My appreciation for tradition runneth deeper than yours

By Dr. Charles P. Ipswich IV
University Professor

From where I sit, here in my oaken, naturally-lit office here at this Ivy League institution, surrounded by thousands upon thousands of volumes of great literature and periodicals, working in my position of molding young minds and hearts and spirits, I find much of American culture to be silly.

I find your customs of gorging on greasy fast food, treating every day of your lives like Saturnalia, disgusting. I do not understand American football, with all of its grunting and sweating. Your celebrities are all vain and as drunk as Bacchus. New JerseIy is a terrible place and, despite its nickname, I cannot find a garden anywhere in its borders that satisfies my tastes.

This silliness is constantly swirling around me, much like the winds of Wellington, and I must hold my tongue in check so as to not appear socially inept! Despite my odiums, I must confess that I do dearly love one American tradition, which will come about Thursday, on Saint Valentine's Day.

Yes, I am referring to the tradition of pitchers and catchers reporting to those grassy green baseball fields, littered throughout the colonies of Arizona and Florida, beginning the leagues of cactus and grapefruit. Oh, those sweet fruits, how they produce the sounds of cracking wood and smacking leather!

Verily, the site of these men is merely a symbolic display, but to these eyes, which have traveled across millions of lines of the most fanciful prose ever crafted, it is a sight of staggering beauty. From this, we know that warmer weather lie just around the proverbial bend. We know that Americans will soon gorge themselves on beer and hot dogs, and wash that down their gullet with a plastic tray of corn chips dipped in processed cheese. They will feign patriotism before the start of games, and sing a strange jingle in the middle of the arbitrarily-assigned 7th inning.

The tradition of the sport is what draws me. As you surely are aware, I am a great historical mind and I have therefore developed a much better appreciation for tradition than you have. And baseball hath have a great tradition than any other sport in this land. The juxtaposition of past and future in baseball is what gives the sport its appeal. As the ghosts of the past look down upon the current landscape of baseball, we feel ... well, we mostly just feel creeped the hell out because we are being watched by ghosts.

Forgive my collapse into colloquialism. As you can understand, pitchers and catchers reporting ranks up there with the great American holidays. As we wonder which American baseball team will rise above all others this season, much like the Phoenix rising after death, its breathtaking gold and crimson plumage fluttering in the air, ready to take down any competitors who dare compete against it in competition.

Behold, my friends -- baseball is just around the bend. As they once said in the great Mongolain empire: Huzzah!