Opening Day

It is here. Though it won’t be for long. The very gusts and chills that precede it now, will issue this joy farewell one day. Those days seem far off, especially while these are so near. The evenings of warm, familiar voices beckoning sleep as the bullpen grows thin; the afternoons of the crack and cheer, riding the breeze, echoing through open windows, are not far off now.

There are narratives, as there always are; new faces, old names, foreign locations, and legacies growing stronger. They don’t need descriptions or specifics for a mental image to be conjured. We know them. We feel them. They live in our hearts.

How does this game, this cruel, twisted, brutal, merciless, impossibly difficult game captivate us with such repetitive, maddening routine? Because it’s our game. It’s the game that comes back on the wings of new life, and leaves on the groans of a dying year. The game is life. It bears new, fantastic and exciting fruit every year. It returns luster to the old forest, which it seems has always been there. It begins with a grin and a cheer long buried beneath snow. It ends with tears and reverence for what seems like a lifetime of strife for one magical, heroic moment.

The game is different for all, just like life. It can be examined by a microscope, run through statistical models, skimmed in the paper with coffee in hand, or simply enjoyed on an afternoon off, letting the sun fade that old cap.

We need not know precisely why and how this long love affair goes on, because it always will. It’s not a number or a theory. It’s how it makes us feel. It gives us the greatest joy and sorrow, often only moments apart. It sets the stage for heroes and lines the walls with legends. It crafts curses which don’t live in storybooks and can really be broken. It gives hope to those who only need a ball to feel it.

It is here. Though it won’t be for long.

Welcome back baseball, we’ll see you tomorrow.

- Jake Reagan