For me, this is the roughest time of the year. The calendar says Spring is here, and when you look outside, you're inclined to agree. Except more often than not, it's brisker and crisper than we'd like, and the breeze is more of a shriek than a whisper.
Major League Baseball 2025 edition has already started in a season that will, as has been the case in recent years, end in November, which is way too long for anything other than a fantasy involving cooking oil, satin sheets and a lady named, well, I'm not allowed to detail any more of that in this space today (or any other).
I love baseball, though I have close to no idea what kind of a Grapefruit League season "my" New York Yankees had, and because the games don't count, I don't either. I've rooted for them most of my life, with a brief interlude elsewhere as I was entering double digits when Joan Payson owned the New York Metropolitans.
I still root for Mr. Met for many of the reasons as first chronicled in Jimmy Breslin's masterpiece, Can't Anybody Here Play this Game? The latest version is a much better team, and its loyal fans should be proud of them.
But that's not really important. What is important, I believe, on MLB's Opening Day, is everyone's team, whoever they are, starts the season in first place. Every pitcher's earned run average is a Hall of Fame worthy 0.00, and you can't help but believe 'this is the year.' All of us know that no one wins the World Series on Opening Day, but, conversely, no one can lose it. And that's as it should be.
The season is still in its infancy, and more so than in recent memory, we need all the optimism and enthusiasm we can gather from whatever sources for as long as we can keep it.
Opening Day has whetted our appetites for the months ahead. We get from Point A to Point B in a variety of ways but in the same number of days. Whether we live them in hope or in dread is a choice we make and then must own.
-bill kenny
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