Baseball in March is not the same as it is in October. There's more tanning going on out there than anything else, really. Split-squad games with home run balls that drop over the fence into sunny patches of grass, where children run and grab for them.
I suppose the big, serious fans (no not those big, serious fans) get really into watching spring ball, but to me it's even more like watching paint dry than it sometimes can be during the regular season. Oh, come on, don't get like that now. You know the games I'm talking about -- the ones that hit the three-hour mark in the middle of the seventh inning. And then the pitcher has the nerve to step off the rubber and go for the rosin bag, just before the batter steps out of the box, right before he's finally ready to pitch the damn ball.
Anyway, let's just say I doubt these pre-season baseball games get the highest ratings around.
That being said, I will cop to one thing: I love the sound of baseball. I love the din of the crowd when something happens, as well as the continuous murmuring of it when nothing happens. I love the crack of the bat, and the chatter of the broadcasters.
It all brings me back to the summers of my childhood. This was the soundtrack. My brother and father were big fans. I watched the Mets and liked them, but not to the same extent. But it was a constant, and now I associate the sounds of a baseball broadcast with home.
I don't watch much baseball any more, although I did get excited about the Rangers last year. I don't forsee watching many games on television this season, but they will be on once in a while, and that sound will carry through the house like a breeze. And I will feel at home.