The Opening Day That Wasn't
My grandfather is a bandwagon fan.
My father is an Orioles fan.
My mother, two aunts and one uncle are Yankees fans.
My other uncle is a Royals fan.
My brother-in-law and sister are Braves fan.
My best friends consist of a Nationals fan, a Rangers fan, and an Astros fan.
Baseball isn’t the most important thing in my life, but it’s certainly a cornerstone and always has been. At the spry young age of one and a half, my parents took me and my sister to my first Opening Day. It just so happened to be the first year of Oriole Park at Camden Yards, arguably one of the most beautiful ballparks of all time. We would spend countless weeknights and weekends at that gorgeous stadium over the next 17 years as season ticket holders. (A relatively important side note: despite growing up watching the Orioles, my favorite team is the Yankees. I like the Orioles, but the Yanks are always my number one.)
Whatever nights we weren’t watching the pros play, I had a practice or a game. Every year, my parents ran themselves ragged taking me to practices and games for the three different teams I played on. My dad helped coach and my mom never missed a game. If I wasn’t on a baseball field, I was in the backyard mitt and glove in hand throwing to a pitchback or forcing my neighbors into a game of wiffleball. And, if tragedy struck and it was raining, I could be found playing Major League Baseball Featuring Ken Griffey Jr on the family Nintendo 64, one of the greatest video games of all time.
Straight up, I love baseball. I played from ages 4 up until 18, took a break, then joined an “old man” league at the age of 25. I play in two different fantasy baseball leagues that are entirely too time consuming, text with two friends every day about the same baseball news we all see, and watch or listen to as many New York Yankees games as I can. I try to go to at least one Spring Training game every year (even made it this year!) and no matter who the home team is, try to make it to at least five to ten games every season. Heck, I even push for my buddies to play wiffleball at bachelor party weekends and still to this day go to Orioles games every time I’m back in Maryland.
Why am i diving into my passion for baseball? Well, if you weren’t aware, today was supposed to be one of my favorite days of the year - Opening Day.
Growing up, we never missed an Opening Day. I can tell you exactly how many days of school I missed for it - 15. That hasn’t changed as I’ve gotten older. No matter where I worked, I have always taken off to head to the ballpark. The same was true even in college - my first year at TCU, a group of us bought the cheapest seats we could just to make sure we all made it.
It’s hard to explain the feeling of the first game of the season. No matter how bad your team is supposed to be, you have hope. The inevitable losing streak hasn’t started yet. That big free agent you signed is yet to show why he’ll be a bust. Ballpark hot dogs and popcorn are actually fresh. Fans have shown up hours early and everyone, I mean EVERYONE, has taken off work or school to be there. The buzz is completely electric.
Little Eric back in the days when he couldn’t buy himself a Yankees hat.
COVID-19 has had a greater impact on others more so than myself and make no mistake - I know the start of the season being pushed back is not amongst the world’s greatest tragedies at the moment. I even agree that it was a smart decision by the MLB. However, I can still miss it and mourn the game’s delay.
When I think of baseball being delayed and Opening Day pushed back indefinitely, it’s impossible to not think of everything that comes with it: a delay in calls to my grandfather hotly debating which team he’s “always been a fan of” despite it changing based on the best odds of who could win the World Series, a suspension of my mom excitedly telling me she watched ESPN that morning so she could talk with me and my dad about the latest top plays, pushing back our annual fantasy drafts and even a postponement of seeing my wife betray her Texan roots by wearing a Yankees hat at a Rangers game.
One of the most difficult parts of not having baseball right now is that it has always been a national distraction - something for us to lean on. We call it America’s Pastime after all!
Listen to the stories of your grandparents or great grandparents. They nearly all grew up watching or listening to games by gathering around the television or radio, sneaking a listen in bed at nighttime, or sitting on a neighbor’s stoop. My grandfather loves talking about how he sold things outside the Phillies stadium as a kid.
Baseball got them, and us, through some incredibly hard times. It served as a beacon of hope during many dark days, like 9/11. Our nation rallied around the playoffs that year in a way we rarely see, providing the “normalcy” we needed in a completely changed world. Sometimes only a few hours each night is all we need.
As I sit in my house for the sixteenth straight day, I’m happy to be healthy and safe. But I’ll be missing the ballpark and the voices of John Sterling, Suzyn Waldman and Michael Kay. I’ll be missing the comfort baseball provides. I’ll be missing the ability to watch Aaron Judge launch a monstrous home run, the inevitable rookie breakout, and the false hope that my team will go undefeated for an entire season. Most importantly, I’ll miss the way the game of baseball enriches my relationships and my life.
I can’t wait until Opening Day.