Balls

While Beth is losing vacationing with her girls in Florida, and Jacquie is about to frighten entertain our sister Jane and her family in San Diego, I'm still here in Connecticut, living in the limbo of early spring: post-winter, but not warm yet. Eternal quasi-spring. Really, to get through this time of year, one ends up spending a lot of time on the couch, reading . . .

. . . and drinking. (I think that glass of wine is about to break into song.)

There is a reason the Madness of March takes such hold around here.

The poor UConn men blew it on Saturday night. We had a raging time with MB and Mark and their friends, and Mark's 55" 50" high-def plasma tv made it feel like we were in the gym with those guys, but they got their Husky bootocks beat.

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Poor poor Huskies.

Last night, however, the UConn women won it all -- they beat lowly Louisville in the title game to win their 6th National Championship, and go 39-0.

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39-0 is pretty good season.

And now college basketball is over. Done. Finito. But not a moment too soon, there's a giant light of hope on the horizon. A light we'll follow all summer, with a radio at the beach, an occasional game on tv, and box scores in the paper every day.

Kids? It's Baseball Season.

Just ask my old friend Mr. Met here.

The New York Mets have a shiny new stadium, a shiny new bullpen, and, at 1-0, they're undefeated. And I want them to win all most of the next 161 games, of course I do. But really, what I care about the most is that it's here. It's finally here. Baseball season. The background soundtrack to all things warm and sunny and bright and summery.

And when it finally warms up around here, I'm going to be the first one on the beach with a chair, a book, a cooler of beer, and a radio.

Play Ball!