what could possibly happen next?

2004-04-05

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Opening day. The most wonderful day of the year. My Padres, my beautiful padres, begin the season against the hated Dodgers. In L.A.me. I took off from work early just so I can enjoy the day. Lay on the couch, eat some chips, drink a nice refreshing soda while the first pitch is thrown out. Nothing better, man. To the girls out there: If you like a baseball fan, you can do no better. They are loyal, and have long endurance. They are numbers geeks, and care about every infinite detail of the game. They can tell you about the guy who played shortstop for their team in 1975, even if they weren't born yet. They are an everyday guy, not just a once a week fling, like football fans. They stick by THEIR team through thick and thin, not changing their loyalties due to who has the best players, ala basketball fans. Baseball is timeless, there is no clock. Only innings. A true baseball fan will stay till the bitter end, even if their team is 37 games out in July. Cuz their is always hope in baseball. It's never over until the last out. Baseball is wonderful because it can be passed on. I can't wait to take My Man James to his first game, put a little padre hat and jersey on him, and tell him about Dave Winfield, Ozzie Smith, Tony Gwynn, Steve Garvey, Gary Templeton, Terry Kennedy, Benito Santiago, Gaylord Perry, Randy Jones, Rupert Jones (Go Rupe! my mom used to say), Alan Wiggins, Kurt Bevaqua, Eric Show, Mark Davis, Goose Gossage, Tim Flannery, Bruce Bochy, the list could go on ad infinitum. Each name I list springs forth another, and another memory of a time in my life, whether with my family, or a girl, (98 was Michelle and the padres went to the world series and lost to the damn yankees!). 84 was Carolyn Pocock, an english girl who didn't have her cockney accent unless she was really drunk. It was hanging out with my best friend Dave and smoking bowls in the stadium parking lot. Hell, back then you could smoke pot in the bleacher seats in the outfield! That was the year we came back to beat the cubs and then were crushed by the all-time great Tigers team. Do you see how it works, one memory unfolds into another. My mom died in 2000. She was so happy in '98 when the padres played the yankees. She was from New York and grew up loving the Yankees. She adopted the padres because I loved them so much. I'm bummed that she didn't get to see the new ballpark. She would have loved it. Maybe that's why I love baseball so much. It brings me closer to her, in a way that's undefinable. When I'm watching the game I can hear her voice again, an angel screaming "here comes Trevor, the game's over!". I'm crying now. Fucken A' it's baseball season.