The middle of July in Minnesota brings humidity, mosquitoes and baseball.

Ah, our nation's pastime. Cracker Jack, hot dogs, and ice cold beverages abound when you go to the ballpark. Or watch in the comfort of your recliner.

Someone always wants you to mow the lawn, but you're content catching the game in between a Sunday nap.

Heaven forbid that someone changes the channel. They actually think you're dozing. But you know better.

Still, after going through a season like this, baseball fans just might want to head into hibernation a bit early.

I'm a baseball fan. Period. I don't care what stadium I end up going to, I'm just happy to be there.

I've adopted the Twins as my No. 2 favorite team, behind the Cubs. However, this past year (like many previous) I wonder where my priorities are.

If you haven't seen or heard, Major League Baseball isn't traveling down the yellow brick road. If anything, it's one of those dirt trails you'll see out in the county with a sign that says "Minimum Maintenance Road -- Travel At Your Own Risk."

So what does that mean?

We may see another strike, and the absence of a World Series may become a reality once again.

Why do we, as fans, have to suffer through this garbage? I just want to watch baseball just for the chance to see another Torii Hunter leaping grab in right center field.

Baseball is a nice escape during the hectic work week. So why should I want to read and hear about someone else's problems?

About three summers ago, I went to a doubleheader at Comiskey Park, and watched the White Sox play Ken Griffey Jr., Alex Rodriguez and the Seattle Mariners.

The Sox had a promotion on Monday nights, where you could get in for half price. So I ended up watching 6 1/2 hours of great baseball, with awesome seats, for a mere $13.50.

I like saving money as much as the next guy. But it was watching the games in a half-filled stadium on a muggy, summer night in Chicago that appealed to me.

I went to the old Comiskey before it was torn down, but I was never really a Sox fan. I sometimes wonder why dad took me there. Maybe it was to test my allegiance.

So I didn't go to "Half-Price Mondays" because I could take the El for $1.50 (and save the $10 parking charges). I went because I could a watch professional baseball.

And more importantly, I went because it was fun to watch. I didn't meet some buddies there. The ballpark provided a sense of solitude. I didn't take a girlfriend with me (I s'pose the ballpark isn't the most romantic place). I went for the love of the game.

So if I'm truly a fan, why does the talk of another strike bother me?

It saddens me because no matter what, I'll probably keep going back to the old ballpark. I can't honestly say that "one more strike and I'm done with baseball."

If anything, I'm frustrated.

Much so to the point that I can't think of a good way to end our talk.

I think I'll just go home and take a nap. If I'm lucky, I'll wake up from this nightmare.

Dan Fields can be reached at 434-2230 or by e-mail at :mailto:dan.fields@austindailyherald.com