Spring does bloom eternal. The smell of freshly-cut grass, the feel of the warm sun and the sound of balls smacking the mitt. Once again it's baseball season. For one day every fan of every team can dream of his local nine winning the World Series. Of course, for most fans, in the end, it's just one sad, delusional day. But we can still dream.
Once again on Monday, my oldest daughter and I will get a bag of peanuts and sit outside Minute Maid Park eating them watching other fans pour in for Opening Day. Then we'll trek inside, grab a couple of hot dogs, find our seats and watch the Astros try to win one for the hometown fans. The sights, the sounds, the smells. It's like being a kid once again.
Unfortunately this year looks to be a repeat of last year's disaster on Crawford Street. Lance Berkman starts the season on the disabled list -- and one must wonder if the "The Big Puma's" body is starting to fall apart. Roy Oswalt needs back injections in order to pitch -- has Roy O crested the hill already? Carlos Lee is a huge liability in left field -- will his bat make up for his defensive ineptitude and laziness? The pitching staff looks as shaky as a bowl of jello -- was last year's Wandy Rodriguez a sign of things to come or an aberration? The future of the club looks to be in the hands of Hunter Pence, Michael Bourn, Bud Norris and Jason Castro. Are they ready to take the wheel?
Oh well, enough of the negative. Tomorrow is Opening Day when we all get to dream.