My son and I dusted off the gloves yesterday
for the first throws of the year.
Pitchers and catchers have reported.
In February, levels of optimism
regarding the prospects of the coming season
border on mentally unhinged.
For example, our Cleveland team seems bent
on solving its issue of right handed power
by riddling its line-up with has been Yankees.
And yet, drunken conversations
from Westlake to Ashtabula remain
perversely optimistic.
Around here, my son and I
throw a tennis ball
against the basement wall,
cautious not to hit light bulbs
(& in our optimism)
while ice melts on the streets outside.
