There was no Charlie Brown special on TV last night. I didn't stay up past bedtime and fall asleep by the chimney waiting for Bruce Bochy to come down with a sack of prospects. I didn't wake up this morning and hit dismiss - instead of snooze - on my alarm, after realizing there was no work today and could sleep another hour. I didn't look for tiny plastic baseballs filled with candy left behind by Andres Torres in the yard today, just barely catching a glimpse of him as he scampered out the gate.
Even though none of that happened today, pitchers and catchers reporting is still a national day of note. There has been no baseball for three and a half months. There has been a lot of talking about baseball and a lot of speculation. There has been plenty of Mitch Williams and Harold Reynolds on my TV, telling me what's going to happen this summer, but no ball has been thrown or bat swung that carries any meaning, in an MLB sense until today.
DeRosa's wrist? Freddy Sanchez' shoulder? Brandon Belt? The Weight Problem that Shall not be Named? The talk can finally end, and these issues can finally be resolved in the real, physical world.
And for that I celebrate.
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