It’ll be sunny today, but the thermometer isn’t supposed to nudge much above the mid-forties. Plenty chizzly-wizzly (as my mother would say) at Fenway Park, where The Olde Town Team plays their home opener this afternoon. I might take my daily constitutional out Fenway Park way, but I will not be shivering in the bleachers. Having donned my little Red Sox earrings, a new for the season tee-shirt, and my trusty old fleec, I’ll be watching from the comfy-cozy of my den.
My first in-person game will be on Patriots Day – much my favorite game of any season. It’s a rare week-day day game with a a rarer still a.m. start. It’s a bit of a PITA to get to the game, as the walk from my house is along the Marathon route. So, thanks to the bombing, means going through security. Anyway, by April 16th, one would hope that it will be a tad bit warmer. I will note that the 14-day forecast is for 50 and rainy for April 16th. But that’s a long way out, so fingers crossed.
I am delighted to have baseball back. So far, so good for the Red Sox. Sure, the away-opener turned into a debacle, after a brilliant Chris Sale performance got smashed to smithereens by a pathetic outing by the bullpen.
Other than that, I’ve enjoyed watching at least part of each game – I even made it to the bitter end of Tuesday’s 13th inning game - and the Sox are a more than respectable 5-1 on the season.
Of course, those W’s (and the L: thanks, bullpen) came against the Tampa Bay Rays and the Miami Marlins, teams with combined payrolls that are roughly $60M less than that of the Red Sox, who lead both leagues, coming in at a whopping $235M. There’s another way to look at it, that doesn’t make the Red Sox seem quite so embarrassment-of-riches loaded. If you look at the Roster-Only payroll – as opposed to the fully-loaded payroll, which includes players on the DL, money going to players that were traded on the condition that the team of origin eats part of their over-pay, andsomething called “Buried” – the Red Sox come in second to the Chicago Cubs. No surprise that two big-market, competitive-expectation, demanding-fan teams would have high payrolls. (Source of payroll info: Sportrac)
In any case, hopes are high that the boys will have a good year.
Ah, baseball.
I can follow most of the major, major league sports with some degree of intelligence. I know the rules. I understand the plots. But the trouble with those other sports are that the plots are all pretty much the same: run up and down the field/court/rink, try to score, run up and down the field/court/rink. Baseball’s plot is different. The teams take turns standing in place in the field while one player at a time tries to advance the ball to home – the same home for both teams.
Maybe it’s because I’m a reader and a writer and enjoy a good plot, but there’s just something about baseball that I’ve always loved. The game just gives me joy.
Baseball is one of my first memories: toddling over to our B&W TV to pick player off the screen (no doubt at the direction of my father who wanted me to pick off a runner). Baseball accounts for some of my fondest memories, especially of being a kid listening to games on the radio with my father, and our annual outing to Boston to see the Red Sox play. In 1960 – my first game – I saw Ted Williams, in his final season, hit a home run. In 1961 – my second game – I watched Mantle and Maris hit back-to-back homers for the Yankees. This in the year they battled it out for most homers on the year, Maris beating out the Mick 61 to 54.
I still love sitting in the bleachers…
As a kid, I was also a baseball history buff, and read all kinds of player bios and team histories. I could entertain my father and his friend (and fellow baseball fan) Spike by being able to answer trivia questions about Nap Lajoie and Walter “The BigTrain” Johnson. (Don’t ask me now…)
Anyway, it’s the baseball season, and I’m back in business. I’ll catch a bit of most games. If nothing else, it’s an excellent respite from political news.
If the Celtics and/or the Bruins go long into the playoffs, I’m sure I’ll catch a bit of their action, but from here on out, until the end of October (or maybe even the first of November: seasons are lllooonnnggg), I’ll happily a baseball grrlll.
Earn those millions, boys! Show us that you’re worth every penny of that league-leading roster/DL/retained/buried/whatever payroll.
Oh, there’ll be plenty of moments when I’ll shake my fist at the TV. Curse the gods. Curse the players, the umpires, the opponents. There’ll be plenty of times where I fall into a snooze and wake up to find I’ve missed a great play. Or a couple of great innings. There’ll be times when I’ll even admit that, sure, baseball can be 
Still, come this afternoon, I’ll be contentedly taking the home opener in front of my very own TV.
The grocery store was selling completely old-school packages of Cracker Jack which look to be even before my time. How could I resist? So I’ll be munching away, hunting for the scarce peanuts and bemoaning that the prize will no doubt be a crappy fake tattoo. Nothing like the prizes of yore: a charm, a tiny little book, maybe even a lousy little yoyo that really didn’t work.
My soda can (Worcester’s own Polar) will rest on my outsized Green Monster coaster.
Play ball!
Sweet Caroline, I’m delighted that the boys are back.
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