On the eve of my 21st birthday, Mets General Manager Steve Phillips gave me a present. Granted, when compared to true blockbuster trades, and even when compared to other trades Phillips has made this off-season, it wasn’t exactly a huge deal. Eleven players changing uniforms is always interesting, but the gift that Phillips sent me wasn’t Jeromy Burnitz, Mark Sweeney, Jeff D’Amico and Lou Collier. Instead, it was the gift of excitement.
At a family gathering over the semester break, my grandfather interrupted my aunt in the middle of a long, tearful, heartfelt discussion of God-knows-what to announce, triumphantly, “52 days!” An intoxicated uncle, my brother and I were the only ones who knew what he was talking about: 52 days. 52 days until the sun starts shining again. 52 days until the de facto New Year’s Day for people like my brother, my drunken uncle and me. 52 days until the glorious event that has now come to be known by the three most beautiful words in the English language, “pitchers and catchers.”
The NBA has eliminated both defense and excitement. Even the great Michael Jordan hasn’t been able to restore the league to the dominant sport association that it was just five years ago. The inevitable Super Bowl Champion has become so obvious that people can only bet on who the Rams will beat and by how much. No one even bothers with hockey anymore.
This year there is only one hope for the 2002 sports season. Eleven-player trades and senile old men making bizarre remarks at inappropriate times are exactly what I need to get through the long, cold winter. Baseball, barring some sort of Bud Selig-induced tragedy, is on its way.
The 2001 baseball season was among the most spectacular in history. The Seattle Mariners compiled a ridiculous 116 wins yet lost in the playoffs to the hated Yankees, who in turn, ended their reign of World Series dominance to the Arizona Diamondbacks. As the sun set on the careers of legends like Cal Ripken, Tony Gwynn and Mark McGwire, the dawn broke on new stars like Albert Pujols and Ichiro Suzuki. Looking back on the 2001 campaign leaves no doubt that it was one for the record books, even if I neglected to mention that Barry Bonds had the best offensive season ever. One can only imagine what’s in store this year.
So, in the memorable words of Michael Stipe, I urge you, sports fans, Hold On. Hold on. Hoooooold on. Everybody hurts! No, no, no, you’re not alone.
As I write this, there are 22 days until pitchers and catchers report to major league camps. Until then, we can only sit at our windows, stare outside and wait. Me, I spend my time writing out possibilities for the Mets new-look lineup. Maybe you’ll do the same with the Royals, Reds or Red Sox, but, no matter what team or city or player you pull for, you can take solace in the fact that a little more than three weeks remain until the big day. We can make it.
