That Sound

From out of nowhere, swack.

Through a construction quirk, my office overlooks the open gymnasium so I hear a lot of ping ping ping all winter long as the basketball teams practice, a noise that gets a mite annoying around the 36th straight working hour of listening to it.

But this morning when I stepped out of my office, I heard it, that sound, of a ball hitting a catcher's mitt. Pitcher's got some arm for the leather to be making that exploding snap. One throw is muffled, more of a thud when it connects, curveball a little wide.

It's like getting a sniff of cigarette smoke or a lingering sip of whiskey or whatever drug has hold of your soul. Just one taste and you're ready for it, you need it. Even though you think you don't crave it, you have to have it.

Bring on the baseball. I'm ready for some sunshine, a cold one, and young men dancing on a field of green.