I hardly watch any sports on TV except baseball. Cindy loathes football, and I can hardly tolerate basketball. I grew up in Arizona, so I didn’t even know what hockey was until we moved to Ohio, where crazy people ice fish in the winter. I guess you couldn’t ice fish in the summer, not in Ohio at least. I don’t like fishing at all, whatever the season. It’s entirely boring.
Isn’t baseball boring too?, you might offer. Well, you may be right.
Considering that baseball was starting up soon, I figured my blog posts would wane to about once a week. Then I remembered I would need something to do while watching baseball, since there’s so little action—that is, unless, like me, you appreciate the fine art of pitching or the way a scrapper can foul off pitch after pitch.
I actually prefer pitching and defense over offense, which is why I’m pleased the steroid era is over. My D-Backs, though they have little pitching to speak of today, once boasted Randy Johnson (future Hall of Famer) and Curt Schilling (before the bloody sock). Cy Young winner Brandon Webb was by far my favorite. A homegrown sinkerballer I got to see mow down the Tigers at Comerica Park. His ball, as they say, was like a bowling ball that day. We had great seats just past the infield dirt, though nary a ball was elevated to the grass, the kind that’s bred in Kentucky, where Webb hails from. Sadly, he last pitched a Major League game on opening day two years ago—shoulder problems.
I’m sure my team will be awful again this year, but I’ll still don Sedona Red over that Cincinnati hue, specifically in a couple weeks when the D-Backs visit Great American Ballpark. They will not have had enough time to fall too far out of first place, so it should be a great day.
Just like today. Somebody tell Cindy I’ll see her in November.