The real opening day of the Major League Baseball season is today. That means my favorite sport is back in session. That means a summer full of bats cracking, gloves popping, bases stolen, and homers given up and snatched back in the park.
The real opening day means the Yankees are once again in line for its 28th World Championship. The real opening day means Albert is in Cali, Prince is in The Motor City, and the Marlins are now in its new home in Miami. It means Jeter is still where he belongs.
Baseball is green grass. Blue skies. Fireworks in July. Breath floating in the air in October.
Baseball is little kids squirming in their seats. Old men keeping book. Everyone doing the 7th inning stretch.
Baseball is Old Timers Day and The Home Run Derby and the ceremonial first pitch and mascots racing and kids running the bases.
Baseball is rain outs and throw outs and pitch outs and put outs and pick offs.
Baseball is stealing signs, pitching high and tight, taking the plate back, grandstanding, jaking it, cans or corn, three up and three down, squeeze plays, suicide bunts, double steals, triple plays, sacrifices, and men in scoring position.
Baseball is the curve ball, bean ball, drop ball, fast ball, and knuckle ball. It’s sliders and cutters and hangers.
Baseball is being fully extended and jammed.
Baseball is spikes up and coming in high.
Baseball is sunflower seeds and bubble gum. It’s peanuts and hot dogs. It’s beer and lemonade. It’s snow cones and pretzels.
Baseball is a dip and spit and sweat.
Baseball is Wrigley and Fenway and The Bronx and The Southside.
Baseball is rookies and veterans. It’s the DH and specialist. It’s the pinch hitter. It’s the pinch runner. It’s the third base coach.
Baseball is the dugout, the bull pen, and batter’s box. It’s chalk. It’s the foul pole. It’s foul territory.
Baseball is history. It’s stats. It’s for geeks and jocks. It’s for fathers and sons. It’s for mothers and daughters.
Baseball is hope. It’s spring. It’s new beginnings. It’s miracles comes true. It’s the dog days of summer. It’s the fall classic.
Baseball is the Grapefruit League and World Series.
Baseball is a radio, lawn chair, and summer afternoon. It’s late night highlights. It’s box scores.
Baseball is international. It’s the Dominican Republic and Japan. It’s Korean and Australian. It’s Canadian. It’s Puerto Rico. It’s always American.
I love baseball. I love the game. I love the tradition. I love the experience. I love to play catch. I love to play pepper. I love the sweet spot. I love a bat that has pop. I love pine tar and resin.
I can’t imagine a world without baseball.
Baseball is beautiful simple. It’s impossibly intelligent. It’s serene. It’s intense.
Baseball takes care of itself.
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