Opening Day

I hung around today, since I had lunch plans with my friend Kenny. We meet in South Miami on Ken's days off, which seem to be a weekday every other week or so.

We started chatting about sports, and Kenny reminded me that today is Opening Day at Yankee Stadium. On the way home, I reflected on baseball, my first love.

I started playing when I was probably 6 or so. The NY Mets were a new team then, and it seemed everyone on LI loved them, as hapless as they were. And then, the summer I turned 8, the Mets did the impossible: they won the World Series.

I remember racing home from 3rd grade that October to watch the final two innings. When Cleon Jones caught the final out, and dropped to one knee --it was a religious experience for me. My team had won. They were the best.

I played Little League every summer, and became a serviceable first baseman, since that's a position that requires the least amount of foot speed. I studied all the first basemen in the Majors, and tried to copy them. I figured if a fat guy like Boog Powell of the Orioles could play, so could I.

I was actually good enough to make my junior high, and later high school teams. I lost the starting spot on my high school squad, though, when I missed 2 games to go on a 10th grade trip to Europe. At the time I was filled with rage, since I knew I was a better player than Richie, my replacement. But now, of course, I realize that if I were the coach, I'd do the same thing.

After 10th grade, baseball became more of a drag. My stoner friends would come watch me play, and the jocks would harass me for hanging out with them. I'd had enough --I quit.

But I still remember practice in March in NY. I first knew real pain by hitting a ball with a wooden bat in cold weather. I was also forced to run --3 miles each afternoon.

I loathed it, and to this day, NEVER run. It'll probably take years off my life, but I do anything to avoid that feeling of being out of breath...

At the same time, my beloved Mets sunk into awfulness. I remember going to one game my senior year of high school. My friend Jeff drove, and we were among maybe 3000 people in Shea Stadium. It was depressing.

I started following the Yankees, who were on the upswing.

Then baseball came to Miami, and I went to the first Marlins game. I was there with my good friend Mike Perse, my brother in law Dennis, and Mike's dad, Ed. The Marlins won. Afterwards, we went home to our house west of the Falls for a Passover seder.

The Marlins provided an embarrasment of riches. They won the World Series 2 times in their short history.

They open against the Mets Friday --the Marlins' last year in Joe Robbie Stadium before their new home is finished, on the Orange Bowl site.

I'll go to a few Marlins games, like I did last year.

Opening Day always reminded me of the first day of school, my favorite time back when the Ds were little. Everyone was an A student that day. The screw ups hadn't screwed up yet, and the tired, cynical teachers put on happy faces.

By the middle of the year, things settled back into reality --just like baseball. The Mets will probably be out of the pennant race by the All Star Break, though the Marlins are being picked to finish well.

Was the magical Mets season really 42 years ago?