I turned to Emily late last week and said, “I miss baseball.”

“Me too. Things feel so empty without it.”

I’m fortunate enough to have a woman in my life who not only tolerates my passsion with baseball but who thoroughly enjoys it herself. (Is it any wonder we’re getting hitched?) Em usually catches the first part of the game on the radio during her drive home; if I come home late, nine times out of ten, she’ll be sitting there on the couch with the game on, waiting for me. You know the old Weaver saying: “This ain’t football, we do this every day.” Baseball is a lifestyle.

But now there’s nothing, and we’re adjusting to our winter routine–cooking shows, channel surfing, Netflix. We actually watch a lot of movies in the winter, and find oursevles spending evenings watching no TV at all (perish the thought, I know). I have only a casual interest in hoops at this stage in my life and I find pro football boring (I did catch portions of the Colts, Patriots game last night, however, and around all the penalities and instant replay challenges, thought it was an exciting game). One the one hand, the break is okay. We get to catch up on other things in life. I sleep better at night when there is no game to replay over and over in my head. The other day, I thought, “Wow, there is a lack of neurotic tension in my life during the off-season.” That can’t be all bad, right? Still, that’s part of the emptiness.

How many days ’til pitchers and catchers again?