Baseball begins, in earnest, on Monday.
(Those Dodgers’ games in Australia? They counted, but really, just a tease.)
Oh, baseball, how I’ve waited for you.
You know how you’ll get a jones for French fries, you just have to have French fries, so you stop at the nearest fast food place, because you have to have fries, and this’ll be quick, yet somehow you pick the slow line, and every person ahead of you is actually ordering for four people, four people with obscure allergies and special requests, and you know and everyone else in line knows this is going to take a lot longer than it should, and then finally … finally … your turn comes and all you want are fries and as they take your order, you glance over and you see it, as if in slow motion you see the scooper guy scooping out the last of the fries and handing them to … some … one … else, giving them YOUR French fries, and now the fry tray is empty, so Fry Guy is pulled off of his break to drag an enormous unmarked bag of ice-cold fries out of the freezer in the back and he’s not happy about the break thing, so he’s in no hurry to sort the fries into the fry baskets, and it seems like he’s sorting them one at a time, by size or color or something, and you realize this is going to take for … freaking … ever … and you just want the fries, and you’re waiting and waiting, and it’s taking forever, and all you wanted were some lousy French fries and, hey, where’s the “fast” in fast food anyway, you didn’t realize that French fries take 20 minutes, or maybe it’s just three, but it seems like 45, and you should have taken your phone out of the cup holder in the car and in with you because what if someone calls, and you might pass out from hunger, and then you hear the fryer “beep” but no one behind the counter seems to, so you smile a little, and nod over at the fryer, but that doesn’t work, so you try to get their attention, you cough politely, you stare at the fryer, and nothing, so you start waving at Fry Guy to get his attention, but he’s still annoyed about his break, and you point to the fryer because if they don’t get those fries out now, they’re going to burn and then they’re going to have start all over …
That’s me waiting for baseball.
Here is the University of Virginia’s Nate Irving sitting in the UVa dugout.
He is waiting for: a) French fries, b) the UVa-Boston College game to get underway a few weekends ago, or c) the obligatory reference to the Tom Petty song.
The correct answer is b.
So, when five inches of snow falls on my final days of waiting, it’s a bit annoying.
If I wanted it to snow in the springtime, I could have stayed in North Dakota.
This is a Snow-Me.
(Yes, it’s true. I’m incredibly tall. I’m much taller than my blog would have you believe.)
And, now the weather forecasts say it will rain in Virginia this weekend.
It’s going to rain on the very last spring training game. The one we have tickets for. The Baltimore Orioles are supposed to play their AAA farm club the Tides in Norfolk, and we have tickets, and it’s a three-hour drive, and what’s the point of driving if it’s going to rain out the game?
The Orioles are supposed to fly from Sarasota, Florida to Norfolk on Saturday morning, play the game, and then fly to Baltimore immediately afterward. And, you know what’s going to happen. They’re going to get to Norfolk, see the clouds, toss the remaining guys on the roster who are about to be sent down to Norfolk anyway off of the plane, and then they’re going to “wheels up” as fast as they can, and Chris Davis, and JJ Hardy, and Nick Markakis and all of them are going to be halfway to Baltimore while I’m still on I-64 on the way to the game.
I’m so tired of waiting for baseball.
And, for those of you waiting patiently for Tom Petty …