The pomp and circumstance surrounding the opening of the Major League baseball season is unrivaled. Buntings and banners adorn stadiums across the country. The green grass of playing fields is mowed in checker boarded aesthetic symmetry. It is the most sacred of days for a baseball fan whether they are rabid or casual. Children are withdrawn early from school. Men and women call in sick to work. Opening Day should be a national holiday.
The start of the professional football season doesn’t have an Opening Day. The same is true for professional basketball and hockey. They all have their first games, but nothing as grand as an Opening Day. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.
I have attended 34 consecutive baseball home openers somewhere. Most have been in New York at Shea Stadium. A few took place at Yankee Stadium back during Reggie Jackson’s tenure with the club. The last sixteen have been played in Florida at a football stadium reconfigured for baseball. In 2002, I was fortunate enough to be at Shea for the Mets home opener, and then back in Florida to see the Marlins ring in the new season. I have had the privilege of sharing the Opening Day experience with my son Cory for the last twenty-one years. As he pointed out, his Opening Days can now buy beer legally.
Numerous Opening Days have been shared with another companion, my friend Gregg, the possessor of the sacred Sugarless Peppermint Bubble Yum Bubble Gum. I have been fortunate enough to be in the company of both many times. There was one year Cory and I went to Shea, while Gregg attended the Marlins inaugural Opening Day. That was April, 1993. Cory and I would move to Florida the following June. It was the only Marlins home opener we’ve ever missed. That night Gregg in Florida, and Cory and I in New Jersey, would watch his alma mater, the University of North Carolina win the NCAA basketball championship.
Opening Day holds many special memories for me. In 1987, at Shea Stadium, the banner was hoisted signifying their World Series Championship over the Boston Red Sox in 1986. In 1988, the twenty-fifth anniversary of the opening of Shea Stadium was celebrated with a scoreboard video montage of Shea’s greatest memories accompanied by The Beatles song In My Life. They would run this clip before every game that year. Each time I got choked up, and each time I got goose bumps every time the ball went between Bill Buckner’s legs. The memories of Opening Day at Shea 2002 were equally as moving.
It was the first Opening Day in New York following the 9/11 tragedy. Emotions ran high, and rather close to the surface. The rendition of the Star-Spangled Banner was made rousing by the 55,000 in attendance signing joyously along. So when Art Garfunkel sang God Bless America in the fifth inning, it was no surprise that those 55,000 voices drowned his out by the end of the first bar. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.
Opening Day 2009 will also stand out as special. First and foremost, this year Gregg brought along his two daughter’s Carly and Jamie, for the first time. The day before, Cory and I guessed how many ceremonial “first pitches” would be thrown out this Opening Day. Formally a tradition of particular significance, the first pitch had become so commonplace at a Marlins game, that I’ve witnessed seven such pitches to start a game. An honor started by President William Howard Taft, the Marlins and their PR department had reduced the importance of the act to that of casting a fishing line in the ocean. If someone was a big enough team sponsor, some suit, or their kid got to throw out a ball.
This year was different. As our group, which numbered ten this year, made their way toward the Stadium about fifteen minutes prior to game time; an announcement was made that one such corporate dignitary was about to throw out the season’s ceremonial first “first pitch.” I breathed a disheartened sigh. I figured by the time we all reached our seats at least five other “first pitches” would be thrown. This was not the case.
When we sat down all members of both the visiting Washington Nationals, and the Marlins were introduced. After the Nationals aligned themselves along the third base line, and the Marlins along the first, a small boy with a glove made his way to the front of the pitchers mound. His name was Sean Romero. His father was an F-15 fighter pilot stationed in Iraq. To everyone’s surprise, his image appeared on the stadium Jumbotron. His message was short, telling Sean that while he would be ringing in the new season in Florida, he would be ringing it in Iraq. He told Sean that he loved him and would see him soon. Only the black of heart were unmoved. The kid got a standing “O.” We remained standing while the band Chicago covered The Star-Spangled Banner. No one really cared that the audio didn’t work properly, because a tad too early, a formation of F-15 fighter jets performed a “fly over.” Let the game begin.
What a game it was. Sterling defensive plays, stolen bases, and the long ball. Marlins first baseman Jorge Cantu belted one. Adam Dunn who should be Washington’s first baseman after the way he played left field, hit one to the next town over.
Emilio Bonifacio, who the Marlins acquired in a trade with Washington, was starting his first game as the Marlins third baseman. He was the reason Cantu had been moved to first, even though Bonifacio is a shortstop. His home run was of particular note. In the forth inning, he lofted a fly ball deep in center field, over the head of the Nationals Lastings Milledge. Had Milledge caught the ball, it would have been spectacular. But, what resulted was even more so. Once Bonifacio saw that Milledge didn’t make the play, he turned on his jets and sped around the bases. The crowd went ballistic, not sitting until they coaxed him from the dugout for a curtain call. Welcome to South Florida. It was the first Opening Day inside-the-park home run since Carl Yastrzemski did it in 1968. Bonifacio finished the day 4-5, with two RBI’s, and three stolen bases. Quite a debut. Hanley Ramirez added an exclamation point with a grand slam in the bottom of the sixth. The crowd whipped into a frenzy, clamored for another curtain call, and it was granted. Ramirez dutifully stepped from the dugout and tipped his cap in grateful acknowledgement. Everyone went home a winner. For at least one day the Marlins were in first place…tied with the Mets. What a day, but it wasn’t over yet, there was still the night.
Just as in 1993 Gregg, Cory, and I planned on watching the North Carolina Tar Heels play for the National Championship. This time we got to do it together. We weren’t separated by an entire coastline, only by seven or eight miles. After a quick stop at home, Cory and I picked up his friend Jarred, and we all made our way to Gregg’s to see if history would truly repeat itself. We weren’t disappointed.
By the time everyone had gotten comfortable UNC was up by twenty on the Michigan State Spartans. Each time the lead shrank below that watermark Gregg squirmed. Occasionally a phrase will fit the scenario precisely. The axiom “all over but the shouting” would have fit if uttered any time after the first ten minutes of the forty minute contest. The Tar Hells had too many weapons at their disposal. If Michigan clamped down on Tyler Hansborough, they’d go to Ty Lawson. If Lawson got squeezed, Wayne Ellington stepped up. The 89-72 final score was closer than the play of the game. North Carolina had won its fifth National Championship in basketball.
Fifteen years ago, my friend celebrated his hometown baseball team’s first victory. Fifteen hundred miles away my son and I watched the New York Mets win their first game of the season. Separately, we shared our friend’s joy when his school won the NCAA Championship.
Monday, together we saw the Marlins and North Carolina do the same, just as we had years ago. This year, we celebrated tradition, friendship, and camaraderie.
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