veteran hitter faced a rookie pitcher with an unusual name, he said:) "[After all those decades of fine work], here he is, being tested by a young pitcher named Stripling."

The man doesn't miss a trick. Consider how functional you'll be when you're 86. Uh-huh. You'll be lucky if you can stand. Scully is the most together old guy I've ever encountered.

I'm just happy to see him back for another year. May he continue to do this past the age of 100. Watta guy!

Drip, drip, drip

Twenty-three inches of snow is melting outside (and on) my house. That's a lotta snow. I hope the roof holds. So far, so good but I'm seeing leaks in places that never leaked before. What a winter this has been. And the polar vortex is coming back in a few days. Sheesh.

But I'm giddy. You know why? Because I told my VCR to record ten spring training baseball games! Baseball returns in eight days!!! That is so great. No more watching dumb movies to while away the evenings. I'll have games up the kazoo. This is the best news imaginable.

I'm also hopeful about my Mets' chances this year. Sure, go ahead: laugh. But Terry Collins is a great manager and the team picked up some good players in the off-season. I'm particularly happy about the signing of Bartolo Colon. He is such a sneaky, smart pitcher. And now he's on my team. Plus, we picked up Curtis Granderson - and that ain't hay.

I've got big hopes for this season - despite your snickers. I think my Mets will surprise everyone. Heck, they might even end up playing the Yankees in the World Series and winning.

Okay, back to drip, drip, drip. One week to go!

Boring baseball

Yesterday's two playoff games were incredibly, mind-numbingly boring. There was no action, no nothing. It was hitless inning after hitless inning. Yay, baseball. Meh.

But here's the thing. I'm waiting for the World Series to end so I can focus on writing my next novel. The day the games end, I will begin to write. But that day may come sooner than I thought.

If the Cardinals beat the Dodgers, and the Tigers beat the Red Sox, I won't even watch the World Series. I mean, who cares which team wins that match-up?

Good. I'm dying to go back to writing. Baseball is a huge distraction for me. Once it's out of the way, my real life (as a writer) will begin again.

Besides, the idea of missing Buck and McCarver's boring game observations is appealing. They ruin any game they call. Best not to watch.

Anyone watching these games? Nah, I thought not.

A painful day in sports

I found it agonizing to watch the Giants game last night. Jeebus didn't want Eli to win. I guess it's that simple. But seriously, two interceptions in the first five minutes? Dog!

And of course, all the while I was flicking between the football game and the baseball game. Alas, I found no surcease in this manner. The evil Tigers beat the wondrous A's.

Truly, 'twas a painful day in sports. The Mudville nine come to mind. Anyone out there watch the games?

Heatwave's almost over. (Cheers from the crowd!)

What a week this has been. I recall experiencing high temperatures in the past, but the humidity wasn't this high. Usually temps of 100 degrees or more produce a dry heat. Not this time. And the heat seems to last all night. Again, I don't remember this happening in the past.

We're expecting a storm tonight in NY, which will bring a subtle change -- and hey, we'll take anything at this point. Then Monday it should feel almost normal, about 82 degrees. Thank dog!

Usually, I don't mind the heat because it brings baseball along with it. But the play this year has been so dog-awful, it's hardly worth watching. I don't know whether it's the absence of steroids, or what. But something has brought baseball to its knees.

No one can hit. No one can catch a ball. The defensive play on the field is like watching the Keystone Kops. Sheesh. Heat and lousy play. I want a refund for my Summer.

How do baseball players hit a 95 mph fastball?

Because there is a lag between the moment an event happens and the instant our brain is aware of it, you shouldn't be able to hit a 95 mph fastball. But scientists have figured out how we manage this trick.

Apparently our brain predicts where the baseball is going, and that's what we see: the prediction. In other words, we don't see reality as it actually is. Our brain performs this trick to help us survive. (After all, a huge rock falling off a cliff and heading toward you could mark your final day on Earth.)

If you'd like to learn the specifics of how this occurs, here's an article that explains it. I've written here before about how odd it is to see a slow-mo replay of a ball coming off a bat and going right for the pitcher's head. For what seems like a long moment, the pitcher isn't aware that a projectile is coming his way. That's evidence of the delay in the brain. But apparently the brain's prediction mechanism leaps ahead and alerts us (hopefully) before the ball can hit us. (J.A. Happ might shake his head upon hearing this news.)

