Opinion> Connie Schultz> Visions Of Baseball In All This Snow

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Visions of Baseball in All This Snow

Baseball is just around the corner.

That's my mantra, and I'm sticking to it.

But first, can we talk about all this snow? We've been buried under so much of it in the past few days here in Cleveland that I'm starting to think I can see Russia from my front porch, and I don't even have a porch. The white stuff plays tricks with the mind, I swear.

This is no time for fashion do's and don'ts. The new rule is: Don't be an idiot in this weather. Before I pick up the newspapers in the drive, I pull on the chunky boots, tie the fuzzy robe tight and wear the silly trapper hat my husband bought in Ukraine long before I knew him. If anyone wants to look at me that early in the morning, they've earned the laugh.

The pug who owns us can't quite believe we still make her do her business outside. We hoist her fat little rump off the stoop, and you can just tell she's thinking, "Oh, sure, I'm good enough to share your bed, but look how you treat me when the sun comes up."

I know it's only the beginning of February, but I'm done with winter. Enough with this giant snow globe already. I need a sign of spring, and fast.

And there it is (cue the music): a new ballpark sprouting within spitting distance of our house on the west side of Cleveland in Lorain County. Rising from the snow like a giant crocus, the new home of the Lake Erie Crushers is pushing out of the ground and straight for my hopeful heart.

The Crushers are the newest baseball team in the independent Frontier League, which has teams in the Midwest. These players aren't in it for the money. They just want to play ball. The total team salary cap is $80,000, and it's rare when a player leaps to a Major League team.

The new ballpark is as intimate as a second date, holding only 5,000 people when full. Tickets range from $6 to $25, which is less than most of us spend on hot dogs and a brew at a Major League game.

"The ballpark will become the place to be in the summer," General Manager Ryan Gates told me.

"The whole experience is about community. There will be plenty of people who won't be able to tell the score or who won, but they'll be full of stories."

I may seem unnaturally excited about this new ballpark, but I grew up watching my dad play softball in twilight leagues. Ball played under the lights can restore a soul. By day, my father was a working stiff in a factory job he hated. By night, he was the power-hitting redhead on teams named for bars, such as Spot Café and Crow's Nest. He brought crowds to their feet with his throws from right field to home. I still can hear the crunch of his cleats on the parking lot gravel and see him quietly absorb slaps on the back from rowdier teammates, who called him "Charlie" and "Red."

"Your old man did it again," they'd yell over to me. I'd nod and smile, but I held my seat, just as Dad taught me. He hated showoffs.

Now, I know the Crushers are different from a team in a small-town softball league, but only sort of. They'll play on a field so close that we'll be able to count the freckles on the players' necks, and some of them will stay with families in the surrounding neighborhoods. We might run into them at the ice-cream stand down the street. They'll feel grateful for the fans, too. Imagine.

"These guys are humbled by the game that's given them a lot," Gates said. "They're playing with heart and hustle."

But they don't start playing until June 2.

For now, I'm driving by that ballpark every chance I get. When it snows, I'm going to recite the last stanza of a poem that reader Jodie Knuchel wrote about this current state of winter and sent my way:

Hushabye.

Everything will be all right.

Spring will come

after this long night.

I crane my neck to see that ballpark, and I do believe she's right.

Connie Schultz is a Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist for The Plain Dealer in Cleveland and the author of two books from Random House: "Life Happens" and "… and His Lovely Wife." To find out more about Connie Schultz (cschultz@plaind.com) and read her past columns, please visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.