Routine

Baseball players are creatures of habit, of routine. Most hitters do exactly the same things in the on-deck circle in exactly the same order every single time they're in the hole. Most pitchers come to a set position using exactly the same movements every time-- Joe Smith with his routine of pants, belt, hat, then onto the mound is an extreme example, but Johan has a routine too-- the adorable shaking of the hips while staring over his glove at the catcher, then coming to a set.

Baseball fans tend to mirror baseball players in the desire for routine. I've written before about how, during the season, baseball tends to order a fan's days; everything is measured in terms of how much of the game you'll see on TV, how much you'll get to on the radio, whether you'll be relegated to watching on your preferred internet gameday application, whether you'll miss the game entirely and will be furtively checking for updates during whatever is keeping you from seeing tonight's game.

There's not a lot in the world one can count on; I've had more examples of this in my life recently than I care to think about. But during the season, one can count on baseball, every single day. This has been perhaps the hardest winter of my life; I cannot possibly be more looking forward to the daily routine of baseball to bring the kind of order to my days that it does during the season, and to bring the daily feelings of joy and disappointment and anticipation and excitement and interest and love and competition and loyalty that one can only get from being a fan.

Only 46 days to go.