AN EMPTY FEELING
A good time was not had by all Friday on opening day, because there was no ‘all’
Friday night at the ballpark was unlike any other.
No cheap hot dogs, no fireworks. No hugs, no handshakes, no happiness. (At least not until after the Astros blew out the Mariners for their eighth straight win on opening day.)
Greetings were somber, not scintillating, and not one person asked, “Are we gonna win it all?”
The mood was resigned, perhaps resilient, but hardly energized.
No one whooped and hollered. The players, seemingly stunned by the emptiness off it all, didn’t even bother to wave or tip their caps when introduced.
They had to be thinking “Who would I wave to? There is nobody here.”
I don’t need to rely on imagination to describe the lack of pomp and circumstance at the Astros’ first game of the year. I can leave that to important people within the organization.
This is what they offered:
“At least we have a game.” “Better than nothing.”
“What can we do?”
“It is what it is.”
Despite a diamond filled with the most talented ball hitters, ball throwers and ball catchers on the planet, everyone knows that MLB Opening Day 2020 at Minute
Maid Park was unlike any ballgame I have ever seen.
Four months late, stale and sterile.
A different day for baseball. A different day for sport.
And no, Astros executive who shall not be named here, I’m not old enough to have seen so many home openers to become overly reflective of days past.
Just because I know that Morganna “The Kissing Bandit” ran onto the field and kissed Nolan Ryan on opening day in 1986 doesn’t mean I was there. (Having read about that incident in the paper, however, I did win $100 with a call-in answer to KRBE radio about that incident.)
As much as I thought I missed baseball, it is all that comes with a trip to Minute Maid Park that was most lacking in this return to baseball.
It was sad.
I missed being at a live sports event and sharing said experience with so many. I was there; the others weren’t.
A good time was not had by all, because there was no “all.”
A few of us were there. So many weren’t.
Anxious fans. Kids experiencing the highlight of their lives. Workers there to feed their families. People socializing with strangers. Police officers probably breaking rules to appease guests in a place where there are so few problems.
I’m not a huge picture taker, but I scrolled through the photos on my phone, and all of the above are represented.
Sports fans can be crazy, but our communities come together better at sporting events than almost anywhere else.
Because of the COVID-19 restrictions, we couldn’t come together Friday.
Fans sporting Astros gear in the surrounding blocks of the stadium were nowhere to be found. Inside the stadium, concourses were dark. The Torchy’s lights in center field were turned off for the first few innings.
Me and my media friends whispered in conversation as if we were being considerate. Like being in a movie theater, not wanting to disturb others.
There were no others.
The sweetheart elevator operator who always has the Chronicle with her wasn’t there.
Like my mother, she has been known to say, “I read what you wrote today,” which clearly means she was appreciative of my effort, proud of my being in the paper, but not particularly impressed with that day’s effort.
On some level, baseball will not be back until she is back; until stadiums operate as normal, until she tells me that she read what I wrote.
The Astros, riding a 15-game win streak over the Mariners after Saturday’s 7-2 win, made opening weekend a winning one. They didn’t make it an exciting one.
Before Friday, that the last time I had sat inside Minute Maid Park was for Game 7 of the World Series.
The journey from the most intense game I have ever attended to the lamest was unimaginable.
This is where my complaining will end.
With so many deaths related to the coronavirus, our being irritated over the inconvenience is a bit much.
We’re like drug addicts who need a hit … up the middle or down the baseline.
Basically, our schedules have been thrown off. After all, we go five months every year without Major League Baseball games. We will get past this.
I’m not a scientist, but I am certain this is not the new normal. This is not the way the world is going to work going forward.
These quasi-games played without fans on hand to witness are not something we need to become accustomed to.
For now, it is all we have. Friday nights at the ballpark will not always be like this.
Real fans, real people, will be back cheering one day.
Thankfully, this “new day” in sports won’t last.