The Real Dog Days

Don’t give me any crap about the dog days of summer.  Anytime you can enjoy a meal outside, that ain’t no dog day.  White Sox in last place and the sun’s out, not a dog day.  Cubs in last place and sun’s out, that’s a holiday.

You want dog days, come to Chicago in January.  According to AccuWeather, fifteen days this month have been cloudy, twelve partly cloudy and one—that very lonely number—has been sunny.  The last time the sun was out was five or six or seven days ago, I’ve lost count.  This is Seattle with snow, and forbearance.  Mention all the clouds to a Chicagoan, and they’re likely to say, “Yeah, but at least it’s not cold.”  Last year this time, the temperature hovered in the vicinity of 20-below.  Like I said, don’t talk to me about “the dog days.”

The trick is to find some way to hold on until the calendar turns and we get a month closer to spring; after all, Saturday is February.  Pitchers and catchers report eleven days after that with the first spring training game ten days after that.  But hold on how?  SoxFest is over, and all the media cares about is football.  The very thought of Super Bowl fun in the Florida sun sets me to shivering.

Strat-O-Matic?  I checked, and the year they’re reissuing is 1962; I have an earlier version I’m perfectly happy with.  The Grammys?  Who cares?  The Oscars?  See Grammys.  No, it’s grownup pants’ time.  Suck it up, take it one day at a time.  Make it to Saturday, turn the page.

Then, February 22^nd, vs. the Angels at Camelback Ranch in Glendale.  Arizona has sun, right?