Down and Out About America's Game

March is the cruelest month. They say it comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb, but we all know better. March tantalizes us with its sporadic warm days, only to smother our hopes for spring with a blanket of snow the next week.

Certain telltale signs herald the coming of spring each year. That crazy bird that signs outside your window at 5 a.m. returns. Buds appear on the trees as the river thaws. But one day stands out above all others--the day that pitchers and catchers report.

Like March itself, spring training is one of those interim periods. In fact, it's downright bizarre. As we northerners rush inside to escape the cold, the boys of summer frolic on the verdant fields of the sunny south. The Mets play the Yankees, the White Sox play the Cubs, yet no championship is up for grabs. And none of it seems to matter much.

For baseball fans starved by the doldrums of winter, however, spring training is life renewed. And normally I'd navigate my way through this fickle month of March by keeping one eye steadily fixed on opening day. But I'm not. Major league Baseball has cast a frost over my budding excitement.

Sure, I have the purist's usual laundry list of complaints. The designated hitter, artificial turf and domed stadiums are all incarnations of Satan himself. World series games telecast late at night exclude the youngest generation, crippling baseball's future popularity. This year, however, a larger crisis looms.

Baseball owners and players decided at the close of last season to add an extra division to both the American and National Leagues. The goal, as usual was to net greater profits.

And surely that goal will be realized. The new division format requires another round of palyoffs, with a--pardon me while I wretch--"wide card" team in each league. more games mean more money. That's why Major League Baseball extended the league championship series form the best-of-five series to a best- of- seven, and that's why it's destroying the sport again today.

The problem is that this new format will inevitable lead to further corruption. Since each league now t has 14 teams, one division will have four teams while the others have five. continued expansion may help the balance things out, but teams will be lucky to have even one good starting pitcher.

Also, the regular season will rapidly lose its meaning. The whole point of baseball originally was that season of 162 games(154 before franchises were created right and left) determined who deserved to be in the playoffs.

As playoff rounds increase, who needs so many games? Why don't we follow the admirable example of basketball and hockey and let teams with losing records vie for the championships? They might as well add a clock while they're at it. But even all this failed to get me down. No, a much more basic experience has quelled my spring fever.

I try to start my spring a bit early with a yearly ritual. Strolling through CVS last week, I paused as the new series of Topps baseball cards for the 1994 season caught my eye. I haven't collected in years, but each year I force myself to sneak a peak at the new set.

But alas, they don't make 'em like they used to. It's painful to sound 40 at the ripe old age of 18, but I have not choice. The cards, at 79 cents a pack (plus tax), cost twice as much as the did just five years ago. And I doubt that's just inflation. Nevertheless, it was my duty as a baseball loyalist to dig deep for the extra change.

Leaving the store, I cautiously opened my treasure, hoping to save the wrapper as a memory of the first hint of April. The old-style wax wrappers were salvageable, and I still have ones from almost 10 years ago in my room. But I new cellophane covering nearly disintegrated in my hand. So much for holding on to memories from childhood.

The digitally enhanced photos were tasteless, I though, but I did not let my Luddite I though, but I did not let my misery, I at least wanted a stiff, stale piece of gum as compensation. But the baseball card industry, in its infinite wisdom, has decided that gum stains depreciate the value of cards too much, and would hurt collecting.

I returned to my room, crushed baseball, which had always vaulted me through March in the past, and failed me. Still, I'm not completely dismayed After all. it's not the game that has changed, just he people who run it. So as soon as the weather gets warm, I'll be out three shagging pop flies for hours of end. I just hope it doesn't snow again.