Christmas morning donâ€™t mean spit to me, and itâ€™s not just because Iâ€™m a Jew. Thanksgiving is great, but the resultant distended belly can put a bit of a damper on the festivities. Halloween is fun, even if the sole reason I still find it enjoyable has to do with the costumed variations of â€śslutâ€ť that women roll out every year. The Pharaoh let my people go some 3500 years ago, so Passover ainâ€™t such a big deal anymore. And Yom Kippur requires fasting, which obviously sucks. Easter celebrates the Son of God coming back from the dead by hiding painted eggs in the backyard, because how else would you commemorate the penultimate sacrifice of your Lord and savior. And Flag Day is really only good for finding true love. If youâ€™re Monty Burns, that is.
Thatâ€™s why Iâ€™ll take today, February 12th, the day pitchers and catchers report to spring training, as my favorite national holiday. As Iâ€™ve been advocating for more than a decade now, I think P & C Day should be made uniform every year, and it should be marked on calendars, lead to the shutting down of banks and post offices, and the cancellation of events (Really, Mr. President? The State of the Union on the same day Phil Coke shows up at Joker Marchant Stadium? And you expect me to be able to focus on whether the state of our union is strong, weak, perplexed, or otherwise?).
If Obama really wants to buoy our national pride he should immediately declare that every year, for one day in mid-February, we all stop for a moment to appreciate that baseball hath returned, and all the wonderful implications that development has for humanity. It even plays into his whole hopey-changey thing. For, where else are hope and change more evident than at the outset of Major League Baseball spring training, where even Royals, Indians, and Pirates fans can pretend their teams have a shot at winning it all?
So, to all of you work-a-day office drones, municipal teat-suckers, ditch diggers and, of course, the all important Job Creators, I say, stand up, find your way to the nearest bar, and gaze longingly at those emerald green fields in Florida and Arizona. Your time has come.