Church of Baseball

Good Friday. In the Christian tradition, this is the celebration of the crucifixion of Christ, albeit somewhat oddly named. Growing up in the Catholic church, what Good Friday really meant for me was that we weren't necessarily expected to keep eating fish and "holy cow!" the Easter Bunny would soon be coughing up some goodies. Now that I'm fully grown - although I shan't say "fully grown adult" because as anyone who reads my writing knows that my social skills are somewhat weak and that any indication that my motor skills have developed beyond that of a juvenile orangutan is simply not evident - Good Friday still holds for me some roots of my childhood (that would be that the Easter Bunny is coming to cough up some of those aforementioned goodies) as well as something even more important to the Bostonian in me. Baseball season is nigh.

Yes, opening day is but 2 days away. I guess Easter is too, but really it's opening day that has be with a spring in my step. That's really how you know that the grass will eventually be green, the rain will eventually stop, and leaves will come back on the trees. It's always the hardest time of the year between the Super Bowl and Opening Day. Spring training doesn't really do it for me - too many unknown faces, too little competition. I love baseball, but I guess I'm developmentally unable to take any real pleasure from spring training games. Most of the guys know it doesn't mean anything, and for the guys who are trying their damnest to make the cut they're facing an uphill battle. I get excited about spring training because it means REAL baseball is right around the corner, but I take note of what is going on around me kind of like most people watch the 4th game of the NFL preseason.

In other words, Opening Day is a big F*#king deal. All kinds of boffo crap goes down on Opening Day. The first game of the season? The World Champion New York Yankees (for the 27th time) against the Boston Red Sox. The Sox are riding a 5-opening day win streak, and the Yankees lost last year, but won the previous 11 times. The most the Sox have ever scored on opening day was 15 runs in 1973...against the Yankees. The most that's ever been scored against them on opening day was 15 in 1950...by the Yankees. Good times.

Opening day is the day that everyone has a chance - the deck is cleared. The day where the league's leading hitters are batting 1.000, the Kansas City Royals are as close to the playoffs as the Yankees, Red Sox, or Angels, and for one game anyone can become a cult hero.

Baseball has done a bunch of things to consistently whittle away at the traditions of the game - for 60 years the league consisted of 16 teams, in completely segregated leagues, winner of each league took all and went to the World Series. When economy and competition from other sports began to creep into the game, the real changes started. First relocation began with the exodus to the West Coast. Then Expansion. Then the 162-game schedule. Then divisions and the requisite playoff series. The designated hitter. The international opener. The list goes on, and we can argue the relative merits of these changes for good or ill, but changes nonetheless. One thing that has remained constant for over 110 years - Opening Day is a big f*#king deal. The Cincinnati Reds no longer "open the openers," but they do always open the season at home. Tradition and pageantry remain important at some level in this game. The Red Sox always play an early game on Marathon Monday. The Reds always open at home. And this year the Yankees open the season as World Champions.

Regardless of the fact that Opening Day is, in fact, Opening Evening, it is still the beginning of the marvelous 6-month marathon through the soggiest of spring, through the hottest days of summer, and the chilly - if not downright cold - days of late October. Injuries to star players, role-players who step up, streaks of all kinds, scandal and controversy, but ultimately the excitement of competitive baseball culminating on the field of play in two baseball stadia for the right to call one team World Champion. Sunday is the day that even the most hapless of teams share the spotlight and promise of hope that they too will possess the Commissioner's Trophy.

In the meantime, the fans can settle back into the routine of hot dogs, overpriced and over-watered ballpark beer, and enjoy the take that is a trip to the ballpark. Life begins to slow down just a little bit while we take in the only major sport without some kind of play clock ticking down, where an increment of time is variable - one-third an inning can be completed as quickly as one pitch to one batter or longer than the drive between exits on Interstate 80 in Utah (fyi, this highway has the longest stretch between exits on an interstate highway).

So, this year, screw the colored eggs and the chocolate bunnies (we all know it's not real chocolate and the bigger they are the less likely they are to be anything but hollow anyway), and make your way into one of the two remaining holy shrines of major league baseball and worship at the altar of the sacrifice fly. Throw that woolen lid on your head, and cheer on the home team.

Okay, tell you what. You can still enjoy a "Peeps" show, but when you're done there, come to the church of baseball for your true calling.