Yes, and to experience nature's annual gift of renewal, with a cold one in hand - more Vivaldi, please. Call it total bliss - for the first three innings, anyway. Then the overrated bush-league April sun chokes in front of 59,000 fans and drops behind the third deck. Yankee Stadium instantly becomes a Port Authority bus terminal on a bitter, unforgiving Sunday morning in January. The beautiful women disappear.
Lumpy men shiver by the tunnels, cupping their hands, sneaking a smoke.
I hate April. Once in April, back in high school, I ran a two-mile race. Training had gone superbly. The race was on my hometown track. I was quite sure I could break 10 minutes.