This is the best time of the year for Tony Gwynn.

He's playing baseball, his knee isn't worn down by the season and best of all, the NCAA basketball tournament is about to begin. Gwynn is so passionate about tournament time that he actually brings his satellite dish to spring training so he won't miss a single game. He also serves as the commissioner of the Padres' clubhouse NCAA pool -- distributing, organizing and scoring upwards of 200 entries with the same dedication and precision he brings to his hitting.

	Tony Gwynn was the ultimate craftsman when it came to the art of hitting.

He stays up until the final game is over each night, meticulously scoring every sheet, then arrives at the ballpark around 6:30 so he can post the scores before anyone else arrives.

If taxpayers filed their returns as scrupulously as Gwynn runs a tournament pool, the IRS would never need to audit a single person.

"I watch a lot of college basketball. I mean, a lot of college basketball," Gwynn said, filing away another entry. "I can match my knowledge against Dick Vitale or Digger Phelps. But I've never won. I've never even sniffed winning."

Gwynn took over as commissioner roughly 15 years ago when the Padres still trained in Yuma, back in the days when he was barely removed from earning $32,000 a year and using one pair of batting gloves because he had to buy them at $7 a crack. There was no clubhouse TV and the only way to get the scores to the tournament was to listen for the P.A announcer reading them during the game.

This is Gwynn's 20th spring and quite possibly his last. He missed 124 games last year, turns 41 in May and his knees have been declared a national historic site. While he says he's felt good most of this spring, he was scratched from a recent game when he was scheduled to play back-to-back days for the first time.

Do yourself a favor. Don't wait for Tony to announce his final season. Because he won't. Just get to the ballpark this summer to see him and to appreciate one of the great hitters of our time.

But if this is his last season, Gwynn isn't announcing it.

"I just play. I'm not going to worry about wether this is my last year or not. Let the speculators speculate, they're going to do it anyway," he said. "If all goes well this season, I'll have a decision to make. If it doesn't, they'll make the decision for me.

"Friends tell me that if this is going to be my last season I should announce it so I can have a farewell tour. I don't want a farewell tour. Nobody's going to give me any damn rocking chairs. I just love to play. People ask me why I worked so hard to come back and play this year, but's just because I love to play."

It's what goes along with playing that can be a problem.

"Part of the game I love and part of the game I don't," he said. "I love playing the game and I love the preparation for the game. I hate the travel. I hate being on the road. There are more things I hate than I love. But the things I love are so strong they make up for what I hate.

"I hate to suck, too. I hate not being able to do things I did in the past. That plays a part of it, too."

Ah yes, that.

For the better part of the past two decades, Gwynn's hitting was a thing of beauty, one of the game's great constants, like Mark McGwire's power, Vin Scully's voice or Pete Rose's denials about gamblings. He's won eight batting titles and hit .300 every since 1983. His .338 career batting average is the highest since baseball expanded beyond the original 16 teams and his .394 average in 1994 was the closest anyone has come to hitting .400 since Ted Williams did it in 1941.

And he doesn't have to buy his own batting gloves anymore.

It never was as easy as Gwynn makes it look when he slaps pitches the opposite way. He pioneered the use of videotape, studying his swing and opposing pitchers for hours before every game. He's watched more film than Siskel and Ebert combined. Had he just broken into the league a few years earlier, Betamax still might be on the market.

In addition to all that, he also had to wear those awful brown and yellow uniforms, the ones that made fans wonder whether they should ask for an autograph or a Happy Meal.

Gwynn's most productive seasons are behind him -- several years, several knee surgeries and many pounds in the past. He could show up to camp with a pegleg and hit .300 but that body isn't going to hold up much longer. He is nearing the end of his career, and it doesn't matter how keen his eyesight, how deep his knowledge or how many hours spent in front of the video monitor, he will find he can no longer meet his exacting standards.

Maybe it will be this year. Maybe the next. But do yourself a favor. Don't wait for Tony to announce his final season. Because he won't. Just get to the ballpark this summer to see him and to appreciate one of the great hitters of our time.

And if he comes back next season, count your blessings.

Jim Caple of Seattle Post-Intelligencer is a regular contributor to ESPN.com.