At the start of every baseball season, I'm convinced there's a story out there.
A story of newness and rebirth. Of hope springing eternal.
And it's usually about, concerning or with - at the very least - a passing acknowledgement to baseball.
I don't always catch the stories when they hit. They're not consistently within my purview or readily at my disposal. Sometimes, it takes the better part of the season before I'm fortunate enough to come across them.
This time, however? An internet friend passed one along that epitomizes what's to come ... and just at the right time.
The story has inspired me to write about my personal, physical reintroduction into the game. I'll post it shortly.
In the meantime, here is the story in question. Please enjoy.
"That’s one of the great gifts of this, the greatest of all games, baseball: it allows you, still, to lose yourself in a dream, to feel and remember a season of life when summer never seemed to die and the assault of cynicism hadn’t begun to batter optimism."
