Timi Yuro's "The Big Hurt" could be the soundtrack. As happens every year, baseball disappears into scraps of "new" about who might go where and money deals being suggested that are so beyond a two dollar bleacher seat boys grasp of the world. Every winter, I wrestle with, "Am I done with this..??" and the Grim Reaper swings the scythe that much closer to my camera hand. Hitting the highway for twenty years, shooting because it makes me happy. As my friend, Bill R, remarked, "What else are you going to do?"