This was my 44th Opening Day – not bad for a kid who lives 250 miles from the ballpark. Why do I go to Opening Day year after year? In most years, it’s the official beginning of spring. The snows abate and the promise of spring and summer and all the way into autumn nights hangs in the lullaby of baseball patter on our radios. The promise of tomorrow’s game showers pixie dust into our days. This year, the resumption of baseball spoke volumes to the joy that tomorrow always affords. There are arguments about whether baseball started in the 1850s or before then. But, in my heart, I like to believe baseball started about an hour after the first vertebrate crawled from the ocean, spotted a twig nearby and something that resembled a ball. And decided, on the spot, that if 17 other vertebrates crawled out of that ocean, they could have some fun all afternoon from then on. Baseball is hope. Baseball is optimism. That’s why Timmy and I are there, year after year.
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