I have just been harbinged.

To most people, the official harbingers of spring are the return of the robins, the sight of tulip tips forcing themselves through the remnants of frozen soil and left-over piles of snow, or even the end of early darkness when Daylight Savings Time is suspended.

But to me, nothing says spring like the sight of Major League Baseball players running wind sprints in the outfield in Florida or playing soft-toss catch along the foul lines at some minor league complex in Arizona.

Hope is once more instilled in the human breast. The beast of winter has not yet been vanquished, but we have got him on the run. And even though we have a good six weeks of uninhabitable weather to survive, survive we will, because the worst is behind us.

There is nothing in this world that can compare with the quiet efficiency of spring training, and the relaxed atmosphere that allows usually unapproachable players to mug for cameras or pose with senior citizens who want only to bask for a few seconds in the shadows of glory.

At another time in my life I went to spring training, mostly to follow the Tigers in Lakeland, but also to get over to Tampa to see the Yankees, or Fort Meyers to see the Twins. It might be 24 degrees and snowing here in Michigan, but somewhere in Florida, I was sitting in the sunshine in shirtsleeves watching grown men throw and catch a baseball.

And life could not have been grander.

The Tigers train at Joker Marchant Stadium in Lakeland, a sprawling complex with six fields and a dormitory spread out behind the main stadium. Rookies stay in the dorms, veterans go to the Holiday Inn Express or rent houses for the duration. You can tell the difference because those being considered for the parent club have a white detailing line under the brim of their caps.

You have not made it big until you get to wear a line.

Inside the ball park, there are bleacher seats all the way down the third-base line, but the stands end just beyond first base on the other side. The Tigers clubhouse and a warm up area for pitchers and catchers fill that empty space. Spring training does not really afford a manager ample opportunity to see his entire staff work enough innings to know for sure, so many days a half-dozen pitchers would spend the entire afternoon throwing in the warm up area, completely oblivious to the game being played a scant 15 yards away.

There are picnic tables near the fence at that end of the field, and that is where veterans and alumni hold court.

Players who will not give a writer the time of day (Gary Sheffield comes to mind) during the season will grab a spot at the table and talk for hours. I remember one day when I was sitting by myself at a table before the game, when Tigers broadcasters Ernie Harwell and Hall of Famer Al Kaline came down to sit and observe. I got to know both nearly 15 years earlier, so I got ready for an interesting afternoon.

Both Harwell and Kaline are respected league-wide, and I sort of saw them as bait. And it worked.

Yankees great Yogi Berra ambled over and took a seat, followed by “Mr. October” – Reggie Jackson. Twins Hall of Famer Harmon Killebrew completed the ensemble.

I had met both Berra and Killebrew before, but they did not know me. Jackson did not know my name, but he always covered it up by asking how things were in Grand Rapids.

I had enough good sense to just sit there and keep my mouth shut.

It was a marvelous afternoon. They described what they liked about each player, compared the kids to guys they had played against, and just talked baseball for almost three hours. Throughout the afternoon, others stopped by … George Kell, Tom Seaver, Kenny Harrelson.

It was one of the best days of my life, and I never wrote a word about it.

I just sat there and shared a special time. I got a few words in — everybody was interested in seeing how Wayland’s Phil Regan was doing — but for the most part I watched quietly in wonder.

If you go to Joker Marchant Stadium, the players have a parking lot right next to the clubhouse, but outside the fence. So fans stand near the gate and beg for autographs or pictures from anybody who walks by. Provided, of course, they had that white piping on their caps.

And for the most part, players oblige.

Baseball took another shot in the beezer recently when Alex Rodriguez finally ’fessed up to using steroids to bulk himself up when he was with Texas.

The announcement was met with wailing and gnashing of teeth from the fourth estate — those are the sports writers. But you know what: By and large, the average fan just does not care.

You have to have lived on Mars for the last decade to not know of the drug scandals that have plagued baseball. Now that A-Rod’s name is out, more are sure to follow.

But if you check, you will find that over the past couple of years, baseball has set attendance records. There are places where you cannot buy a ticket.

The Tigers sold out last spring before the season even began, and are close to doing it again.

I am sure that deep down inside, fans would prefer that their baseball be as pristine as a new snowfall. But if not, oh well!

It is not going to change any time soon, so maybe fans have just given up and decided to make the best of what they have.

Baseball touts its tougher drug policies, but the really big issue these days is HGH (Human Growth Hormone). It can only be detected by a blood draw.

The current contract between Major League Baseball and the Players’ Association forbids blood draws.

So much for hope and change. Like everything else, it was just a slogan with no real possibility that it would work.

Baseball is back, and the game is the thing. If they are playing in Florida, Tulip Time cannot be far behind here. If you are a fan, you have to decide for yourself what is most important. Are you OK with players sticking needles in their butts if it gets your team to a World Series?

Spring training gets the juices flowing. It’s not just the baseball, but the thought of warm sunshine, soft breezes and the scent of new-mown grass.

If baseball is here, spring and summer can’t be too far behind. Unfortunately, the promise of spring training never matches the reality of the regular season.

The real beauty of baseball evaporates when money is on the line, and teams and players do whatever it takes to win.

Enjoy the next six weeks. That is when baseball really counts, when players, owners and fans all forget the outside distractions and watch and play just for the fun of it.

Cubs Hall of Famer Ernie Banks has the right idea. Walk past him and say “Hi Ernie,” and he will respond, “It’s a great day for baseball. Let’s play two!”