In the Hands of the Man in Charge

Pitchers and catchers report in four days.

If you don't know what that means, you might think twice about reading on -- because this piece is about being a baseball fan. For those people who are not into baseball, fans are beyond a little strange -- after all, when you find the game up there with watching paint dry, how easy would it be to relate to someone who goes out of their way to catch the process? Who even have their own favorite colors of paint.

So beyond a favorite team (a Red Sox fan since I was ten and my mother informed me that the women in the family were obliged to cheer for the underdogs, "And there ain't no underdogs like the Sox."), and favorite players (two of which are Trot Nixon and Mike Timlin), I also have a favorite position.

I have a thing for catchers.

Growing up, my brother idolized Johnny Bench and this was the first time I was introduced to the notion that catchers might be cool. He taught me that although the pitcher gets all the glory (or blame) the catcher is actually the guy in control of the entire team, the manager's presence on the field, the man at the apex of the diamond. And he is expected to do it with as little attention to himself as possible. Who ever heard of a flamboyant or diva catcher? So, here he is: the strong silent type, the one that chases down the batter when he goes after the pitcher, who is just daring you to try and steal so he can fire that gun of an arm and smoke you, the one that's sneakin a sign -- always between his thighs. Geez Louise. What's not hot about that?

On Opening Day in Boston last spring, I passed a family lucky enough to be on their way to Fenway. Chatting up the little boy of the group, I asked if he would cheer for my very favorite player in my absence. He agreed, but when I told him my favorite player was Jason Varitek, his father piped up, "Jesus! What is it with Varitek and the women?" His wife laughed and gushed, "Oh my God those catchers! Don't ya just love 'em?"

I told the guy that the truth was I had a crush on Varitek to begin with, but then he had to go and shove his mitt in Arod's face -- and well, after that it was love. The guy busted out in a big grin. "That was gorgeous," he admitted.

And so right around Valentine's Day each year, I know we are getting close. Just as I get into some serious jonesing for baseball, catchers all over the country start getting ready to do their thing. Bring it on Jason! I'm waiting.