Snow? Check.
Cold? Check. Chi-beria?
Oh yeah, or the North Pole or the South Pole or Antarctica by the
Lake. Chicago has it all in a
white-death, the-sky-and-earth-merge-in-gray-at-the-horizon sort of way.
And
yet softball starts to practice for real next week. Come February, time will exist on two tracks,
the frozen outside and speed-of-light inside.
Then, boom, March, and off we go for six straight weeks of doubleheaders,
hope and dread.
When it ends, January will seem so
long ago. I hope.
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