A desolate image and the annual wisdom of Rogers Hornsby

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When one peers into a casket, there is no real mystery as to what's inside. But the macabre ritual must be performed.

So I opened MLB At Bat and summoned up the schedule on my mobile cellular handheld business telephone. I first found the familiar results of Game 6 of the World Series, and then scrolled forward to the next game. I knew what awaited me, but the presence of it -- the remorseless inevitability of it -- harrowed me just the same ... 

The next game is a long winter's toil ahead of us. For there is no baseball here. 

We are reminded, then, of an annual refrain which comes to us etched on stone tablets from Rogers Hornsby, who, rumor has it, hated everything except this, our baseball. On the mountainside, he spaketh ... 

"People ask me what I do in winter when there's no baseball. I'll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring."

Let the waiting begin.

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