Opening Day

In Cincinnati, opening day is like a holiday. I went to catholic school for grade school and high school, St Bart’s Consolidated and Badin shout out, and therefore had to wear uniforms. The only times that we were allowed to dress out of uniform for a random day was on opening day. Besides the NCAA tournament, opening day was the only tv we were allowed to watch. Actually, that’s not entirely true because in journalism class one year we watched election coverage from the Bush/Gore fallout. That was a long time ago. I’m a very old man. I have a long gray beard and a walking stick. I wear panama hats and smell like orange juice and some kind of weird soap. The type of soap that you find in hospitals that smells weird and you kind of wish you didn’t make up the story that you had to pee because you didn’t know what to say anymore or a nurse came in the room so you were like “I gotta go to the bathroom,” but you didn’t really have to go so you kind of forced yourself to and then you stood there for a minute before washing your hands like you were scrubbing up for surgery then when you are drying them you can smell the soap and you instantly regret it. That may have been the longest sentence in the history of the world. It also had nothing to do with opening day. 

For all of my life, I’ve been a Reds fan. That’s something a lot of us have in common. Since I’m older than some of you, I actually remember watching the Reds win the 1990 World Series. I don’t remember opening day of that season, but I do remember that the Reds played at Houston. They won. Wire to wire. Seeing the Reds win the Series when I was 7 is one of the lasting images of my childhood. My dad went to Fountain Square and said he almost took me. It was probably better he didn’t because I would have died. Wait, that was Cincinnati, not Lexington, so people wouldn’t have started bon fires and lost their pants.

The Reds winning the World Series when I was a young lad set me up with hope every season that they would make another run at it. They’ve only been to the playoffs twice. Back when I was growing up, I can’t say that I was as plugged into things as I was now. We didn’t have the internet. I’m pretty sure not every Reds game was on television. There were many times when I would fall asleep at night listening to the post game and extra innings. I always loved when the Reds went on the west coast during the week for that very reason. There were few things better than listening to Marty and Joe and picturing the game in your head. Listening on the radio is one of the major advantages baseball has on other sports. You can instantly picture what’s happening. Basketball is the worst because you need to see what’s happening. A lot of stuff happens off the ball. The announcers have to watch the ball to call the action. Football is pretty much the same way as basketball, but it’s not as bad because you can kind of see it. I lived out of Cincinnati when the Bengals made the playoffs in 2005. We got some of their games on tv, but for the others, I was glued to the radio. It wasn’t the same. But baseball, baseball is the announcers sport. Almost all of the legendary announcers call or called baseball. They all did it on the radio. I always thought it was so crazy that Marty would give shout outs to 98 year old ladies in west Tennessee who picked up 700 and listened to every Reds game for 50 years. I wondered, “Who does that? Why would anyone do that?” It’s the romance of the game.

Because baseball happens every day for 6 months, it’s the only sport where you feel like you can read the players. You can follow every day and can tell if someone is playing well, lost their confidence. If they got injured or are fresh off an injury, you can tell. I think baseball is the only sport when you can look at someone and know that they are going to get the job done. That is probably not true at all, but it’s just how I feel. Here are 2 examples of that. The first was back sometime in the 90s. I want to say 93 or 94 but it could have been later. The Reds were playing maybe the Giants. The Reds were losing. They might have had a man on base. Up to the plate walked Jeff Branson. I hated Jeff Branson. I don’t know why, I just did. I remember he got traded to Cleveland and it was the happiest day. I remember I stood up. The guys behind me and my dad who talked to us the whole game asked why. I said “He’s going to strikeout.” Sure enough, Branson went down swinging because he sucked. The second instance happened a couple of years ago. The Reds were playing the Phillies. The Reds were losing by 3 in the 9th. They started getting a little rally going with 2 outs. I said to my friend that they just needed to get Votto to the plate. Sure enough, the Reds got Votto up to the plate. Everyone in the stadium seemed to know Votto was going to come through. On the 2nd or 3rd pitch, Votto absolutely crushed one to center. It was one of the most awesome moments I’ve seen live. 

That kind of hope isn’t just in baseball, but it seems more special in baseball. That’s what the allure of opening day is all about. Kansas City, Pittsburgh, Tampa Bay, Oakland, they aren’t going to sell out a lot of games this season. But they all will opening day. I don’t remember a ton about the Reds last season off the top of my head, but I sure as hell remember Ramon Hernandez’s home run to beat Milwaukee. I kind of hate watching baseball live when I’m not there, but I will watch opening day from the get go with my dad. The Reds could win 100 games, they could win 50 games, but this is one I will remember. Anything can happen this season. That’s the beauty of sports. And it all starts on opening day.