Season

Opening Day.

The third finest day of the year. Maybe the fourth finest on years when St. Patrick’s Day is an honest hoolie.

I’ve only missed one Opening Day since 2005. In 2007 some gigantically evil bastard scheduled a massive work project requiring weeks of around the clock attention for the Opening Day weekend. I quit that job.

Now I’ve got the time and the inclination but neither Baltimore nor Philadelphia gets a home Opening Day. The Phillies, however, are opening in Washington, DC against the lowly Nationals. That shouldn’t be too hard to score tickets to, right? I mean, the Nats are worse than the friggin’ Orioles for chrissakes.

Well, you’d be wrong. I assume it’s all bandwagon Phillies fans. Every ticket is sold and the scalped ones are being sold at fantastic prices. I paid less for better tickets to the flag raising ceremony Opening Night in Philadelphia last year than nosebleeds in DC are going for now.

If that weren’t difficult enough to swallow I find out the President of the United States is attending the game to recreate the 100th anniversary of Grover Cleveland’s first pitch.

Now I’ve been to an Opening Day with the President in Cincinnati in 2006. It’s a right royal pain in the ass. There are metal detectors, snipers and an extended ceremony. Fair enough. I’d still go.

But honestly, our current President isn’t fit to carry Grover Cleveland’s jock. And I don’t want to share the same city or state with that jug-eared communist traitor. Let alone the same ballpark. Hell, the godamned guy plays basketball fer chrissakes. Why can’t he leave my game the hell alone?

Sod it. I can have more fun watching Red Sox Opening Night and Phillies Opening Day with a case of PBR and some pork rinds at home than I could being amongst Washingtonians and Constitution-shredding tyrants.

I’ll miss the sunshine.

It’s all good. Baseball is officially back.