Happy Baseball to ME!

It's finally winter, the blustery kind of winter where the wind whips under your coat and everywhere else, and you're cold, oh so cold, no matter what kind of weathery protection you attempt to take. I hate winter, but I welcome this bluster, as it is a return to something that resembles normal, that horrendous period of darkened freeze that we must go through every year, and the contrast between the freeze and the thaw is such that when spring arrives, it brings a sort of grateful joy, and we can appreciate the warmth and the light and the start of baseball that much more because we have winter to compare it to. It's just over a month before pitchers and catchers report to Spring Training, and already I'm dreaming of baseball, more so today than usual. Why? Because today, this January 10, 2007, is the day I turn the big 3-0 (with much disbelief and maybe a bit of flat out denial), and I was given the gift of baseball in the form of a Nationals partial season ticket plan. Oh, yes, I've become something that seemed so magical as a child, as mythical as perhaps Santa himself, a **glittering fairy dust floats down from the sky** SEASON TICKET HOLDER.

Imagine going to the ballpark three or four times a month, your big, shiny, blue and red season tickets in hand, entering through the same gate each time knowing exactly where you're heading, climbing the concrete ramps to YOUR seat, where the beer guy and you get to know each other a little (to be fair, I did go to RFK enough last year to get to the point where the Miller Lite guy recognized me and chatted a little!) Others around you are also SEASON TICKET HOLDERS, and you get to know each other to the point that you have inside jokes about so and so's annoying batting stance or some reliever's ridiculous facial hair or the manager's insistence on playing some second rate shortstop because he "plays the game the right way" or because of his "veteran presence." You are so used to your viewing angle that you no longer are fooled by a fly ball that other, less fortunate souls think could be a home run. You're in the know, and it feels wonderful.

The amazing thing about this package is that nearly every game I had picked out prior to achieving my coveted status as SEASON TICKET HOLDER was included. I poured over the schedule intently as soon as I was released from the confines of a horrendously busy workday, memorizing the dates I would attend to the best of my aging memory's ability. I wanted to see the Orioles, always a fun series because O's fans are so obnoxious (and some idiots in DC still insist on screaming "O" during the National Anthem) and because Peter Angelos is one of the biggest asses in the game - I got May 19. I wanted to see the Indians - I got June 23. I wanted to see Jim Hendry's Traveling Bank Account - I got July 3. I wanted to see the Deadbirds so I could give them the evil eye that would lead to their destruction - I got August 3. I wanted to see the Giants, a team dear to me whom I go to see once or twice every year - I got September 1, right about the time Barry could eclipse Henry. And yes, I got the Reds - August 1 (and I'll be seeing the other games as well.)

I'll be getting to know the AAA Fish quite well, as I'll see them four times, including April 4, my first game. (I won't be attending Opening Day this year, as it starts at the same time as the Reds game, which I refuse to miss.) I'll be sure to heckle Dan Ugly and Handiman Ramirez, the latter who stole the ROY away from Ryan "Brooks" Zimmerman. Stupid fish.

The anticipation of putting on that red cap with the curly W, packing up my bag of magic peanuts, and heading to the ballpark keeps me warm on this (finally) cold winter night, a mere 80 days from that holiest of days - Opening Day. I can already feel the slickness of the coveted tickets in my hand - it's hard to believe that bits of processed trees can bring such joy, such excitement, such wonderfully sensual pleasure.

When I was 10, I received a great bike for my birthday. When I was 12, I received a Nintendo and all of the Super Mario Brothers fun I could handle. When I was 16, I received my first stereo, and it was my first CD player. I've received some great birthday gifts in my life, but this, well, this could just be the best birthday gift ever. Thanks, Mom, Mark, Sandy, and Jennifer!