Sure Sign of Spring

My kids blew off their tennis lessons this afternoon. I had signed them up without their consent, thinking, "They're seven and four. It involves a fuzzy green ball, a net and a big thing they can swing at each other. That's a typical Saturday around here. How can they NOT like it?" But they didn't. Dragging unwilling children to any event is unappealing. Dragging my children to something not of their liking is a true downside of motherhood.

It was my desire for them to learn a life time sport, one in which they can participate well into their golden years. One they might play in a business setting. One that has really cute outfits. They took to it like cats to a hot tub. What they really wanted to play this afternoon was baseball. Even the preschooler. "Please, Mom?" they begged, my daughter sporting braids and a neon pink mitt. They didn't have to ask twice. They had me at "Batter Up!"

Like a growing minority in this country, I love baseball. It's in my blood. It is the first thing about which I can remember feeling true passion. I'm not crazy about this generation of professional baseball players but the game still speaks to my soul. It demands concentration, dexterity, hand-eye coordination, patience and strength. It has its own, unique rhythm and it has been a backdrop to more quality movies than any other sport: The Natural versus The Longest Yard? Please.

My son seems to have inherited the gene as well. In fact, he got a dose from both sides of the family tree. At the age of five he sat through an entire nine inning, 2-0 game. We had to remind him to use the restroom. During a recent trip to New Jersey we made a pilgrimmage to nearby Yankee Stadium, a baseball Mecca if ever there was one. Did he understand the significance of sitting in the same dugout where Ruth, Gehrig and DiMaggio once sat? I believe he did.

Here in North Carolina the dogwoods have bloomed, the tulips are showing off, and signs of spring are everywhere. But to me nothing says Good-bye Winter more than the start of baseball season. We may be lacking a major league baseball team in NC, but we are tobacco juice spitting distance from Durham, home of the minor league Bulls, the heroes of the 1988 movie, Bull Durham. If you've never seen it -- for God's sake, get out from under that rock and watch Saturday afternoon television during a baseball rain delay, it's on all the time! -- it's required viewing. In one particular quote-worthy scene, Susan Sarandon's character Annie, asks Kevin Costner's character Crash what he believes in. He goes off on a mini riff that leaves her weak in the knees and about ready to disrobe. In the spirit of that scene, and in honor of the start of baseball 2008, here I go:

I believe the names of Italian restaurants should end in a vowel. I believe fanny packs should be outlawed, by executive order if necessary. I believe in the HBO original series. I believe in breakfast for dinner, pizza for breakfast, and lasagna for Thanksgiving. I believe unregulated corporations are running this country, and ruining this country. I believe in public displays of affection, cell phone etiquette, spicy Bloody Mary Mix, curfews for teenagers, game nights, and vacations with family. I believe in opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days. (Okay, that last line was lifted directly from the movie. But the rest are mine. Honest!).

And I believe that baseball means spring. It doesn't go, "NASCAR, hot dogs, apple pie and Kia" now, does it? Well, at least not yet. Play ball!