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Opening Day

The darkness of the tunnel gives way to the vision of the bright blue sky. The uphill climb of the ramp acts as a metaphor for our lives, our hopes and that of our team. We hit the plateau, hear the sounds of excitement and that perfect grass. The sight is unlike any other. There is not a single true fan who doesn't stop, scan the entire field, grin at its perfection and inhale deeply. In a single moment, memories flash before us and that feeling of hope, true hope for a better tomorrow, is in all of us. It builds, almost unrealistically as we wait. There a flutter in our chests. Maybe memories of simpler times, when our future was less in focus, but our desire was a clear cut as the foul lines. We feed off the energy of those around us, standing with pride and unity, for a song we attach to greatness. We wait and we wait, the time seemingly moving so slowly, we've reviewed every moment the sport has given us. We see the pitcher set and we wait to cheer or boo, as if that single pitch will define our season and then it's over.

Win or lose, there will be one hundred and sixty one more. We will wake each morning and the air won't be as crisp, the chill not as invigorating and the warmth of  the sun, seems less directed at just us. We will have our ups and downs and life will go on, win or lose, both athletically or within our own lives. We most likely will not be victorious, but maybe we shall. We'll forget all about this day. It will not once enter our minds and we shall have days of hope and days of despair, and health willing, we'll do it again the following year and there is nothing like it. There is nothing like the uncertainty of Opening Day. If hope had a day, it would be today.

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