I?ve been glued to "Baseball Tonight" preseason shows, taken up temporary residence in the magazine section at Borders checking out season preview issues, and spent an inordinate amount of time on the Internet trying to get anything resembling news.

Coming off a championship fantasy baseball campaign in 2004, I expend far too much energy pouring over stats (Aaron Rowland had a higher slugging percentage than Gary Sheffield AND Alex Rodriguez? Who knew?) and readying my strategy for the coming year.

While immersing myself in all the wonders of modern day baseball geekdom, I came to a startling realization -- no one in my demographic particularly cares about the game.

I was born in the fall of 1977 in upstate New York, exactly one month before Reggie Jackson?s three home run performance against the Los Angeles Dodgers in the World Series.

I?m aware of this fact for two reasons: first, it?s been related to me by my parents that I "watched" the game while they cared for me, and second, because from a very young age, I?ve had an irrational love for a sport that I?ve never been able to play with any skill or view in person without a four hour drive to a foreign country (Hello, Toronto!).

My first edition of the Rotisserie League Baseball Official Rulebook and Draft Day Guide was dated 1988, and I didn?t understand why I couldn?t get any of my classmates to start a league with me.

I settled for giving roster advice to men two or three times my age, many of whom were somewhat disturbed by my passion for the game.

I have a Reggie Jackson candy bar in my freezer that is older than many of my coworkers, and for reasons I can?t fully grasp, my friends view this keepsake as unnecessarily eccentric.

I now find that my opportunities to talk baseball with anyone in my own age group are extremely limited.

Most fans with a deep-seeded interest are either approximately my parents? age or young enough for me to be their biological father.

I don?t feel this is a result of me being a hugely antisocial jerk when it comes to my peers (although that has been suggested by some parties), but rather due to what I see as a generational disconnect between sports fans my age and the game of baseball.

I?m of the opinion that the aspects of baseball that make it very different from other sports on the cultural radar are the same ones that make it unattractive to my generation.

Unlike team sports such as football, baseball refuses to be governed by a clock. This has resulted in increasingly longer contests, with the average game now in the three hour range.

The uneven pace of baseball frustrates some potential fans, who view the unfolding action as slow and boring. To a generation weaned on MTV, videogames, and personal computers (all truly great innovations, at least at their inceptions), the average baseball game can seem interminably slow.

It?s difficult for me to fault anyone raised in the age of instant gratification for following faster paced, seemingly more intense sports like football or auto racing.

Unlike the two aforementioned sports, which are one and two in television ratings for sporting events respectively, another aspect of baseball that likely works against it in competing for my generation?s attention is its glaring humanity.

Baseball players remain, perhaps of all professional athletes, among the least phenomenal in appearance.

The sport that has featured players with such noteworthy physiques as Babe Ruth, Cecil Fielder, Kirby Puckett, Steve Balboni and Boog Powell simply might not be sexy enough.

Even in the wake of steroids in baseball, there remain players with asses better suited for offensive lineman, without the requisite bulk elsewhere.

Television coverage shows every grimace by the pitcher, every crotch adjustment by the batter, frequent expectorating by nearly everyone involved.

Humans caught in the moment of great exertion can be a disconcerting thing to watch, and baseball lays this kind of effort bare for the viewer.

Football hides it behind a helmet, while auto racing removes the human element almost entirely.

You might be able to convince the uninitiated that the giant figures repeatedly crashing into each other and the cars circling the track at insane speeds were operated by remote control.

Despite the preceding rationale, I still think my contemporaries that neglect baseball are missing the point.

I enjoy baseball because of its pacing, its flaws, and its underlying humanity.

A game of baseball concludes when it is goddamn good and ready, and not a minute sooner.

I?m not disappointed by the fact that I might be able to beat some MLB players in a footrace, or do more impressive things in a weight room. I continue to be amazed by what they can do inside the lines of chalk at their respective positions.

I can?t help but wonder what will become of the game?s fan base when the Baby Boomers -- the population?s largest cohort and some of baseball?s most ardent fans -- pass on.

I know I?ll continue to follow it, but how many others will?