Tag Archives: Opening Day

Opening Day: The Eternal Call of “PLAY BALL!”

It gets harder and harder, as the years go by, to shore up the rituals that shore up all of us. Thanksgiving is nice, but every year, something is missing, even from the enjoyable editions of that holiday. The electronic erosion of the Christmas season speeds up year by year; add climate change and the acceleration of time as we age, and it’s clear that you can’t go back to Bedford Falls.

PNC Park, Pittsburgh. I have great seats in the There-In-Spirit section.

PNC Park, Pittsburgh. Got great seats in the There-In-Spirit section.

Still, I get giddy on the opening day of every Major League Baseball season. I simply won’t let it decay. I have dug extra French drains and caulked around all the seams of memory. No amount of The Clean, The Clear, or pants worn down over the shoes will diminish today’s opener in my mind to a level below the ones I saw as a kid, when The Great Clemente himself loped out onto the field.

I try to be quiet about it, but fact is, only attitude saves me here. It is the same annoying mindset that young, overzealous sales associates employ to turn car accidents and overflowing toilets into positives instead of the undeniable negatives they are. I am resolute in my determination to keep Opening Day sacred.

Why? Because I deserve it, that’s why. Because its moment is so brief, and in the grand scheme so inconsequential, that it hurts no one for me to sit for a few minutes on a day in April (oh…it’s March…never mind) and draw a line backwards in my mind: McCutchen to Clemente to Mazeroski to Traynor to Wagner and back and back through dead-ball antiquity to the Civil War itself and rounders in England. Because Terence Mann was right, more prescient as a fictional character than legions of real people: They will most definitely come, Ray. For it’s money they have and peace they lack.

Like the God-given aroma of a newborn baby, I cannot get enough grass-clipping-and-horsehide smell into my nose. Can’t be there this year, but I have an archive. Buck O’Neil, the great Kansas City Monarchs first baseman, said it best: You can’t kill it. Throw whatever you want at baseball, and somebody somewhere will be playing as soon as it gets warm. No need for opening new markets in Australia, no worries about salaries and Arizona stealing all the teams for spring training and A-Fraud. Just…the game.

Thank goodness for The Show.

© 2014 Adam Barr

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