|Man, I can't even say wee!|
I ask myself that question quite often. Usually it stems from a regretful overindulgence or obsessing over a bit of miniutae. However, in more than just a few occasions, it has been due to the self inflicted pain of caring about a sport.
The National Pastime of the United States of America.
The game that has given me a number of emtional deaths.
Why do I keep coming back to baseball? After all the scars you have inflicted on my heart? After all the gut wrench pain you have put me through? After all the misery, tears and what ifs?
I cannot answer that, not right now.
I just know things will be better. Whether it is true or not, whether the pains of an unconditional, one sided love are worth it or whether it is best to become jaded and walk away - those questions mean nothing.
Things will be better.
Come February, come pitchers and catchers reporting, come the promise of Spring and a clean, fresh year - things will be better.
1987. 1989. 2003. 2006. 2009. 2011. 2012.
With each year listed, I flinch. My first heartbreak wasn't to a girl, it was to the Minnesota Twins. When Darrell Evans was picked off third, I learned what fear truly was and what resignation felt like.
I've had my share of romantic heartbreak and disappointment, but none that was steady, constant and all consuming as my love for the Detroit Tigers.
So I will stew, hem and haw. I will mourn the loss. I will swear to high heaven that I will stay away.
Then I will look at the Olde English D and remember the ghosts that I loved and I will be back.