Dear Boys of Summer:

Welcome Back. We've missed you.

I love baseball. It's not the psychotic "Bob Costas, George Will, worship at the altar of Abner Doubleday" type of love. It's more like the "there's nothing better than a hot summer night, an ice cold beer and a perfectly executed squeeze play" type of love. With Opening Day right around the corner, I'd like to share my 10 favorite things about the game of baseball. Some are obvious. Some, perhaps, are a bit obscure. It's the combination of all these little things that have made me a fan for life.

This isn't a Brewers/Miller Park list, per se. Sure, we have the Racing Sausages, tailgating and cranky parking lot attendants, but these are more universal. Hopefully this list will bring to mind some of the overlooked experiences and memories surrounding America's greatest game.

81 Days of Pageantry
From April through October, you have the chance to go to 81 of the best parties this city has to offer. College football may have its marching bands and student sections, but that's only once a week. With baseball, you can go on a 10-day run during a homestand. You can't do that with any other sport. Thank God they throw a road trip in to allow you to reload.

There's Always Tomorrow
That is, until mid-September if your team is in the hunt. A disappointing loss on May 15 can always be followed by a final inning, walk-off victory.

Bad Managerial Decisions
"Why did he leave him in so long?"
"You gotta pinch hit for him against a lefty."
"I can't believe they didn't intentionally walk Pujols."

Each and every game we, have something to second-guess. It sucks us in and makes us feel like a part of every game.

Urban Ballparks
Wrigley, Fenway, Old Yankee Stadium. If you've never had the opportunity to see a game at a ballpark that sits in the middle of a neighborhood, put it on your bucket list. There's something about walking around a city block on game day, looking up at the big brick walls that takes you back to the days when men wore suits and women wore their fancy hats to the game. It's a feeling you don't get when you stroll 400 yards across a sea of asphalt and painted yellow lines.

Vin Scully
My apologies to the great Bob Uecker, but there is no one better than Vin Scully when it comes to calling a game on radio. He starts the inning by calling out the batter and then proceeds to comment until the last out, weaving stories of players' past accomplishments, their minor league career, a pitcher's tendencies or an anecdote of someone's childhood. All while never stopping to take a breath. You will never tune in a Dodger game and hear dead silence. He is the quintessential play-by-play announcer and color man rolled into one.

Peanuts
I never eat salted in the shell peanuts. But at a ballgame, they are mandatory. A game isn't a game until I've created a mound of shell and peels at my feet. Adding to the experience is the rogue peanut skin that somehow finds its way into the foam of your beer. Delish.

The Retaliation Plunking
I'm a hockey guy. To that end, I completely understand why there are fights in hockey, which is why I am a big fan of the retaliation plunking in baseball. It allows the players to police the game, something that doesn't happen in many other games. For example, how many pro football games have you seen where a player makes a tackle (holding the runner to an 8-yard gain), and then proceeds to thump his chest incessantly? That doesn't happen in baseball. Why? Because the player who pulls a stunt like that is going to get a pitch in the ribs the next time he comes to the plate. And that, my friends, is the way the game is supposed to be played.

Dads Teaching Their Kids How to Keep Score
Just about every person who says, "I loved going to games as a kid," generally follows that up with, "My dad taught me how to keep score." What they should have said was, "My dad started teaching me how to keep score." As the father of a son, I tried to teach my son how to keep a scorebook. That lasted about three innings; right until the time the cotton candy/licorice vendor walked down the aisle.

Batting Practice
The stadium is practically empty, with the exception of kids and programs hawking the rail looking for autographs. The echo of the bat crack sounds like a thunderclap on a quiet summer evening. The smell of the concession stands is just starting to fill the park. Yep.

West Coast Road Games on the Radio
The upstairs windows are open with a light breeze coming through. Outside the neighbor kids are engaged in a tense game of capture the flag, and at approximately 9:15 p.m. Ueck's voice comes over the crappy clock radio on your nightstand with "Brewer baseball is on the air." The first pitch comes at about 9:23 and by 10:42 you're deep in REM sleep. The next morning, it's a race to the computer to find out how the game ended. A great start to a great day after a great night's sleep.

And so the journey begins. Six months, 162 games, with hopes that come October, you'll be passing on those Notre Dame football tickets because you don't want to miss Game 6.

See you at the yard.