Fresh Season

I thought it would be so easy. In fact, I was so certain it would be easy I didn’t even spend any time agonizing over it. I so rarely waste an opportunity to agonize.

But I was wrong. Again. It’s not easy at all. It’s so hard I’ve already decided it’s impossible.

When it was announced that D.C. would have its own Major League Baseball team again I decided the Washington Nationals would be My Team instead of the Baltimore Orioles, the team I have been rooting for as long as I can remember.

See, the Os ticked me off big-time during the off-season. They traded away a favorite player of mine. A favorite player whose bobble head doll sits on my desk at work, right next to my miniature Gumby & Pokey and my little fuzzy armadillo. He sits there, in his Orioles uniform, bobbling his head on command. How could they trade Jerry? We love Jerry Hairston, Jr. (By the by, it sure doesn't appear Jerry's liking his new home either--0 for 8 with a walk so far this year.)

So I was done with the Orioles. Simple, right?
Uh. No. Evidently not.

In case you live in a hole somewhere or, perhaps more unfortunately, if you are not a fan, I’ll remind you that baseball season has begun. Wendy and I are big fans of baseball. Major League and otherwise. Things change at our house when the season begins.

This past weekend, Wendy and I joyously watched the Yankees get spanked by the Orioles. All our old friends were lighting up the field and the base paths. Good times indeed. I realized even without Jerry and despite Sammy, I still love the Os.

Especially when they beat the Yankees.
In New York.
Twice in one weekend.
I’m so easy.

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