Spring arrived this week. Here in D.C., the fields are drying out at last. The players have had it with gym work; they're desperate to be outside. And I'm like every other fan. There'll be games to see and I love watching a lefty work: Ball over the top, wrist-snap, and then for an instant on his drift toward third the pitcher hangs as if suspended, arm dangling, body about to fall. He looks so damned helpless. Any praying begins then.