THE CHEESE WHIZARD

It’s been a long time, but the Cheese Whizard is back.

I don’t want you to think that you were alone in your longing. I missed you too. I thought often of returning. I wanted to celebrate the Saints and the Packers with you. I wanted to question Tiger Woods’ perplexing putter swap. I wanted to rip on Lebron James and the mockery he made of his hometown during, “The Decision.” I wanted to revel at the Olympic games, cringe at the continued rise of Michael Vick, and beg for Brett Favre to quit the masochism and retire already! Again.

For the record, I never considered – not even for a second – commenting on the World Cup last summer. I was too busy sleeping between goals.

I was loneliest during the World Series last fall, and like any great love lost, things were most difficult during the holidays. The news arrived on a cold day in early December. Jason Werth was headed to Washington, in exchange for everything but the Oval Office. I cracked my knuckles, poured some coffee, and started an outline.

It got better.

A week later, my phone buzzed. Text messages dropped. Emails flooded. Cliff Lee was returning to Philly, in exchange for a Cheesesteak and a Tastykake. Bang! That was it. My brain spun. My heart pounded. I sat down to write, but the cursor just blinked, and blinked, and nothing came out.

I was heartbroken.

You see, during my absence, we relocated. The Cheese-ette (a.k.a. Mademoiselle Gruyere) and I traded in the old digs for a quainter place on the sunny side of town, and in the process, I lost my studio. The green screen, the lights, the audio setup, the editing room, the engineers, gaffers, production team, even my hair and make-up crew, all of them disappeared. How could I go on without them?

I lost my voice.

So, what finally gave? Spring, of course.

Every March, the snow melts, the air warms, basketball pretends to be interesting for a short while and alas, Spring Training begins. For those of us that grew up obsessed with playing baseball, the seasonal change from winter to spring elicits a pavlovian response more potent than any we’ve known. Our muscles sense a change. Our hearts catch fire. Our souls know that it is time to pay ball.

This blog was born of that feeling. It was a baseball blog first, and will be a baseball blog until the end. So, let’s get reacquainted with baseball, shall we...?