Ramon Hernandez

So what's the story of the first day of the MLB season? Is it the fact that Mark Reynolds hasn't whiffed yet? Maybe that's only because he hasn't come to the plate yet. When he does, the bird on his shirt won't change the luck he had with the snake in the desert. He'll have his 215 whiffs and Camden yards will be crying over giving any money to him because no amount of home runs can justify just how bad that low batting average and high amount of strikeouts truly is. So with that being said, is it Jason Heyward connecting on a long fly ball souvenier for his first at bat the second year running? Is it Mariano Rivera converting a save to preserve a Texeria and Granderson home run in a victory over the Tigers? Is it Albert Pujols going 0-5 with 3 GIDdynotuPs that pretty much caused St. Louis to not win (take away all talk of that $300million contract immediately!)? And no, it's not April Fools Day - even if it is April 1, 2011. Or is it a pair of home runs in the first 2 at bats of the season by Rickie Weeks and Carlos Gomez that were effectively released by a Brewers bullpen melt down in the 9th that saw Ramon Hernandez, a 12 year vet with a lot of part time seasons that never really excelled, but that sure was awesome when it needed to be... 9th inning... 2 on, 2 down, and a hot bat that can swat a long fly ball to keep steroids rehab poster boy Edinson Volquez from getting stapled to a loss in his first game in over a year. And isn't that how a year should start out... so much hope. In the words of Lou Boudrea... "all future and no past." The sky is the limit on everything as a guy who never hit .300 is now batting .800. And with that magnificent moment for a journeyman player, the Cincinnati Reds are winning one to come back from the hell of 2010's end that saw their promise vanish in a Roy Halladay no hitter to start the playoffs in dramatic fashion. Doctober never recommenced from there, but it was a Don Larsen moment for my generation. Halladay is supposed to take the mound today, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. The ground was covered in snow this morning. It wasn't much, but it wasn't pretty. It made me feel like Ozzie Guillen ranting about going to Cleveland to start the season with those lake breezes and nasty Lake Erie weather, something that I am starting to learn about as we often go to visit my wife's family in Port Clinton, Ohio. And baseball is back and life is good. And I got home to a couple of stacks of early 90s, late 80s baseball card commons. There were a few better players... Curt Schilling comes to mind as do some Jimmy Dean cards with guys like Griffey and Biggio on them. They were a present from my wife, and a nice touch on a day that saw me working on my resume and attending a teaching fair that really didn't have a lot of schools close enough to where I live to bother trying for too many of them. Even with the few that I went to, it was all about budget, not knowing the amount of positions open, and trying to shy away from people with Masters Degrees (me). So alas, there are other job fairs more promising... such as the one the day before regarding the VA hospital patient processing center that is opening near us. Unfortunately, I'm not a situational left handed reliever like I hope my future son will be (if I ever have a future son). I'm just me, for better or for worse. I'm not a free swinging 3rd baseman making way too much money or even a pitcher who arrived in the nick of time to show my stuff. I'm not a contract year mirage. And no matte who any of us are... there is still a possibility that it's going to be a good year for all of us.

Jim Bouton

See the thing about spring training is that it's spring training. The games might be played, but they don't count. The only thing that counts is the injuries and the players that feel jilted into writing a tell all confessional about all of his fellow players (and a sequel to it) that begins with a demotion from spring training.
We can have a game where Albert Pujols can jack a fly ball over the fence in Florida. The teams can win all the split squad games that they play. The rookies can excel. The veterans can get their swing together. The fans can collect autograph after autograph. Everyone can go to the beach or Disney when the day is done. We can drink in the sun and the fun and the alcohol of an extended spring break as the national pastime comes back and life is good, but none of it means anything except the fun of the moment because it sure as hell doesn't count in the standings.
And for that, I just can't sit and watch a game. It's like Domincian winter league games. I can't watch them either - even if it's you pitch the ball, you hit the ball, you catch the ball, and you throw the ball. It's all the same. It's like college baseball. You hear the crack of a fastball on aluminum, and there's just something that isn't the same about it.
It's not quite minor league baseball, which is just a carnival that is disguised as a game, but when the circus is done well, then that's a thing of beauty and at least it trains your kids to watch the game for 9 innings. That's a good thing.
In the end, very little comes out of spring training. Sure, there are first games that are for the record book (Jason Heyward). Then again, there are extended slumps into May (David Ortiz). There are story lines to sell and memories to think about over and over, and as long as we're still in early March, everyone still has a chance. It's like Lou Boudreau said (all future and no past). We can go to the store and start our card collections and think about who we're happy to have and who we'd like to trade... who we should and shouldn't have signed (Jayson Werth)... the players that will be sitting this campaign out (Stephen Strasburg). We can look through our shelves for anyone of a million historical books to read and pine for a past that we never lived through (Curt Flood).
All in all, it adds up to everything that baseball will be on day 1.
Nevertheless, I may be happy it's here today, but I won't be watching it.

