For New England baseball fans, there is one day that we look forward to every year. After toughing out a long winter in New England, one of the first signs of spring for us is neither the return of the robins nor the sound of lawn mowers starting up in yards in your neighborhood. It isn’t melting snow piles in the mall parking lots or the discarding of winter jackets. It’s Opening Day for the Red Sox at Fenway Park.
It matters not that the season may have started a week earlier in Detroit. It matters not that Boston is at the bottom of the American League East standings. It matters not whether the team is picked to contend or finish as also-rans. No, the focus of today is the return of baseball to one of the most beautiful ballparks in all of baseball.
It’s the perfect setting; the towering Green Monster in left field; the Pesky Pole at the end of the right field foul line; the manicured green grass; the infield dirt gently watered; the smell of fresh roasted peanuts; the call of the vendors; the applause for our players and coaches; the roar of the crowd as hits are made and runs are scored; and, if fortune favors us, a win and the home team briefly celebrating on the field post-game.
To me, there are few things more satisfying than Opening Day at Fenway Park because that means that baseball, the sport I love most, and the Red Sox, the team I love most, have returned for another season. Game on.