Opening Day

“The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it's a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again.:” – Terance Mann, Field of Dreams

Last night was Opening Night for the 2007 baseball season, and lucky for me it just so happen that the game was played between my New York Mets and those shits in St. Louis, the Cardinals. Sorry, still bitter about how last season ended. But that’s the beauty of Opening Day. It’s a new season, brand new start. Last year doesn’t matter. Right now, everyone is in first place. Yes, even the Royals. Every fan has dreams of seeing their team rush the field in October. I love Opening Day. It should be a National Holiday. Forget Presidents Day, throw out Valentines Day. Give me Opening Day. You want a day to celebrate a resurrection and hope? It’s Opening Day.

Baseball might not be Americas Sport anymore, but none of the other games can hold a candle to Opening Day. Not only does it come with hops and dreams for the new season, but it serves as a reminder for seasons past. I remember clear as day being in the car on the way home from school in 1988 and hearing the play-by-play of Darryl Strawberry hitting a home run that hit the roof of Olympic Stadium in Montreal. I can still see Rey Ordonez throw a strike from short left field to nail a runner at home. Oh yeah, and he made the throw from his knees. Or how devastating it was when Tuffy Rhodes hit three home runs off my man Dwight Gooden in Chicago in 1994. To add to the sting, the guy ended up with just 13 homers in his career. Royals fans remember falling behind 6-0 to the Twins in 2000, then coming back to win. The fondness of that memory evaporates when they realized the top of that lineup included Johnny Damon, Carlos Beltran and Jermanie Dye.

I like other sports, but no other sport makes me feel like a kid again. Ladies, if you find a guy that’s a baseball fan you have found yourself a real romantic. If you don’t believe me, or you aren’t sure, ask him about Field of Dreams. If his eyes remained dry when Ray played catch with his father, then he’s dead inside. Baseball gave us our first lessons in loyalty, sacrifice (except Yankee fans) heart break, and joy. If you’re a baseball fan, baseball was your first love. It was and is, a real relationship. Baseball cards are kept like birthday cards. And I still walk around with a 1985 Topps Dwight Gooden rookie. And anytime I show it to a baseball fan, they know what year and brand just by site. They remember the crappy gum that came inside every pack too. Hats are worn way past the time they are worn out, and it’s a sign of pride. The game has betrayed us, taken us for granted, just as much as it’s saved us. Some of us have grown bitter towards it over the years, and even sworn it off, pledging to never let it break our heart again. Those are the fans that have picked up isolated games like golf.

“Well, I believe in the soul, the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman's back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch, that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days.” –Crash Davis, Bull Durham