Troy Maxson

February is African American history month, and for that, one has to look at the black experience to see what baseball has been (the segregation of an entire race since Moses Fleetwood Walker), what it had to go through (the discrimination and resistance to Jackie Robinson), what it was possible that it could achieve (Hank Aaron, Willie Mays, and Bob Gibson, to name a few), and to what it is becoming (a shift to the NBA and NFL save some really great young talent like Jason Heyward, CC Sabathia, and Ryan Howard).
We have gone from the days of teams being worried about fielding an all black outfield to teams that can't field African American players (Houston's 2005 World Series team is a perfect example). And while there is color on the skin, it's from darker skinned players that hail from the countries that lie south of the American border. And while Martin Dihigo represents a somewhat similar and somewhat different experience, his Cuban heritage lacks resonance with the African American world of today.
For that, we go to the dramatic works of August Wilson to find Fences, the tale of Troy Maxson, a former Negro Leaguer who hit home runs like nobody other than Babe Ruth and Josh Gibson, but who was unable to play because of his skin color. Where Buck O' Neil felt that he was right on time, Maxson is spiteful for coming along way too early. He has gone so far as to push his son Cody out of a football scholarship so that sports can never do to him what they did to Troy, and for that and many other misguided things that he did, he's a larger than life idiot. He cheats on his wife and knocks up his mistress, who later dies in childbirth, leaving Troy's 2nd wife Rose to care for the baby and live in a loveless marriage. He fights for the right to drive a garbage truck despite not having a license and figures that nothing will ever become of it because it's so easy.
And for this, it's impossible to like him as a person. I felt the same way about Satchel Paige after reading the tales of his womanizing. The man could pitch like a machine, but I don't have to like the man off the field (in fact, his kids came to hate him as well). But alas, such is the biography that Mark Ribowsky wrote and that I came to sluggishly move my way through (Don't Look Back).
But with the August Wilson experience, the pain is all eventually gone and the mother makes the son go to the funeral, thus paying his last respects to his father and hopefully burying him instead of carrying him on his back forever.
And for that, perhaps there is meaning, but I can't say that it moved me the way that I hoped it would save a few lines such as:
She asked me when I met her if I had gotten all that foolishness out of my system. And I told her "Baby, it's you and baseball all what count with me." You hear me, Bono? I meant it too. She say, "Which one comes first?" I told her, "Baby, ain't no doubt it's baseball... but you stick and get old with me and we'll both outlive this baseball."
And with that, I think of my wife and how she "puts up with" my baseball infatuation and how lucky I am to have her, and it makes me realize that there are good things in life and they're more than just a game, but the game is nice.
I think about what it means to be a hero or a role model and I realize that if we don't have the ability to care for other people and treat them well, then we might be a good enterainer, but we're not much else.
It's just a shame that so many people, historically in reality and in fiction, can't do the same. Perhaps, it's time to focus more on the real than on the fake and get in the real game.

