If you want my unsolicited advice, I suggest you ignore all the experts this time of year and focus on baseball for all its enjoyable intangibles. Most of all, the blind optimism it perpetuates, which is what I’m here today to promote.
Blind optimism is good for you. It keeps you fresh, keeps you happy. Without it, we’d just be a bunch of know-it-all pessimists resigned to our fates day in and day out. Who needs that?
Let me tell you something. I have a dog. He’s 356 days old. His name is Dug. He’s the most blindly optimistic individual I know, human or otherwise. He’s also the happiest individual I know. This, in spite of the fact that he only eats twice a day, has no testes, has to go outside to relieve himself, owns but one clothing item (a University of Washington football jersey), retains no possessions save for a few toys and a collar, has no girlfriend, never has sex, is color blind, rarely bathes, and is not big enough to ride any roller coaster at any theme park ever. He’s also banned from most public places and lacks thumbs.