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I love watching the first ten rounds (slight exaggeration) of the playoffs when everything is fresh and the hope abounds that every series will go seven games. When nothing is known and everything is possible. Baseball has another month to go. But the World Series is not that enjoyable. It is baseball’s yearly swan song; the end of the playing season and the end of warm weather. It is more like a slap on the face back to reality. Summer is truly gone and the hot days spent looking around Pesky’s Pole, or looking down from the ‘tiers’ of Heaven at Yankee Stadium, or looking across Waveland street from the top of the ‘Bud Tower”; the days spent eating peanuts and cracker jacks to the crack of the bat when the ball connects with the sweet spot and the smell of popcorn, hotdogs and the other concession food that adds an unique fragrance to each ballpark, are gone for another year.
The time has come for us to hunker down in our homes, perhaps sitting around the fireplace with a big mug of hot chocolate, counting down the days until the wind shifts bringing the familiar sound of baseball back to us from the sunny south. Time to hang up our gloves, jerseys and other game day swag in the back of our closets and bring forward the bulky sweaters, leg warmers (are they still in fashion this year or was that so yesterday), winter jackets and for those brave enough to go outside, the hockey stick and skates. Just don’t put the baseball stuff too far out of reach just in case a last minute trip to Florida or Arizona can be arranged.
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