Oh, how I love this grand ol' game

I love this game, this national game, this baseball.

Oh, how I love it.

Here's one of its quirks. How many times have you seen a player make an outstanding defensive play to end a half-inning only to come up to bat in the following frame?

That just happened in San Diego, to Dodgers shortstop Dee Gordon. He made an amazing play for the third out, one that makes you dance a joy jig. Then he led off the top of the fifth. Oh, yeah. He just hit a triple.

Amazing.

I'm listening to velvet-voiced Vin Scully, octogenarian, master of his craft. Nobody, and I mean nobody, compares to Vinnie. He's been with the Dodgers since Brooklyn and Red Barber and he is a national treasure. I told some folks earlier I could listen to him read names out of a phone book. He's forgotten more about this grand ol' game than most of us will ever know. And I love it when he throws in tidbits about Broadway plays and such during his broadcast.

Today is my birthday, Christmas, New Year's and Fourth of July rolled into one. Opening Day. Hurray!

I watched Al Kaline throw out the first pitch in Detroit. "Field of Dreams" and all that. Yeah, I believe it. Yeah, I got misty-eyed. Sue me.

You can have your football, your hoops, your soccer, your hockey. Whatever you love is fine. I like most of it, too.

But baseball is my balm.

Oh, how I love it so.

Scully, Dodgers chase away the Braves and Tigers blues

One of the simplest pleasures of life has to be listening to Vin Scully call a baseball game.

What a strange, frustrating season this has been. The star-studded Tigers have imploded. The Braves can't figure out how to win on the road. The Smokies aren't even worth mentioning.

So, I've found myself drawn to Dodger games, mainly because of the team's longtime, velvet-voiced announcer. (Just to give the uninitiated an idea of how long he's been around, Scully was calling games when the Dodgers played in Brooklyn.)

It works out rather nicely. When Los Angeles is playing at Chavez Ravine, or in Pacific time, the games begin around 10 on the East Coast -- usually about the time I get home or have a chance to unwind long enough to watch. They aren't that great, but they aren't bad.

Best part is I don't much care what happens. It's baseball. More to the point, it's Vin Scully calling a baseball game. That's enough.

Put the game on last night after work. Sat on the couch awhile and chilled out.

The Dodgers were playing at San Diego, a place I have to visit someday. The crafty right-hander Greg Maddux was on the mound for the Friars. The kid pitching for Los Angeles, Clayton Kershaw, had a sweet curve and a wicked, if sometimes wild, fastball.

Maddux, by the way, has been pitching longer than Kershaw has been alive.

I lost myself in the cadence of Scully's delivery, finally giving up on the game to make a few phone calls before bed. The Los Angeles Times tells me this morning that Russell Martin was the hero in the Dodgers' 7-2 victory.

Hearing Vin Scully, though, reminds me how much I still love this child's game, even when my boys of summer ain't doing so hot.