I tried to update Johnny Cash’s lyrics with my own travels but never could get the rhyming and syncopation right. Regardless, I have been everywhere, man. In the last week I’ve flown 1,000 miles, driven nearly 1,000 miles, been to Tampa, Philadelphia, Cincinnati, Mercersburg and Hanover, seen two ballgames, the President of the United States, a few museums and the ghetto.
And all the fun bits of my travels involve baseball. If it weren’t for ever-fluid plans this past weekend I might have seen half as many games before the season even started as I saw all last season. As it is, I’ve seen one-third as many.
I can understand people not being a baseball fan. Different folks like different things for different reasons. I cannot fathom my own interest and why it’s grown so much in recent years. I’m half afraid it’s one of my period attacks of whatever Rain Man had and that the love and enjoyment will fade as suddenly as it appeared. Maybe I’m just getting old and can enjoy sitting on my arse watching games on TV for three hours at a clip. Perhaps I need some stability amidst the weary whirlwind of life and baseball provides it. I don’t know. But, as much as I can understand folks not being baseball fans I cannot imagine why anyone would turn down a chance to go to a game. How can you not like spending the day outside, drinking beer and delighting in shared experience?
And so, I’ve been to Clearwater, in the rain, two weeks before the pre-season season even started. That’s dedication.
And Tampa.
And Cincinnati.
I’ve actually seen the Phillies win. Twice. More than they’ve won in the entire regular season thus far.
Then there’s the madcap Opening Day trip to Cincinnati, where Opening Day is a city holiday. Hell, they even have a parade.
And your typical Opening Day foo-foo-rah on the field.
Since I was far away, I’ll interpret that one for you: that’s Ken Griffey, Jr. winning the comeback player of the year award for the 2005 season presented by, well, read for yourself.
Man, that’s some funny stuff. Despite dire warnings the game started pretty much on time, after the usual happy fun stuff and fireworks provided by a psuedo-steamboat whose boilers just burst.
But this was my favorite part.
Look Ma, snipers! Obviously there to protect the big guest star (Bronson Arroyo! Not.).
Brother throws a mean outside pitch. And he’s quick too. Like a bunny.
And finally, the season begins. This is a great shot. If you look close you can actually see the ball about halfway to home plate for the first pitch of the 2006 season. My God, things like this make me unreasonably happy.
That’s that. Many, many hours and runs later (five in the top of the 1st alone) we got to look forward to an eight hour drive back and four hours of sleep. Hot damn. But hey, baseball’s back!
