As you are no doubt aggrievedly aware, it is not baseball season, the heavens are mocking us, and their implement of mockery is the garbage-butt weather that presently afflicts us.
Let it be said, though, that Mr. Met -- he of the terminally rosy outlook -- took occasion to actually celebrate the elements on this cold, baseball-less day. Please do regard:
And now please regard the depth and breadth of Mr. Met's beatific defiance ...
A host of snow angels is what that is, and none of them is fallen.
Mr. Met's secret? The knowledge that each passing second brings us closer to this, our baseball.
(Wink of CBS eye: MLB.com)