by Pat Cashman

Even after all these weeks have gone by, a friend is still railing about the New England Patriots. “Those guys are cheaters!” he said. “I mean, under-inflating their balls? A baseball team would never do that.”
What an excellent point.

Every year, there are sure signs that spring is at hand.

Rooftops throughout Seattle are covered in moss. (I’m writing a book about it---Fifty
Shades of Green.)
Tim Eyman is working up some new initiative---perhaps to lower the minimum wage.
And the swallows soon return to Capistrano, the crows to my neighbor’s yard---and the hornets to my back deck. (I’m hoping to develop a line of flypaper clothing for working in the garden. Flies will only land on you once.)

But the other sure sign of seasonal change is when baseball begins their spring training---underway now for the Mariners.

It’s a time for high hopes, competitive rejuvenation---and pulled groins.
There are some who really think this might a turning point for the hometown team. True, the Mariners have had turning points before, but the turn was usually downward---like a regular curveball.
David Letterman once said, “Do you know what I love most about baseball? The pine tar, the resin, the grass, the dirt. And that’s just in the hot dogs.”

The food and beverages are exactly the sort of thing that makes baseball different from other entertainments like, well, the opera.

At the opera, even while the Barber of Seville is in its latter moments---and the audience is feeling highly parched---you rarely see a vendor walking the aisles yelling, “Cold beer! Get your beer, right here!”
By the way, my favorite scene in that opera is when the barber accidentally gives Figaro a Mohawk when all he wanted was a light trim around the ears. Never fails to amuse.

Back to baseball.

One of the best things about the game is its uniquely rich verbiage---not mention the words. No other sport has such lexigraphical color.
For example, a fastball pitcher is a “chucker.”(Especially a fastball pitcher actually named Chuck who chucks wood in the off-season.)

A ball that’s got grease or some other illegal substance on it is called a “jelly ball.” (Meanwhile, a guy who has grease or some other illegal substance on himself---is a fry cook at the Puyallup Fair.)
A player who’s taking “vitamins” is a guy who commits errors a lot. Usually at least “one-a-day.”
And the phrase for a lousy baseball player is a “lousy baseball player.”

When I was in Little League, I was a lousy young baseball player. Who wore glasses. Bi-focals at that.
My dad became convinced that the reason I couldn’t hit very well is because when the pitcher first threw the ball I saw it in the upper part of my eyeglasses---but when the ball arrived at the plate, it had dropped into the lower, reading section of my lenses---making the ball disappear. I couldn’t see it and would strike out.
So Dad ordered me a new pair of glasses---just for baseball---that would allow me to see the ball in sharp focus all the way to the plate. It worked! I saw my strikeouts much more clearly after that.

But I figured if I couldn’t hit, there could still be redemption defensively. One day, my big moment arrived.
It was the bottom of the ninth, based loaded. I was standing in deep left field when a kid on the enemy team hit a towering drive.

I backed up on it, caught it---and then made what was actually an easy catch look more spectacular by purposely falling over backwards and tumbling to the ground. From the supine position, I raised my gloved hand into the air to prove that I’d made the catch.
The crowd cheered lustily.

But not for me.

They were cheering for the other team---who’s three base runners all easily raced home and won the game.
My catch had only been the second out.

Lying there on the grass---like the shameful goat I was---next spring seemed so very far away.

Contact Pat at pat@patcashman.com
He can also can be seen on TV’s “the [206]”---and on a weekly on-line show www.Peculiarpodcast.com