Opening Day!

Since the internet began, I have seen the expression, “If you have to ask me Opening Day for what, we can’t be friends.” While humorous, it does strike a funky chord within me when someone does ask. Since my son, Cory, was two, I have felt the Opening Day of the Major League Baseball Season should be a National holiday. Social media has allowed for this notion to gain some support in the emotional, and legislative sense. If it ever does gain government recognition as such, I will be delighted as to the acknowledged significance of baseball in this country’s history. If it doesn’t, I will continue to be a scofflaw, and nefariously keep my child home from school to attend Opening Day in person. I will not lie when needing a reason for their absence, and say they had “A doctor’s appointment.” I will say my child was attending Opening Day. Those administrative powers can ask themselves, “Opening Day of what?”

Say what you will but a hot dog just tastes better on Opening Day!

After a brief hiatus due to CoVid, and MLB hierarchy, I attended Opening Day with Cory.

He told me it was the 34th time in his 38 years on the planet we have attended an Opening Day together. More than half my life. When he was younger, it was just he and I. Over the years it became a significant event to others as well when we were joined together with various friends and family members.

This year, my wife and daughter attended their very first with us. I found it to be quite an emotional life experience on several levels. I was glad to be back. I was glad that no matter what is going on in our lives, Cory and I will always make time for Opening Day. We understand that others who join us may not share our level of enthusiasm, but we enjoy it immensely they are there. The outcome of the game to me has become meaningless if the Mets are not playing. However, what occurs during the game is logged, stored, and analyzed in real time, or later for examination.

I saw the Tampa starting pitcher, Zach Eflin throw three innings without anything minutely representing a possible hit, then he gives up a home run. And in the sixth inning, he gives up two more. All three hits allowed thus far for Zach are home runs. I sat in my seat waiting for the wheels to come off, and then they did. He gives up an infield single, hits a batter, and a walk to the following hitter to complete the meltdown. The bases are now loaded. Another home run would’ve added insult to injury. Zach has nothing. The manager can’t get someone warmed up in time to replace Zach. He allows an extra base hit to the son of a former Major League all-star. More runs. There is no place for Zach to hide. This is the story I archive in my head that I only tell to myself, just with more color, and more long winded. There were four other second generation players participating on Opening Day. I watched their dad’s careers as well. Three of those dads are in the National Baseball Hall of Fame. More factoids for my brain.

When attending a live game, I always hope for a triple. Theres nothing like it really. The batter hits the ball just hard enough for the outfielders not to reach. The crowd roars in excitement. He accelerates out of the batter’s box knowing he has at least a double. The crowd mirrors his effort with their cheers. He rounds first and heads for second. Wait, he’s not slowing down! He’s going to go for third. The crowd noise builds exponentially with every stride the hitter takes toward third, here comes the throw from the outfield! The fan’s cheering now reaches its crescendo when the umpire rules the batter safe!

However, there was no triple hit that day. There didn’t need to be. Being at Opening Day with my friends and my family is a home run. I feel the crowd noise of a triple every day because of them.