I've made note of Opening Day in baseball pretty much every year that I've been on this blog (as well as the last day of last season just six months and one day ago), so I tip my (fitted) cap to it again this year as well. My beloved Rangers, they of the new manager and continued unbridled optimism, open on the road in Anaheim tonight (they're playing as we speak), and, as always, I'll be out at many games this season, thanks to the ticket vouchers I get as presents from my sister and her family every Christmas. (As a special bonus, they're playing a game on my birthday for the first time in several years, so there'll be a giant hang on that day for sure.)
Why do I love baseball so much? Well, as I've noted before, I believe that it reflects many of the things that are great about America, and it can even be compared to jazz. (It was also the only sport that I played as a kid in which I wasn't just horrible. In stark contrast to baseball, Kev + playing football = Bad News.)
It is my intention, as I've done for the past few years, to hit the "sleep" button on my alarm clock and listen to the rest of the game until I drift off to dreamland. In that moment, I'll have a sort of connection with every kid in the past century who snuck a transistor radio under the sheets to catch those last few post-bedtime innings, and I'll know that, no matter what else is going on in the world, some things remain timeless classics. Play ball!
A broadcaster's nightmare: Check out this story about the weird names of athletes in Cuba, home of Danger Guerrero, Jokel Gil, and 400 different baseball players whose first names begin with the letter Y.
Better late than never: The Waukesha, Wisconsin police recently received an envelope with payment for a parking ticket written in 1980. The anonymous envelope included $1 for the ticket and a $3 late fee.