"It was raining in New York — a miserable afternoon in mid-March. Perfect. Grabbed my coat and got my hat, left my worries on the doorstep. Flew to Miami, drove to Fort Lauderdale, saw the banks of lights gleaming in the gloaming, found the ballpark, parked, climbed to the press box, said hello, picked up stats and a scorecard, took the last empty seat, filled out my card (Mets vs. Yankees), rose for the anthem, regarded the emerald field below (the spotless base paths, the encircling palms, the waiting multitudes, the heroes capless and at attention), and took a peek at my watch: four hours and forty minutes to springtime, door to door."
— Roger Angell
I was eight years old when Angell wrote those words during spring training, 1975. I wouldn't first read them until many years later, but when I did read them I was eight years old again. I always am, every year when reading Angell's classic essay, "Sunny Side of the Street." I always thought it could have been called "How long until Springtime, door to door?"
...
Joe Posnanski
http://theathletic.com/2394789/2021/02/18/letters-from-spring-a-travelogue-from-baseballs-past-and-present/
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