I miss you, baseball

This is a phrase many of us have said, out loud, or tweeted, over the last few cold months.
But I really miss baseball.

I know we've been so busy freaking out over the exciting moments that happened in the playoffs - the spectacular catches, the shutdown pitching, and of course the mother of all batflips. Yeah, it would be great to get to see those again (like, say, in the World Series, perhaps?) but I miss the little things, too.

I miss having my favourite show on TV for three hours a day, every day, without fail.
I miss laughing over the reaction shots of players celebrating in the dugout.

I miss checking every day to see what the lineup will be.
I miss that rush of excitement I get with the first pitch of the game.

I miss that crack of light that appears on the field when the roof starts opening at the Dome.
I miss the smell of popcorn and beer and peanuts and hot dogs.

I miss being a part of a group that cheers together as one.
I even miss the long bus ride to Toronto, and lining up to get in.

I miss the collective holding of breath that happens when bat makes contact with ball.
I miss the silly handshakes and pats on the back after a home run.

I miss the triumph of a well-timed strikeout.
I miss the intense look on Russell Martin's face after he throws out a runner.

I miss the satisfying 'snap' the ball makes in the catcher's glove when the batter misses.
I miss the casual catching of a popup to end an inning.

I miss the team that likes its runs like it likes its grapes - in bunches.
I miss the on-field high-fives at the end of a win.

I miss the sun being in everyone's eyes.
I miss the surprise RBIs from the bottom of the lineup.

I miss seeing the colour blue and it making me smile.
I miss Chris Colabello falling asleep in the dugout because Smoak's playing first again.

I miss everyone's eyeblack getting all smeary by the end of the game.
I miss Tulo's silly-looking sunglasses that he somehow manages to pull off.

I miss Jose Bautista taking every possible opportunity to stretch.
I miss cheering when someone slides into a base and is ruled 'safe' on a close call.

I miss that little blue oven mitt Pillar wears on his hand.
I miss the dumping of Gatorade to celebrate.

I miss the daily updates on the ever-changing status of Josh Donaldson's hair.
I miss surprise comebacks and late-inning walkoffs.

I miss the smoothly-turned double-plays.
I miss Roberto Osuna pointing to the sky after he ends the game.

I miss the unusual things that leave us all scratching our heads.
I miss Marcus Stroman proving all his doubters wrong.

I miss the replays that let us admire incredible plays from every angle.
I miss Gibby making smart choices but also being really nonchalant about it.

I miss feeling incredibly proud of people I've never met.
I miss their happiness becoming our happiness, their frustration ours too.


I miss all the moments that make up nine innings times one hundred and sixty-two games of pure joy.

Hurry back, baseball. I miss you.