Cherokee Fiddle came to mind today, when, anxious for my personal official sign of the arrival of spring, major league baseball, I tuned into a spring training game between the Atlanta Braves and the Houston Astros.
I've been an Atlanta fan for years, however, after listening to a few innings and only hearing a couple of names I recognized, I got a bad feeling that something wasn't right.
A few minutes of Googling confirmed my worst suspicion. During the off season, Evan Gaddis, Jason Heyward, and many other favorite players had been traded. In a single horrible moment, I realized the Braves would never be "my team" again.
Like a jilted lover, I began looking for a new partner. The only one that came to mind as a contender for my allegiance was the San Francisco Giants. A minute of Googling later, I discovered that my favorite Giant, Pablo Sandoval, is now playing for the Boston Red Sox.
Jilted again, I turned off the game, and rode in silence for a few minutes. Then two verses from Cherokee Fiddle began to play through my mind:
Now the Indians are dressing up like cowboys
And the cowboys are putting leather and turquoise on
And the music is sold by lawyers
And the fool who
fiddle in the middle of the station is gone
Some people say they'll never miss him
Old fiddles squeal like the engine breaks
is gone forever
Just like the mu
sic of the whistle that the old locomotion makes
With the old country favorite playing in my mind, I mentally turned off my stadium lights, rolled down the window, and realized, it is already spring. I don't have to wait for April 1st and the shout of "Play Ball," to appreciate the season. In fact, I'm doing great without baseball in my life. I'm going to keep it that way.