Photo by Shaun Barrows

Much like my weekend cohort, I too have meditations guiding me through Washington’s tiring decent into the snowbound life. Namely, it’s remembering that baseball, inevitably, will return. Last-minute dirt cheap admittance, that first cold beer, hot dogs with everything on them, sunsets, grass, dirt, the sweet line of sweat that burrows under the brim of your cap on a hot summer day, that sigh of relief that rolls around the crowd after the sun sets behind the lights of Nationals Park and cooling evening breezes begin to roll around the place, explaining the art of the drag bunt to your friends, making a new best friend on the crammed Metro train home. Ahh, that’s the stuff.