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George Will once observed, "Life begins with spring training," and baseball's pitchers and catchers reported to spring training in Florida and Arizona this week.

Baseball was my first love, infusing me with the kind of joy that normally only a new romance brings. Its wonderment has outlasted any other loves and lusts that have blessed and cursed me since. It remains the only sporting event that will motivate me to sit in front of a television for a few hours to watch sports between April and October.

Even though baseball has been unfaithful to me, thanks to a steroids and other performance enhancing drugs used by far too many players, I have been faithful to it.

Baseball is in an intimate game. Many sports are better viewed away from the action. In football, a seat in the rows close to the field makes it all but impossible to really understand how the play is unfolding. I noticed the same thing in hockey. I've sat behind the boards and up in the rafters; the cheap seats actually give a better look at what was happening on the ice. The opposite is true in baseball. The game's best view is from the dirt around home plate, and the further one sits from it the slower the game seems and the less comprehensible are its moves and strategies.

I understand why baseball seems so pokey and missing any excitement. Nothing much seems to happen for hours besides one guy on a little hill twisting his body before throwing the ball to another guy squatting in the dirt a few feet away. Mostly, other players look as if they're simply watching, no more relevant to the outcome than the spectators. The only difference between a real and an arm chair athlete seems to be that the players get paid a lot of money to watch, and fans paid out a lot of money to do the same thing.

For the casual fan who just forked over $100 or more to take the family to a game, paid for parking and bought them each a hot dog and drink plus maybe a souvenir, this is understandable. It's a lot of money for an apparently sleepy event with no cheerleaders, no marching band, no half-time entertainment. No half time. My first prom didn't cost $100. For less than half that, I rented a tux, bought flowers for my date, filled up Dad's car with gas, bought two tickets, danced with a very sleek looking girl wearing a sexy dress, laughed with friends, paid for dinner afterwards and experienced my first French kiss. Fifty dollars covered eight hours of entertainment and excitement.

I barely remember my prom date

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