Jake Taylor

Sadly, there is no game in baseball that rivals the Daytona 500. There are no parties that serve as the culmination of 2 weeks of hype. There is no excessive practice, time trials, and multiple contests that don't matter leading up to the big game. Past MVPs don't get to come back to compete one more time (at least since Bill Veeck died). Past winners don't automatically get a spot in the order regardless of how poorly they run. There is nothing in baseball that lives up to the hype. Sure, there's an all star game, but it hasn't mattered since Bud Selig called the game a tie. Even before that, it wasn't Pete Rose vs. Ray Fosse.
But Daytona is everything baseball could be if it didn't invite the Counting Crows to the All Star Game as the representative music of the game (sure, August and Everything After is great, but it's not rockin' or anything). Daytona got it right for their audience. Brad Paisley and Dierks Bentley. Now, I'm not a country music fan in that I wear a cowboy hat and boots, but I know that this is what their fans like. Hell, Chris Daughtry would work, too. The point is that you please the fans.
Opening day is great for baseball, but it's not the tone for the season. It's 1 game and done. It's not a once and done chance for a rookie. It's not all or nothing. It's the beginning of a 162-game marathon. Sure, all games matter to stats, but you can recover in baseball. In NASCAR, it's about being sponsored and given a chance to ride constantly. Case in point - Trevor Bayne.
It's not quite a home run in the first at bat. Sure, that's a great starting point, but alas, this wasn't a first at bat. The first and only at bat before this was a single 17th place run (out of 43 drivers) at some point in the end of the last season by a 19 year old up for a cup of coffee.
Here's a man who never won in the NASCAR minor leagues (Nationwide series).
Here's a man on a team who hasn't won in 10 years.
Here's a man on a team with history - a history that many fans who are under 30 never got to see.
Here's a man on a team that hasn't won the Daytona since 1976. My wife was still in diapers at the time David Pearson won the race at 30mph after a crash.
Their last 3 winners are gone from racing altogether (Morgan Shepherd, Dale Jarrett, and Elliot Sadler).
And then a guy who is 20 years old and a day comes to race. He doesn't have a full season ride. He looks to be pre-pubescent. Nobody knows who he is, but he runs strongly all day.
In the end, a crash takes out Dale Jr. on the 10th anniversary of his father's death race. The front is lined up for 2 and done. A young kid who hasn't restarted well all day is in the lead and he gets a push from Bobby Labonte, a grizzled veteran who doesn't even belong at the race, but who is still up front because he's running well and because he was a past NASCAR champion. He's bump drafting Bayne and pushing him to be as great as he once was. He's in the lead. He's going for gold. It's like Tom Berenger as Jake Taylor in Major League... he's willing the youngsters to win by forcing his legs to make it to first on an improbable bunt (he'll finish 4th) and somehow, improbably, Carl Edwards who is getting pushed by David Gilliland can't get around him in the final stretch of the race and the kid wins.
He has to be told that he wins.
"I just feel unworthy …"
But it's not the humble young guy who won...
"they gave me a rocket ship."
He's thanking God and completely overwhelmed.
He has to be told how to get to Victory Lane.
Something in the moment is geared towards the end of a movie. It's fantastic. It's the start of something good... hopefully, it's a sequel that's better than Major League 2 (and much better than 3).
Baseball doesn't seem to offer up stories like that unless you watch really closely. When they do happen, they have to be in the playoffs or result in some degree of perfection (Dallas Braden's gem on Mother's Day), but we don't watch that live. We see the highlights - unless we have MLBTV and we're somehow fatefully there (like I was).
If only it could be that way again.
Here's to 2011 - 38 days.

Bryce Harper

Last year, I got in on the ground floor of Jason Heyward and Stephen Strasburg. After life got in the way, and I wasn't able to blog anymore, I still called the television and watched in sheer joy as Strasburg made mincemeat out of the Pirates. When he went out for Tommy John Surgery, I wanted to cry and curse the Nationals for not learning from the Cubs treatment of Kerry Wood and Mark Prior. Hopefully, they won't rush him back. Besides, even with Jayson Werth, there is no hope in Mudville... err Washington D.C. for a playoff dream next year. However, there will be soon. It's just that you can't kill a young pitcher with a heavy workload and lots of speed coming off his shoulder. It's just not good - unless you're Nolan Ryan, that is.
The future is...
We haven't heard that in DC since 2007 and 2008 as America got Obama shoved down their throats 24/7 and change was coming if it wasn't already here. The writing was on the wall. Bush was gone and everything was going to be nice again.
And this time, it's for real with youngsters like Strasburg, Drew Storen, and Bryce Harper, the number one overall pick to go with the number one pick from last year. This isn't signing some worthless malcontent loser from the Devil Rays like Elijah Dukes whose power potential was completely outweighed by his propensity to blame threatening his significant other teacher with violent threats. Like father, like son. Don't even get me started on Nyjer Morgan, either. No, this is building for the future to make all of the difference in the world for the future of baseball in the NL East as they try to move away from the memories of the Senators who were first in war, first in peace, and last in the American League East. Walter Johnson is still thanking his lucky stars for that one great 1924 season after setting the record for most 1-0 losses in a career due to the non-support that his club offered. I guess in that, he must feel a little bit like Elijah Dukes whose father spent most of his life in jail and ruined his potential to be the great player that Tampa Bay and Washington were looking for in him.
But alas...
The future is next year for Washington. The bat, the arm, the hope, the dream, the moving through high school to college 2 years early, the devastation on the minor league level, and the positive attitude. It's all there, and watching it in interview with Peter Gammons... man. I believe. I'm in on this 1. A lot of people seem to be as they see the stomping on that first baseman's ankle as an unfortunate mishap by a young kid who now seems to want to do everything right.
And we hope he does.
The future is everything.
We believe.