The world is not as we see it. We see only what we need to see in order to survive. This brain trick is something that's always available to us. In fact, it's how you're able to cross a street (by predicting where the cars will be in the next 20 seconds). Are brains cool, or what? Evolution is an amazing engineer.

It must be Spring

It's finally warm in New York. Jeez, it was a long, cold beginning to Spring this year. But it seems like the good times have finally arrived.

Mind you, I like winter a lot. And I'm going to miss the comfort of getting out of the cold. There's something so cozy about that.

But dog made Spring so that baseball could be played. I agree with the sentiment. Baseball is worth getting hot over. (Now, if only the games were going my way, but that's another story.)

BTW, I found a route to walk where I meet no one. It's like whistling past a graveyard. Hooray!

Has Spring reached your area of the world?

Synchronicity

Yesterday, it rained all day here in New York. Settling in for the day, I turned on the TV to watch a Cubs game at Wrigley Field and discovered it was also raining in Chicago. As I watched the game, I could hear the rain outside my window and hear drops hit the microphones in the game. It felt like it was raining all over the world. Weird.

I've also had the experience of watching a game on a cloudy day -- at a stadium far away, where it was similarly overcast -- and saw the sun come out at the game the same moment the clouds parted here. Weird.

But kinda fun.

Not praying until the camera is on you

Wait! Don't pray yet. The camera isn't ready.

I've complained many times on this blog about baseball players who pray before each at-bat. It isn't the Major Christian League, guys. It's America's favorite game, baseball, and there are no gods anywhere in baseball (other than Bryce Harper, of course).

The pitchers are the worst offenders. Some even get down on their attention-seeking knees to pray. But lately I've noticed that timing plays an essential role in these celestial matters.

The pitcher could, of course, pray before he got on the field. But where's the aren't-I-godly percentage in that? No siree. A good Christian pitcher has to pray on the mound, where god intended him to pray.

But only lately have I noticed that many of these holy pitchers wait until the last moment, when they're sure the camera is on them. Why pray as soon as you get to the mound, right? After all, maybe some people aren't looking your way yet. It's far better to wait until everyone else settles down and you're sure the camera is on you. That's the godly time to pray.

Because you want to get your message out. And that message is:

AM I HOLY, OR WHAT?!

Best baseball opening day ever

I had a great time watching the first games of the baseball season yesterday. I was sick with the flu (or whatever) but I hardly noticed.

The Mets won their game 11-2. John Niese -- one of my favorite pitchers -- was terrific. It was a pleasure to see the team play this well on the first day of the season.

But that was nothing compared to the Washington Nationals game. Baseball god Bryce Harper, after hitting .478 in spring training, hit a home run in each of his first two at-bats. And he threw a ball pefectly, all the way from the outfield to home plate, and started one of the best double-plays I've ever seen.

As if that wasn't enough, the Red Sox capped off the day by trouncing the evil Yankees. Seriously: Best. Opening Day. Ever.

Baseball confusion

I watched a  spring training baseball game last night -- a Mets/Braves that I recorded a few days ago.

Late in the game, the Mets brought in a new pitcher. When I saw the name on the back of his shirt -- Laffey -- I was shocked. I thought, "We've got Laffey now?! He's terrific." As a Mets fan, I was excited and I wondered why I hadn't heard about the trade.

And then I realized I had confused Laffey with a pitcher named Smiley. Made me laugh.

Here's something I don't get

I'm going to use baseball as an example. During a game, you often hear the announcer say, "Those lefties sure do love that low-ball." And they do. You always see lefties go after that low-ball. It's right smack in the middle of their "wheel-house", as they put it. (Meaning the ball is right where you want it to be; it fits perfectly into your preferred swing.)

But why isn't the situation the same for right-handers? You'll never hear an announcer say "Those righties sure do love that low-ball." Doesn't come up.

Why there isn't true complementarity from left to right? Why aren't they equal? Doesn't a right-handed person do the same thing as a left-handed person, but from a different perspective? Why should there be a significant difference? I really don't get it.

Any suggestions?

