None of those do anything for me, however. Sure, I'll enjoy watching the Final Four as I do every year, even with Michigan State and Ohio State in St. Petersburg.
I've been eliminated from winning almost every pool I entered anyway, including a last-place showing in one of them. That probably surprises you considering that my .700-plus winning percentage in football picks last fall put me way ahead of the rest of the pack (add applause here).
Although the hockey tournament is as fun to watch as any tourney around, it really doesn't have the same feel for me right now. I like watching the Michigan hockey team of course, but I saw them win it all, first hand, in Boston last year. And I saw them do it on television two years ago.
And MSA elections ... well, you know.
No, the one thing that excites me about late March cannot be illustrated inside of a gym with artificial lights and hardwood floors. It cannot be felt in the fake cold of an ice rink boarded off by Plexiglas.
The feeling - the feeling that spring is truly here can only be captured by wide open green expanses and tiny sand diamonds that dot the landscape.
I know that spring starts on March 21, but for me it doesn't officially start until the first pitch is thrown nearly a week later.
It's baseball season. That's spring, the feeling of hope against hope that the home team will win - or it's a shame.
The home team. For years, for myself, the 'home team' has always been a certain professional team in a certain large, out-of-state, nearby Midwestern city. But now that I think about it in my waning days in this town, the home team, our home team, is the Wolverines.
Sure, we may be Yankees fans, Red Sox fans, Tigers fans or even (heaven forbid) Mets fans. Those divisions represent our backgrounds, our upbringings. They help us hold on to our childhood, to days when we skipped class to go to ball games with our parents and devoured large amounts of hot dogs and popcorn.
But in our formidable college years, we each spent our time in this large town that tries to act like a little city. And rooting for the home team means rooting for the Wolverines.
Down at Ray L. Fisher Stadium, nine guys try to do what people have been trying to do since before the Civil War - hit a round ball with a round bat.
It's great to watch - it's baseball, pure and simple. Fisher Stadium has no modern amenities to speak of. There is no organ but a scant outdated sound system. The scoreboard, although electronic, doesn't explode or have a Jumbotron television screen. The field is real. The players aren't paid a salary.
Sure, the team uses a designated hitter, the metallic clink of the aluminum bats is a bit irritating and the team isn't necessarily a national contender.
Fisher Stadium is no Wrigley Field or Fenway Park,though. In fact, it isn't very pretty and has very little character. The metallic bleachers are sometimes cold, the field is symmetrical and the wind howls in through the stands on chilly days. If there is any facility that the Athletic Department needs to rebuild and modify, it's Fisher Stadium.
Despite that, games are fun to watch. It's baseball and it's cheap. Michigan baseball has a rich tradition. Along with football, baseball is the only Michigan team to have won a Big Ten title in every decade since the conference has been around.
Still, not enough people take the opportunity to stroll down State Street and catch a ball game on a Friday afternoon.
What is so great about a baseball game? Nothing. It's the chance to sit and do nothing. That's what is great - do no homework, think about no problem sets or essays, move as little as possible. In our hectic college lives, a chance to sit around and do nothing is golden. Baseball provides that relaxation, that laziness borne of the fact that classes are ending soon, daylight lasts longer and the nights need no jackets.
On March 30, that's next Tuesday at 3 p.m., the Wolverines open the home season. And spring will officially begin.
- Sharat Raju can be reached via email at sraju@umich.edu
03-25-99
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