Esteemed Yankees scribe Bryan Hoch sent me an e-mail the other
day that read: "Just saw highlights from Goodyear. Admit it. You
miss that hole in Winter Haven."  And the truth is: Yes, I do
miss it.  I miss living in the condos behind right field,
climbing over a chain-link fence to get to work. I miss the
unchanging tray of deli meats in the media workroom, served up
by an elderly gentleman who set off the car alarm on his
Cadillac every single day. I miss the sound of the door to the
workroom slamming shut every two or three minutes, and the sound
of the fan whirring in the unisex bathroom.  I miss dusting off
my seat in the outdoor press box at Chain of Lakes Park, then
trying to pick up a wireless signal from the Chevrolet dealer
across the street. I miss the thrill of potentially being
visited in the box by a slithering snake. And I miss the
ballpark itself, with its scoreboard that would sometimes fall
an inning or two behind and the occasional burst pipe spraying
water on the field.  Yes, I miss it. I