Like everyone else I know, I've hit the vast cultural wasteland between the end of the Super Bowl and the start of March Madness full of despair. I mean, at this point in the calendar every winter goes from lousy to sucks.

But the winter of 2011 blew right past lousy, put sucks in its rearview mirror and went straight to the kind of bleak, pervasive hopelessness you normally find in a Chekov story. And somewhere around the time I was putting buckets on my windowsills to catch the ice dam runoff, or when I was climbing a ladder in the dark with a crowbar to hack at the six inches of global warming frozen in my gutters, it occurred to me that it was going to take a lot more than usual to make this winter misery go away.

More than the stupid Red Sox equipment truck leaving for Ft. Myers or the countdown to pitchers and catchers reporting. And a lot more than highlights from the College Hockey Tournament No One Outside of Four Local Schools Cares About Cup.

No, it was going to take something miraculous. Something dramatic. Something to shake the cold and desperation out of my system and make me believe that hope could once again spring eternal. 

And then it happened. I got my miracle.

J.D. Drew said his hamstring is bothering him. 

I don't know if I can adequately put into words how much this means to me. It's like a little dose of July magically appeared in the middle of my February. It's like that feeling you get in the middle of winter when you go through your bathroom closet and smell sunblock and it reminds you of the beach. Or when you go to the Golf Expo and swing a little just to remind yourself what it feels like to hold a club in your hands. 

It's like feeling the sun on your face again. It's a Midsummer Night's Dream.

Rob Bradford did a profile on Drew on WEEI.com last week. Typical of Rob, it was insightful, through, brilliantly written and an excellent read. I didn't just throw out those compliments in here arbitrarily because he's my boss or anything. In fairness to Drew, he was just being candid. He could've given Bradford the Heisman or no commented him to death.

But instead he tried to be honest. And what he had to say was exactly the kind of thing that makes most Sox fans eyebrows hurt:

"I don't think [the hamstring] going to be a major issue when I get to camp, but there are going to be some questions from me when I get there to make sure that thing is good," Drew explained. "I'm hoping it will be a non-issue, but that being said it is aggravating because it is one of those things that has lingered. It's just in a spot that doesn't get a lot of blood flow. It's not the belly of the hamstring, but just the attachment point. It gets irritated, and when it does it's extremely painful."

That is the J.D. Drew we know and love. That is him in mid-season form.

His "A" game, with the "A" standing for Alibi.

When it comes to laying the groundwork for another season of missed road trips and three stints on the DL, this is work of a true master. One of the best there ever was in the game.

Just look at that quote again. Every man, woman and child among us has been reading injury stories our entire lives. Have you ever once heard someone break down the hamstring into component parts like this? 

The belly? The attachment point? Is this his leg J.D. is talking about or a steamer clam? Should he give it heat and massage treatment or just dip it in broth and melted butter and just see how it goes?

The thing is, we've usually got to wait until spring and early summer to get gems like this out of J.D. The last-minute trips into Terry Francona's office to say he can't go. The dreaded day game after a night-game scratch. The mystery ailment when facing a tough lefty. The various strains, tweaks, tightness, soreness, pulls and twists.

But hearing it now? It's the smell of meat cooking over charcoal. Summer all over again. Add a couple of steel drums and a harmonica and you could turn the quote into a Jimmy Buffet song.

I suppose I should explain why I love Drew's approach so much. Let me spell it out for you:

To every Red Sox fan on the planet, J.D. Drew is a bloodless, lazy, apathetic comatose slacker and a grossly overpaid, semi-productive slacker who represents the biggest mistake of Theo Epstein's career.

Fair enough.

But to me, Drew is something else. An inspiration.

Over his Sox career, Drew has been a Wikipedia definition of "oft-maligned." To say that fans and media have questioned his toughness is like saying people in Cairo have a bone to pick with Hosni Mubarak. 

Drew has missed a lot of game in each of the last four years, no way around it. And to say the least, it hasn't gone well. He's been called lazy. Fragile. They said he doesn't take care of himself or play in pain. He's been slandered, libeled, and called words you don't see in the Bible.

I guess I just look at it differently. To me, J.D. Drew isn't a slacker. He isn't a deadbeat, an apathetic malingerer or someone who lets his teammates down. If anything, I get the impression he's popular in the Sox clubhouse, if not the press box or the stands.

The fact of the matter is that Drew is just a guy who needs a lot of time off to be effective. Like it or not, he's simply not someone who is going to play 155 games a year. That's just a fact. Whether it's his physiology -- like he says -- or a low tolerance for pain is something we can only guess at.

Is it frustrating? Damn right it is. But is it something I'm going to rip him for? Of that, I'm not so sure.

Look, by and large New Englanders are tough, hard-working industrious bread winners who takes pride in what they do. But me? I'm one of those guys at your job who will find any excuse to get out of doing any actual work.

So how can I rip Drew for missing 40 games a year when I do the same exact thing? He isn't a loafer, he's my patron saint.

For example, remember when everyone was in panic mode over H1N1? I was ecstatic because it was another excuse to call in sick. Last year alone I banged in with Monkey Pox, Asian Bird Flu, Eastern Equine Encephalitis, Mad Cow Disease, Carpal Tunnel Syndrome, Restless Leg, Acid Reflux, Irritable Bowel Syndrome. You name it. I had it.

So you can hear J.D. Drew already talking about his Hamstring of Glass after months of inactivity and be frustrated all you want. But I appreciate him for what he is: A true genius. An absolute craftsman at the art of making excuses. 

And a man who managed to bring a little bit of summer into my otherwise dreary winter. When J.D. Drew talks about the belly of his hamstring, it warms the belly of my heart.

Call him lazy. Call him a faker. Call him an overpaid waste of talent. 

But I call him my hero. He's everything I wish I could be.