After a shyte day at the grindstone and a commute through all nine circles of hell, nothing was more therapeutic than getting home, losing the pants, setting up the Michelob IV and letting the dulcet tones of Jerry Remy and Don Orsillo simply carry me away to a far better place. I even got my first official “in game” Heidi sighting, and watching her assume the position along the baseline seamlessly shifted my world back onto its proper axis.
Look, I know it’s a spring training game–and not even an official grapefruit league game at that. But seeing the boys going through the motions, getting that first glimpse of Booftopia (patent pending), and hearing all those familiar voices in my house again made me realize just how much I miss ’em when they’re gone.
Sure, in a few weeks I’ll be begging for spring training to end, begging for the Gods of Baseball to just crank up the wheels and get the 2010 season started already. But for now — as was my motto during my days as a poolhall hustler back on the mean streets of Detroit in ’72 — I take it where I can get it.