Opening Day no longer a homer
Tomorrow is Opening Day — always capitalized here — but I find myself as blasé about it as I have ever been.
Opening Day was once so important to me that I threatened to quit my job because of it. It was 1985. I was working in an office supplies warehouse, picking orders and packing them for shipment, when my supervisor overheard me talking to a co-worker about bringing in a radio the next day so we could listen to the opener. He said I couldn’t. I told him I’d never missed an opener in my life — had seen them all, as a matter of fact, either in-person or on TV — so I’d quit then and there if he wouldn’t allow me to at least listen to it.
He said, “It’s really that important to you, Jim? You’d quit?” I replied, “Without hesitation.” Being a reasonable guy (unlike me) he relented. I became the warehouse hero for a day as we happily packed orders while listening to the Sox beat the Yankees, 9 – 2.
Speaking of the Yankees, one of the reasons I’m so so-so about tomorrow’s opener is the opposition. The Sox will be playing the Pittsburgh Pirates.
We haven’t had a rivalry with Pittsburgh since 1903. That’s when the Sox won the first-ever World Series against them. The teams have played each other a grand total of six times since then, so Sox-Yankees it isn’t. Hell, it isn’t even Sox-Astros.
Of course, this complaint is with Major League Baseball, more than with anything the Sox have done. Playing against National League teams during the regular season has taken much of the luster from the World Series, since that used to be the only time the two leagues played each other. Now we get an opener against
Pittsburgh. WooHoo.
Next on my list of things-to-grumble-about-because-I’m- a-purist-and-everything-should-be theis lobster poutine.
Fenway Park will have new food options this year and, yes, lobster poutine is one of them. I have no problem if someone really wants to eat lobster poutine. I’ve eaten plenty of disgusting things in my life — turnip sandwiches, cold leftover egg foo yung, sardines straight from the can — so who am I to rail against other folks’ disgusting food choice? But, come on; lobster poutine? The only thing you could do to a lobster that would be more degrading than covering it with cheese curds and gravy would be to make it sit through an opener against the Pirates.
I could complain about ticket prices, but just because I’m 112 years old and used to pay for a bleacher seat with a handful of buffalo nickels is no reason to ruin someone else’s baseball buzz. What does make me less-than thrilled about baseball now is that it has become almost as much of a sport as the game itself to argue about whether somebody deserves a four-year contract for $70 million or “just” $60 million. Boring? I’d rather watch 24 hours of reruns of “Here Comes Honey Boo-Boo.” Or maybe an opener against Pittsburgh.
OK, I’m not saying I’ll be ignoring the game. It’s the Sox and I’ll be watching it. It’s just that, this year, it’s nothing I’d quit my job over.
Unless I was a lobster. Lobster poutine. Feh.
OK. I’m not saying I’ll be ignoring the game. It’s the Sox and I’ll be watching it. It’s just that, this year, it’s nothing I’d quit my job over.