First of all, I admit this is a little cheesy. The truth is, the day before Opening Day is like Christmas Eve for me. I feel like a kid again, can’t sleep and dream of all that lies ahead from day one to the final out.
With that in mind, I created a little poem in the verse of the classic “T’was the Night Before Christmas.” Perhaps it tickles your fancy or maybe you deem it stupid, but regardless, it’s an indication of how much passion and excitement I have for the greatest game on Earth.
T’was the night before Opening Day, when all through the park, the stands echoed silence, the diamond laid dark.
The pennants and bunting hung stoically still in the air — freshly crisp — with a perfect spring chill.
Kids’ baseballs are nestled all snug in their mitts, holding bats under pillows while dreaming of hits.
Working all night on the curve of each cap and excited to awaken from the long winter nap.
Soon the crowd will arrive with a buzz and some chatter, offering praises, some jeers, and “Hey batter, batter!”
How I’ve longed for the pure, sharp crack of the lumber. Watching fielders give chase seeing only their number.
The sun’s rays are creeping down the left field line and enriching the green of the outfield’s shine.
Each line gently set with an artist’s soft touch, like a calm, cleanup hitter who comes through in the clutch.
The infield is soft with a perfect, smooth texture that helps out the defense with their day-to-day venture.
Still hours from first pitch the guys take some grounders. An aspect of this game left over from rounders.
Meanwhile, the fans prep in their own unique way, quenching their thirst and driving hunger away.
Filling the lots with cars all around, a rhythm emerges without making a sound.
First pitch now approaches as the fans make their way to the seats they’ve staked claim to for Opening Day.
The Championship season commences so soon. In the blink of an eye we’ll be wrapping up June.
Lineup exchanges, the shaking of hands, the aura of hope taking over the stands.
Stars and stripes waving with the Anthem sung proud. Anticipation building – it’s about to get loud.
Throw down to second, brush off the plate. “Play!” shouts the umpire; no more wait.
The pitcher looks in with anxious eyes. Holding their breath, the spectators rise.
He winds, he kicks and fires – strike one.
Christmas is here, the season’s begun.
Every day now a gift from here to November and dreaming this will be a season to remember.