Recent photos of Great American Ball Park showed the soil of the field stripped bare, a forbidding brown plain of late fall and despair.
It is well.
What’s going in there is a completely new sod carpet, which has been patiently cultivated for years. The grass has been watered, covered, left to the sun’s work, watered again. Mostly, it’s been left alone to be itself and think big major league thoughts.
I abhor winter, even at the first snow, even at Christmas. The jackets, the scraping, the air assault on the face. That I have a Cincinnati and non-Colorado address is attributable to the presence of my family and the fact that the front range has been under a foot of snow since October.