Baseball question

Y'all know that I love baseball. But something confuses me. During games, the hapless "musicians" in the employ of stadiums often play the goddamn theme to The Adams Family. Why, fer hevvin's sake?

What brings this to a boil is that I watched a few Australian games this pre-season -- and they played the goddamn theme to The Adams Family, too! What is this about?

Years ago I told myself, "Well, I guess there are little kids in the stands." But of course, this show is from long, long ago. The kids wouldn't even recognize the tune. Adding to the mystery, stadiums also play the theme from Green Acres. Green Acres?! A terrible show from about 50 years ago? What gives?

Baseball note

I watched one game of the Caribbean world series of baseball the other night. It was between Mexico and the Dominican Republic. It was enjoyable, especially because I knew a lot of the players.

At first, two Spanish-speaking announcers opened the show, speaking alternately in English and Spanish. I enjoyed hearing the Spanish and trying to figure out what they were saying. Then, darn it, they replaced these guys with two others. One was a typical white American guy and the other was Latino.

At one point, the American announcer asked the Latino guy what words they use to scream "Home Run!" in Spanish. The guy rattled off a few Spanish expressions and the Anglo guy asked what they meant. I laughed when one of the expressions was translated as "Out to the street!" What can I say? It's cute.

Baseball's just the start

"Oh, sure," they said. "Watch baseball. It's innocent."

Uh huh. But what they didn't tell me is that baseball is a gateway drug, leading to football and other scandalous perversions. It happened to me. I know.

I thought I was safe but I was naive. Now I'm barreling down that wide dark road, with pigskin everywhere I look -- and nary a safe place to hide. Football sucked me into its warm, fragrant, testosterone-laden embrace -- and there's no way out. I'm hooked.

I can't get over it. Baseball was just the gateway drug. I had no idea.

The Emperor's New Signs

I just don't believe it. I don't.

Allegedly, baseball managers and coaches use signs to get a message to players on the field. They touch their nose or their elbow, and then pat one hand and touch their chins twice. Puh-leeze. This is nonsense. They're just touching random body parts. You can't fool me -- I'm a New Yorker.

I think it's like that old story, "The Emperor's New Clothes". Everyone on the team is afraid to say, "But those signs don't mean a thing!" And until some player is brave enough to voice this opinion, the sham will continue.

Signs indeed. Bah, humbug. (And yes, I'm kidding.) Hey, my Nats won last night! Woo-hoo! Final game tonight. And the Yankees lost to Baltimore. Everything is right with the world!

Gio gets his 20th win

What did I tell you guys early in the season? I said Gio Gonzalez is the man. Well, yesterday he got his 20th win for the Nats. He's the first pitcher to do this in 2012, in either league. I'm so happy for him.

It was also a big day for my other favorite pitcher, R.A. Dickie, who logged his 19th win for the Mets. He's fun to watch, especially when you knew him from his pre-knuckleball days. The guy wasn't very good and everyone thought he was washed up. And now, he might get the Cy Young. I love reversals of fortune. These two pitchers made this an exciting season for fans like me.

As for the players, Bryce Harper, the Nats' outfielder is my favorite. The kid's great to watch. He's baseball personified and I have no doubt he'll end up in the Hall of Fame. It may seem dumb to say this about someone who's only 19, but even the pro's seem to feel this way about him. They're fired up each time they watch him play. The kid is Mr. Baseball, despite his age. There's no doubt about this.

Aaaargh. The season's almost over. I'm glad that I finished writing Xmas Carol so I can devote myself to the post-season games. I will watch every single game. (And then I will quietly slip into my usual post-season depression. But it was grand while it lasted.)

Baseball thing

I wonder if the Red Sox will purposely fall to the Orioles this weekend. The Orioles are neck-and-neck with the Yankees right now. If I was a Sox player, let's just say I wouldn't play real hard this weekend. Then again, they play so badly it probably won't make a difference either way. I hope the Orioles sweep them. Boo, Yankees! How I detest that team.

Meanwhile, my Nats "clinched a playoff berth", as they say. They're in. It's just a baby step on the road to the division championship, but they've done it. The NLDS is the win that matters to me. Baseball's over before the WS starts. That's all I have to say. Over and out. (Which I'm told is repetitious. Really, you just say "Out". There is no "over". Who knew? See what movies do to your brain?)