When the college baseball season begins in Manoa, I always start to look at my mango tree in Kailua with pleading eyes. In the beginning of the year, I feel the same way about my team and my tree: they're both full of unlimited, unrealized potential. And I know they're both going to disappoint me in the end.

That's the way it is in February, when everything seems full of promise. The Christmas bills are (nearly) paid. The annual supply of Punahou Carnival chutney will be renewed. The plumeria tree outside my living room will once again have leaves and flowers and cast its scent over my reading chair.

February, it seems, is the new spring in Hawai'i.

And the first day at the ball park encapsulates it all: On a clear evening with Diamond Head in the distance, the team comes onto the field, everyone stands for the national anthem, and for one glorious minute, nothing is impossible. No one has struck out with the tying run at third. No one has made an error. The team is undefeated. You might see a perfect game. That's what the writer Thomas Boswell meant when he said time begins on opening day.

It's exactly how I feel about the mango tree. Although the first buds haven't appeared yet, I know they're in the tree, trying to get out.

Elsewhere, trees around the island are turning red with thousands of blossoms holding the hint of fruit to come, and I know mine can't be very far behind. I know my tree is a late bloomer, so I lay confidently in the hammock on a cool Saturday afternoon, dreaming of June days to come when there will be so many mangoes that I'll be carting them in shopping bags to friends all over the island.

And then, somebody throws the first pitch, and reality sets in. The first batter up for the visiting team singles up the middle and the Rainbows are down 2-0 after the first inning. There goes the no-hitter, and there goes the undefeated season.

It's the same way with the mango tree. When the blossoms appear, so do the trade winds that are sure to blow most of them away. Or maybe it's a drought. Or like last year, too much rain. As Gilda Radner (as Roseanne Roseannadanna) said: "If it's not one thing, it's another."

Last February, my wife was lying in a hospital bed, dying, when the tree trimmers showed up for a long-overdue pruning job. There weren't going to be any mangoes that year; all the growth would go into replacing the greenery.

"The pruned tree always comes back stronger than ever," my father-in-law said. We both knew he wasn't talking about a tree.

A year later, though, the tree looks full and green. Maybe, this will be the year that it rewards me with a bumper crop. The baseball team, too, is full of bright young prospects and is doing well in the early going. Maybe, this will be the summer they both succeed.

Or maybe, it's just February, full of potential and promise that's never meant to be.

Reach Mike Leidemann at mleidemann@honoluluadvertiser.com.