On Opening Day
We’ve had one of the coldest, wettest, least Los Angeles-like winters of my lifetime. It felt like it poured for weeks on end. The wind whipped through trees and wreaked havoc on power lines and internet connections alike (it also made it nearly impossible for my hair to look normal anytime I went outside). This wintry weather was so sustained it never felt like it would end. Like clockwork, however, the calendar flipped its pages and the days started to lengthen. Before I knew it, a very special day was upon us and it felt like everything would be okay. Grab your glove, grab your Cracker Jacks, and grab a $17 beer, it's OPENING DAY!
I’ve written about baseball before. I wrote about the pure, unadulterated joy of your favorite team winning the World Series for the first time in more than three decades. Then, I wrote about the pure, unadulterated misery of your insanely good, 111-win team collapsing like LA’s infrastructure at the first sign of precipitation. But that’s life: the glory doesn’t mean anything without the tragedy (it’s easy to type that a year later. I was INCONSOLEABLE when they lost).
That’s also the beautiful thing about sports, and in particular, baseball. Every year, each and every team (save one) ends their season with disappointment, and every single winter, their fans think about what could have been. Then, without fail, as the snow melts and the cold weather gives way to glorious sunshine, the new season pokes its head out of the ground like Punxsutawney Phil, ushering in the flowers, the shorts, and the optimism of spring.
Baseball comes in at the perfect time, like a wrestler leaping off the top rope with an elbow made of lazy afternoons and sky-high hopes. By the time baseball slides into my living room, I’m over the tragedy of my favorite football team breaking my heart and I’m gearing up for my favorite basketball team to do the same in the next two months. But, because of the nature of baseball, its leisurely pace (made more exciting this year by the wonderful addition of the pitch clock!), its meandering season, and its special place in my heart, that optimism that kicks off every spring just seems to last a little longer than for any other sport.
I know baseball isn’t for everyone. Since my fandom began, the game has changed. Games have gotten longer, and the action has turned from singles and doubles to home runs and strikeouts. This year, however, the rules have been significantly tweaked to make baseball games, faster, more action-packed, and a lot less full of guys just standing around adjusting their jockstraps while an announcer tells you a long and winding story about how the left-fielder’s mother once set the North Dakota state middle-school long jump record and how his dad was a heck of a bowler back in the day. So, if you haven’t tuned in to baseball for a while, give it a shot this year! I promise you’ll have more fun than you expect.
What about you? Baseball fan? Spring-time fan? Hater of all things fun and good?
My husband came up with a few rule changes to consider. He's been getting pretty good feedback: 1) The pitcher should get extra time on the pitch clock if they’re old; e.g. one second for every year above 30. 2) The pitcher should get 5 extra seconds on the pitch clock if he gives up a home run so he can stomp around the mound in anger. 3) If the pitcher gives up a home run, he should get to race the batter around the bases. If he finishes first, the home run doesn’t count.
ITFDB 💙