Opening Day, or, A New Beginning That Will Likely End Badly

When baseball season begins, a nation of sports journalists trot out the clichés about new beginnings. They write about how on opening day, every team has a fair shot at the pennant; about how all fans, even the ones in Tampa Bay, Kansas City and Pittsburgh, have equal claim on optimism -- if not on an actual chance at winning. In fact, false optimism is the order of the day. If you're not falsely optimistic, you're not a real fan.

I will allow that this is true. That there is something special about seeing all those clean slates on the sports page for one day only. But if the first inning of the first game is all about love, real fans will be forgiven if, by the end of the day, they've retreated into the familiar loathing, car-seat punching and generally misguided rage that will characterize the better part of the 2008 baseball season.

I have deluded myself on opening days past that my own team, the New York Mets, had a pretty good shot at a World Series appearance. This was usually based on some heroic play or other from the season's first game.

Take 1996. The Mets, who had been consistently abominable since '91, rallied from a 6-0 deficit against St. Louis to win, 7-6, highlighted by the defensive play of the rookie shortstop, Rey Ordóñez. Ordóñez, a Cuban defector of indeterminate age, took a throw from left field on his knees and, in one lightning-quick motion, fired to catcher Todd Hundley to nab Royce Clayton at the plate.

From the New York Times archive, here's a taste of what Mets beat reporter George Willis wrote on April 2, 1996:

If opening day is any indication of what the Mets have in store for themselves and their fans, then those woeful seasons of the early 1990s will be quickly forgotten, replaced by the kind of excitement that has not been seen here in nearly a decade.

That team finished 71-91, in fourth place. St. Louis went to the National League Championship Series. Opening day is never "any indication" of anything, except perhaps how angry one is capable of becoming at a TV set.

Now look. I know everyone and their loopy mother is picking the Mets and their new ace, Johan Santana, to win the NL East. Everyone, that is, except fans of the Phillies and Braves... and me. Because I know better.

First of all, I had the extreme displeasure of watching nearly every minute, last September, of the 12 losses in 17 games with which the Mets vaporized their chances at what should have been a shoo-in playoff appearance.

And second, after today's crushing defeat at the hands of the hapless Florida Marlins -- a defeat which saw us -- yes, us -- lose the great Pedro Martinez to yet another injury; a defeat which saw our newest bullpen acquisition Matt Wise serve up a 10th inning home run ball like his name was Armando Benitez; a defeat which saw the Mets lineup manage only three hits over seven innings against a Marlins bullpen which is unheralded to say the least; a defeat which... ah, fuck it. I hate this team already.

There is optimism to be had, though. While baseball remains a harsh mistress, the emotional welts she administers to her miserable lovers -- the fans -- by way of blown saves, unearned runs, and unexpected rotator cuff injuries are, after all, just welts. They wouldn't even hurt if we didn't care.

So here it is. With the Mets even at 1-1, I'm making my 2008 baseball resolution to break these ludicrous psychic chains and stop caring. Stop sitting on every pitch like it actually matters. Stop growing enraged as I watch Mets games live on my computer... while at work. And stop hating myself for the incidental failures of people named Aaron Heilman. No more, I say!

No more, that is, until we get our second victory.

'Will Rey Ordóñez, who hasn't played in the major leagues since 2003, make it back to The Show this year? In the spirit of opening day... hey, you never know.'

Comments

[OttoMann]

I know EXACTLY how you feel. As a Philly fan, there's more frustration than pleasure. Even last year -- after the infamous Mets collapse, the Phillies won the division, and then forgot to show up for the playoffs! (They were swept by the Rockies.)

It's a constant ritual (for all the teams, Eagles included): I'm a huge fan, then I can't take it anymore, and ask myself why I even bother. The world, our country, and my own life, is frustrating enough; why in hell would I want to add more frustration? And then something happens, and I get sucked back in. Like a sucker.

"Every time I think I'm out, they keep pulling me back in!"
Micheal Corleone

"I'm travelin' in some vehicle
Sittin' in some cafe
A defector from the petty wars
Until love sucks me back that way"
Joni Mitchell - Hejira