Opening Day. Mama’s homemade apple pie, pickup trucks, and blue jeans just aren’t as American. It is a fresh start, suitably beginning in spring when flowers come back to life, birds start singing again, and teenagers everywhere attempt to start over on Spring break mishaps of years past. It is a new season, and any team has a shot at making it to October.
Joe Dimmagio once said “You always get a special kick on opening day, no matter how many you go through. You look forward to it like a birthday party when you're a kid. You think something wonderful is going to happen.” You can’t help but share Joltin’ Joe’s optimism, and maybe he was right. On March 30, 2008, something wonderful happened.
On a cool Sunday night the Big Leagues welcomed to the ranks of America’s baseball sanctuaries National’s Park. Within eye shot of the Washington Monument, the new field was christened by the home field Nationals and the Atlanta Braves, a momentous occasion located in the land of suits and snakes. Oh yes, it is still Washington and the capitol’s inhabitants welcomed the park in their own unique way.
George W. Bush, the same President of Texas Ranger fame took the mound to perform a less-acknowledged duty of our nation’s leader. Since President Taft began the tradition in 1910, the President has ceremoniously thrown out the first pitch of the season at a ballpark somewhere in America. It just so happened that this year baseball returned permanently to the land where laws are passed, so it was only suiting that Washington D.C. witness an early inauguration that is sure to be less controversial than that which will occur on January 20 of next year. But again, it is still Washington.
As the president held the white horse-hide, boos could be heard scattered across the stands of the infant stadium. Apparently, Washington did not get the memo that Opening Day is supposed to be a joyous occasion, but so goes the world of politics. Nobody can seem to let anything go anymore, and yet as Bush let go of that white sphere the crowd’s disapproval just seemed to blend in with the natural ebb and flow of the baseball world. Hostility and politics notwithstanding, the ball still hit the catcher’s mitt and baseball season had begun. Finally.
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