(HOST) For commentator Anne Averyt, March is the month of hope – and hope is a cowhide ball.
(AVERYT) March is sandwiched between Old Man Winter and capricious April. It’s my month of hope, the month I’ve been waiting for since last October, the month leading up to a new season when all things are possible.
For me, the hope of March centers on that date circled in red on my calendar announcing the opening of baseball spring training camp. I know March is supposed to belong to basketball, the frenzy of March Madness, with pools and brackets, Cinderella teams and the Final Four.
After all, I’m from Philadelphia, home of Villanova and Temple and St. Joe’s; I know my college basketball. I know that one of the greatest Cinderella teams of all time was 1985 ‘Nova. But did you know the team’s legendary coach, Rollie Massimino, played three years of college basketball at the University of Vermont?
So this month I filled in my brackets and entered my friends’ pools; but my heart, my hope, lies 1300 miles and 12 states due south – down in Florida, with Peter Pan’s band of boys. Down there where right now boys in men’s bodies are swinging wooden sticks and throwing cowhide balls, jockeying for position in the starting line-up and sliding headfirst into the dirt.
Of course, I’m a Phillies fan. You can’t be from Philadelphia and not be a Phillies fan, just like you can’t not like cheese steak. It would be akin to saying you’re from Vermont and don’t care for maple syrup.
I know if you live around here, you’re probably more fanatical about the Red Sox than the Phillies, but the two teams have a lot in common – as in a lot of time between pennants – a lot more games lost than won. And fans of both teams have a lot in common, too: a lot of passion, a lot of heartache – and a lot of this cockeyed thing called hope.
To be a Phillies fan – or a Red Sox fan – you have to just keep on believing. You have to be able to tell yourself, deep in September’s cellar, that spring begins with a clean slate.
And, actually, that’s just the point. What other sport has as its moniker, "You gotta believe," and for its battle cry, "Wait ‘til next season"? That’s one of the beauties of this sport for me – its eternal optimism.
Every spring, right about now, as we anticipate the opening day of a new season, hope once again springs eternal for us long suffering but faithful fans.
Let’s go Phils! Or Sox! And will the last fan out the door on the way to the ballpark, please take me!