I'm watching the first baseball game of the year. It matters not that the Rangers will probably blow it. What matters is that the greatest game is being played after a long winter of discontent. I won't get to see every game...come summer, I'll spend a lot of evenings pulling weeds with my trusty radio tuned to the affair.
It is the greatest game. Its pace allows conversation and verbal strategizing among friends. It was made for fathers and sons, with an occasional Brooke thrown in there. And the most amazing thing is that one simply cannot go more than two games without seeing something that you've never seen in a game before.
And, once I step through heaven's gate, I'll grab my glove and get to play catch with my dad again.