Spring is coming.

I know there’s still several feet of snow on the ground, it’s still jacket weather and we’re still months away from an iced tea sounding better than a hot chocolate.

But spring training begins next month, which means baseball and warmer weather is right around the corner.

Baseball fans have plenty to be excited about here in Minnesota.

The Twins look to be contenders once again and with a new ballpark, the team should have plenty of die-hard fans supporting them.

Watching a baseball game live is quite an experience. It’s not just about the baseball, but it’s about the atmosphere, the hot dogs, trying to score an autograph and the roar of the crowd after a home run.

For me, it’s also about the chance to catch a ball in the stands.

Most of the time, I leave the park with nothing but memories.

On one summer day in the mid 1990s, however, I left with something more.

I was going to college at the time, taking summer classes, and took a two-week break to visit my aunt and uncle in Atlanta.

My uncle asked if I wanted to see a Braves game, and I said I did.

For that game, we took our seats in the home run zone, about 10 rows or so back.

It was a nice, sunny day, and in the first inning, the Braves were off to a good start.

The Florida pitcher seemed outmatched, and Atlanta quickly loaded the bases.

At this point, I had no clue what was about to happen next, and what happened, happened fast.

Ryan Klesko was up to bat for Atlanta.

The pitch was delivered, and Klesko hit it and hit it hard.

The ball soared through the air and headed for, the home run zone, of course.

As a kid, I attended major league games from time to time and learned that a ball caught in the stands is rarely caught on the fly. It’s usually caught after it ricochets off of a person, or two or three people.

So the ball cleared our row and landed in our section about four rows above us.

There, a kid probably no older than 12, attempted to catch the ball with a hot dog in one hand, and a soda in the other.

It didn’t work, and the ball hit the soda and rolled down a couple of rows.

My uncle ran to the end of the section to get a better look at what was going on, while I went after the ball.

At one point, I looked underneath the seats and saw a dozen or so hands trying to reach the ball that was being tossed around like a ball in a pinball machine.

When I saw it, I reached out and grabbed it, and my uncle and I celebrated as if I hit the home run in the first place.

The ballpark is a great place to spend the warmer months. There’s a lot of fun, a lot of excitement and a lot of magic that can be had.

All I have to say is, bring on spring.