On the edge of our seat on opening day
Freshly cut grass, newly groomed dirt, unsullied chalk lines,
the music playing in the background, kids running around, and the
smell of hot dogs and nachos. All of these are the sights and
sounds of an opening day in baseball.
On the edge of our seat on opening day
Freshly cut grass, newly groomed dirt, unsullied chalk lines, the music playing in the background, kids running around, and the smell of hot dogs and nachos. All of these are the sights and sounds of an opening day in baseball.
But not just of an ordinary opening day, but a Little League Opening Day. Those opening games, the very first game of the new season were always the most exciting for me. I’d have my new cleats, new bat, new uniform, and new teammates, each one hoping that this year would be the year we’d win it all, but in reality just wanting to go out there and have fun playing baseball.
Just this past Friday, I made my way over to the Babe Ruth field. It was opening ceremonies, followed by the first game of the year. Walking down to the field, I could smell the grass, the hot dogs, and all of the other oh-so-familiar smells of baseball and I began to relive all of those years I spent playing Little League. I remembered all the games I played and especially remembered that that first game of the year. Whether I knew it at the time or not, it always meant the most.
That first game gets the adrenaline going, gets us so pumped up, it’s like we are playing in the major leagues. I miss that adrenaline flow. I miss lacing up my cleats and running out on the field, and jumping over the chalk line because stepping on it before the game starts brings bad luck. I miss it all.
Playing Little League baseball meant so much to me as a child, and it means the world to the kids growing up now. Playing baseball is life. It brings so much vivacity to everyone around the game, parents and kids both. As the saying goes – baseball is life, the rest is just details.
Extra Inning: Last Wednesday was one of the best nights for bay area sports in my recent memory. The San Jose Sharks were in one of the nastiest playoff series ever with the Nashville Predators. The San Francisco Giants were playing an extra-innings game against World Series Champions, the St. Louis Cardinals. And the Golden State Warriors were playing their most important game in the past decade, needing a win to make the NBA playoffs for the first time in 12 years.
As a fan watching all of these games at the same time on television, I was freaking out. The remote to our television was overworked beyond belief. During every commercial break I was flipping to a different game. At first, I was okay – but when the games neared their finishes, I couldn’t sit still. I moved from the couch, to the end of the couch, to the floor and then back to the couch. Rocking back and forth on the couch did not help – the players in the TV could not feel how high my blood pressure was rising.
And forget about talking to me. After Bonds hit a home run to tie the game against the Cards, my mom said, “Now it’s over.” I shot her a look that said shut up.
“You’re going to jinx it,” I said.
The Sharks game ended first, with the Sharks winning 3-2 to take a 3-1 series lead (they would win the series Friday), so I changed the channel to watch the Warriors clinch that long awaited playoff berth. The last stop for my remote was an alternate Fox Sports Net channel (there were so many local games our satellite provider couldn’t keep up), where I watched the Giants win 6 to 5 in the bottom of the 12th inning on a base hit by Rich Aurillia.
When I finally set the remote down, a little after 10:30 p.m., my fingers were numb and the remote was warm and just a little bit sweaty. Kind of like me. After four-plus hours of non-stop local sports action, it was time to hit the showers. Rooting for one team is hard enough – rooting for three is, well, tiring.
