I love baseball. I’m not ashamed of it. I will watch the lowly Royals play the Mariners with no problem. So I cannot tell you how happy I am that Spring Training has begun in points all across Florida and Arizona. As we on the Northern plains bear the brunt of another winter cold snap, there is hope at the end of the snow-filled tunnel. Spring is around the corner, regardless of what the furry rodent in Pennsylvania says.

But as a golfer, I know full well that spring is not truly here until we take that journey down Magnolia Lane in early April. The Masters is not my favorite major, the United States Open Championship holds that spot (I don’t know why, I really can’t explain it). But I love The Masters, as it embodies everything spring is; beautiful flowers in bloom, gorgeous green grass with not a blade out of place, clear blue water reflecting the breath-taking scenery. It also represents hope. Hope that Tiger can return to his dominant ways, hope that Phil will remain America’s favorite son, hope that Rickie can be more than just a flashy dresser, hope for Rory’s redemption, and the hope of six amateurs invited each year that they can make history.

Spring is coming and with it comes the little invitational in Augusta. Or is it the other way around? Either way it just needs to get here.

Brett Coluccio
 

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