Opening Day is not Opening Day.
Opening day is when you cut class and go watch your favorite players in action, finally, once again.
Opening Day is when everything in the world is good.
Opening Day is when you feel alive again.
This year, it’s different.
This year, I spend Opening Night on my grandmother’s porch, reminiscing with my cousins about childhood memories, about relatives long and recently lost, and the conclusion that right now, baseball simply does not matter.
As I write this, the Yankees have blown a 5-1 lead and are trailing 8-7. I have no idea how this happened, but I know Granderson and Posada hit home runs, and that the Yankees tend to lose to the Red Sox in April, and then wallop them in August.
The Yankees, I know will play on. They’ll remain constant, if not exactly regular. As the summer progresses, with each day there will be another game, some wins, some losses, some rainouts, but baseball will remain constant.
But (grammatical faux pas aside), these moments with my family, I’ve learned the hard way, will not always be here.
So you take advantage of it when you can.
Baseball will wait.
