Guest Post by: John “Ziggy” Ziegler
Ahh, I rolled out of bed this morning, threw open the blind, and saw something I haven’t seen in months. NO SNOW, and none in the forecast! Could it be? Could the frozen hold that the twice-damned groundhog had us in is finally broken? Is that too much to ask on April 7?
So instead of planning on when to start shoveling, how many sweatshirts to wear, and are there enough thermal socks in the dresser drawer, I can start thinking about a wonderful event that starts this time each year. That is, the return of Baseball!
And now, how best to spend this new-found freedom. My mind began to race. Gee, I am beginning to worry about the new managers of my favorite teams. Did the great baseball minds select the proper personnel to bring the organizations back to glory? Based on a 68-pitch count by the big team’s ace before getting pulled in the first game, I am hoping that this was an aberration worthy of a new young manager. And, if that scurvy rodent’s iron-clad grip on the climate is finally released, how will our new AAA skipper fare at his first assignment at the helm? I’ll worry about that later this afternoon. (Note: it is now in the 7th inning of their first game after being postponed from last night, and our Pigs lead the PawSox by 3-1! Maybe the worry can be better focused elsewhere?).
Maybe I should direct my concern to the players. Do the boys in red pinstripes have the starting pitching needed to carry them to relevance? Will the new veterans be able to impart knowledge and maturity to the new rising stars? And at dear old Coca Cola Park, will the prospects be able to continue their march to the Bigs? I guess I’ll need more time before I start playing these cards.
I know; I’ll start to be concerned with the little things that make my baseball experiences so rich and rewarding. Sure hope the new traffic patterns caused by closed roads and bridges do not cause so much stress that the time at the ballpark is taken up concerns on how to get home. And that does not begin to address the traffic on the Blue Route both ways going to see the Phils at home. (I just slapped myself back to reality. I was really going to start thinking about that nonsense?)
No! I am going to the basement to count how much insulin (yeah, it sucks) is on hand so I can try all the crazy new food offerings at CCP. Somewhere in the bowels of Chef Jerry’s abode, there are Deep-Fried Cheesecakes and Cookie Doughs bearing my name. There is a Pork Funnel squealing at me, and a Pork Roll Breakfast Sandwich already searching for a Bloody Mary. A Salad you say? That is what I’ll tell my family I consumed when I return home.
My mind was racing with possibilities on how to best direct my baseball thoughts, when I received an email from my daughter. She reminded me about the best part of the sport. She refocused me as to what is most important. It is not the questions of minor-league salaries, infinitesimal stats for the tangled web of analytics, television contracts, phantom runners at 2nd base, or any of the ilk. What is most important are the dreams of the players; the good feeling every time you walk through the concourses and see the field; the smiles and delight of the children, our future HOF’ers. With that I give you what is most important about our wonderful game.
These pics are from the opening night parade with the 4-year old Wilmington Blue Rocks Royals, one of whom is my Grandson, Connor with his Dad, the newest Coach. This is the first time they got their uniforms and took the field. I am going to worry about what time to get up tomorrow morning to get to Wilmington, DE to see their first game.
Categories: Lehigh Valley IronPigs