It hit 82 degrees yesterday in Philadelphia. And it's almost April. It's started me thinking about baseball.
I've already caught a few of the minor league games on tv played in Clearwater, Florida by the Philadelphia Phillies.
They've become my team.
I say become, because in the past I had never been interested in baseball or any other sport. This baseball obsession started with T-ball.
You see, I have three boys. When they were small, I looked for things for them to do that would burn off some of that small boy energy. T-ball was the first organized sport I exposed them to.
Then came little league. Since my husband couldn't always accompany them to games, the job fell to me. I spent many a Saturday afternoon perched on the bleachers with a book, so I wouldn't get bored.
Then my middle son, who's now 22, got onto a team that was very good and very competitive. They won the championship that year. Suddenly, I started watching the games, even when my kid was on the bench. I learned the rules and started to get excited. I'd cheer and yell when something good happened and groan when games went downhill.
As my boys got older the games got even better.
Then they grew up and stopped playing. What was I to do now? I was going through withdrawal.
My solution was to watch and root for our local team, the Phillies. So far, they've been more a disappointment than anything else. But I still like to watch. And cheer. And groan.
For better or worse, I've become a baseball fan.