It's weird, the feeling I get this time of year.
No matter how long it's been since I stopped playing, it seems like the game calls to me, every year come April.
I've got baseball in the blood, I guess, and that's just how it is. And, hopefully, that's how it'll be for a long time.
Because as much as I miss playing--sometimes to the point where it's painful--I still like the fact that I miss it.
I don't know how much sense that makes, and I hesitate to make the "ghost limb" analogy, but I guess what I'm saying is, I'm glad that somewhere--deep down as it may be--there's still a little part of the game in me.
So as April and Opening Day approaches in the big leagues, and as high schools and colleges and little leagues all over the country get ready for another season at the ballpark--in the dirt and on the grass and at the plate--I'm getting ready, too.
And that's just how it should be.