Winter Sports

These are the times that try our souls—eight to twelve inches of snow predicted to fall on top of, what is it now, a hundred inches already on the ground? Penny the satanic basset can barely see over the drifts on our walks. Maybe if I were Dutch or Minnesotan, this would all be invigorating. I could slap on my skates or cut a hole in the ice on some lake. Yeah, that’s it, stare down into a circle of ice-cold water with a pole or line in my freezing hands. You think the fish won’t be staring back at the dummy looking at him? The best I ever did on skates was learn how to walk; anything more was beyond my Hans Brinker skillset. But, as I like to remind a certain friend, at least I could get up off my ankles while taking baby steps around the rink. In high school, we did play something along the lines of galoshes-hockey in the alley. But it never went too long either because of the cold or Bob turning into Eddie Shore. Teammate or opponent, Bob took to hacking at the nearest limb—or head—until we all ran home. Just for the fun of it, I checked on the Strat-O-Matic website to see what old season they might be doing this year. Crap, 1956. They did that one already, and I don’t feel like popping $50 for cards with advanced info I don’t use when playing. If Strat-O-Matic can’t save me, what will? Oh, that’s right. Pitchers and catchers are due to report on Wednesday.