Opening Day

It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. ~A. Bartlett Giamatti

Don't tell me about the world. Not today. It's springtime and they're knocking baseballs around fields where the grass is damp and green in the morning and the kids are trying to hit the curve ball. ~Pete Hamill

Finally, it is Opening Day once more! I couldn't find the quote I was looking for -- something about making it through March and knowing you'll survive another year -- but those two will do just fine. Note that, in my opinion, Opening Day is today -- Monday -- not Sunday night! I must admit to taking a little evil pleasure in the fact that the MLB/ESPN created Sunday night opener featured an almost 3 hour rain delay. Hey MLB/ESPN, real baseball fans know the season doesn't really open until 1:10 Central time today when Aaron Harang throws the first pitch in Cincinnati!

Still, baseball is back and fans of all 30 teams can, for a while, dream of winning The Series -- though realistically everyone knows the Cardinals will win it this year, right? I had an erudite tribute planned for today's post. It was going to feature many of American's greatest philopsophers: Walt Whitman, Bill Veeck, Yogi Berra, etc. While checking other blogs this morning, however, I saw I'd been scooped by Melusina again. Damn Mel and her 8 hour head start! Oh well, I'll let her wax poetic on the game:

1983 was the year I got to meet Rick Dempsey, and I saw Eddie Murray’s ass in the O’s locker room. By the time ol’ easy out Cal beat the consecutive games record in 1995, baseball was all but over for me. Strikes had left a stale taste in my mouth, and interleague play in 1997 left me cold. I watched a handful of baseball games before I moved out of the U.S. in 2002, and I haven’t seen one since.

Still, I can’t help but feel a gentle stirring in my heart when spring days grow warm. In the distance I imagine the crack of the bat, the cheer of the crowd, the excitement of a player sliding into home. I can smell the hotdogs, the spilled beer, and Boog Powell’s barbecue. If I close my eyes I can see Camden Yards opening up before me, the Bromoseltzer clock tower poised ahead. One breath and I can feel the excitement as the game begins. Baseball has a mystical, ethereal quality that is inexplicable. No other sport has had so many legends and myths surrounding it. No other sport feels the way baseball feels – the sounds, the smells, the aura. I do miss baseball, although it will never feel the same as it did on a cool summer evening in 1983.

Well said, Mel.

Seriously, folks: Watch a game, drink a beer, eat a dog; life isn't so bad. Play Ball!