I'm a great distance from first pitches on baseball’s opening day this Spring. And the mainstream press keeps insisting that I dwell amidst a justifiably “disgruntled” set of aficionados, sick and tired of my team's underachievements. But, after a good night's rest, it's all just so low stakes and reassuringly human. Something like 162 games wait to be played. Played. Hope and enjoyment and storylines return.
I cried too many times during the 86-year drought. I Snuck beneath my blankets past bedtime with my Panasonic transistor and screamed at Fisk's HR in 1975. May be the single most joyous moment of my life. Opening Day reminds us all that anything is possible. The All Star break scolds most of us into the realization that there's always next year. And on and on it goes.
Wow, "it's all just so low stakes and reassuringly human" could be applied to so, so much...
I cried too many times during the 86-year drought. I Snuck beneath my blankets past bedtime with my Panasonic transistor and screamed at Fisk's HR in 1975. May be the single most joyous moment of my life. Opening Day reminds us all that anything is possible. The All Star break scolds most of us into the realization that there's always next year. And on and on it goes.
Good luck! This is Toronto's year! I can feel it.
Buy me some peanuts and CrackerJacks
I don't care if I ever get back....
Memories of Fenway