Today is 3-3.

Age is just a number. No, it isn't.

Though it’s not by choice, I tend to think mathematically. It’s just in the wiring, I guess, but it’s not an arithmomania thing, and I’m not into numerology. I haven’t really tried working out why it’s part of my language — but I do know that it offers baseball a firm handshake. I first loved the sport by playing it. The numbers, I think, helped expand that love early on into something on an altogether different level.

I’m sure there are times, especially outside of the game, that I see (and maybe seek) meaning in numbers that isn’t really there. Do I find manufactured comfort in symmetry? Am I leaning, at some level I’m not fully aware of, into unmanipulatable math-truths as a source of equanimity — a flow state, I believe the younger set calls it?

Dunno. But I do know that there are times that I’m intentional about making the connections. In last month’s “108 Things I Love About Baseball” story, I finished it, at No. 108, with deference to the number itself, and all the ways it lends itself to the Great Game. Among the 300 words I dropped on the number 108, after noting that I always wore No. 12 when I played, was this: “12 times 9, the quintessential baseball number . . . . equals 108.”

Breaking that down, so does 12 x 3 x 3.

That is: my uniform number . . . times my birth month . . . times my birth date.

Today’s that month and that date. The day on which you are invited, more than any other, to skip the rest of this post and get on with your day.