Opening Day

Breaking with tradition, although not for the first time, this year I let opening day of baseball in Chicago pass without note for two whole days. Perhaps because for the life of me, I can't understand why baseball should played be in March, at least in this part of the country where the temperatures are still hovering around freezing. 

It's still cold outside, but today is the first day of April and I'm ready to think about baseball. 

That said, I've already sat through an entire ballgame this year. One day before MLB opening day, my son's college team came to town to play the team from the University of Chicago. It was a thrilling game with many scoring opportunities, yet scoreless until the top of the seventh inning when one of my son's teammates, the best player on the team, with no one on base, hit an opposite field home run. 

Then the game got really interesting in the bottom of the ninth. With nobody on and the home team down to their last strike, AND everybody ready to leave because it was SO damn cold, their batter managed to poke the ball between our first and second basemen for a single, then stole second on the first pitch to the next batter. He advanced to third on an infield hit and before we knew it, the tying and winning runs were on base. But after a seemingly endless at bat, the next batter popped to second ending the game, our good guys winning 1-0.

Why I'll never be a sports photographer.
This is the pitch before the pitch this batter hit over the right field fence.
Being superstitious, I photographed every subsequent batter on our team but to no avail.
That home run would be our team's only run, but it proved to be enough.
How can anyone not love this game?

My son didn't play, nor has he played all season. In fact, in this his final year of college, he's only had a few at bats these last four years, mostly during scrimmage games or fall ball where the games don't count. 

Yet unlike the majority of kids he played baseball with and against in his life, from tee ball to Little League, from travel ball to Pony League and high school, he can honestly say he was a member of a college baseball team. He even managed to hit a legitimate fence-clearing home run in a scrimmage game last fall, perhaps the single greatest moment of his baseball career. 

That's something he'll be able to tell his children and grandchildren.

Last month my cousin Betty and I were talking about the fickle fate of being a ballplayer and I mentioned to her that at times I feel guilty for setting my boy up for perpetual heartache by not warning him years ago that the chances against life as a professional baseball player are astronomical. My cousin, one of the wisest people I know told me no, that was something he had to discover for himself. Otherwise he'd forever have the question in the back of his mind that maybe he could have made it, if only his father hadn't discouraged him.

That made me feel better, if only for a moment. 

As a senior, he may be hanging up the cleats for good at the end of this season, but I've said that before.

The look on his face when he saw us show up in the near-freezing cold for a game in which he was certain not to play, was priceless. If only I could bottle it.

My son loves baseball more than words can describe. Somehow, I imagine he will continue to be involved in the game in one way or other.

God bless him. 

So, throwing all caution to the wind, I continue to encourage him as best I can.

Play ball Theo!