Obviously, for my daily essay on a delight, yesterday I wrote about Opening Day:
Opening Day! What a delight! The sun was shining. We opened the windows. We ate peanuts and drank beer. Why isn’t Opening Day a national holiday? So much better than so many others and is there a better religion than baseball?
The Reds won and Yasiel Puig licked his bat several times (but did not get on base) and it came down to a 16-pitch at bat with the Pirates’ best hitter (Dickerson) against our veteran reliever (Hernandez). Foul ball after foul ball, with Jeff and I on the couch and Kevin the cat between us, my hand on her belly as if I could draw her calm up into me because it was tense.
But isn’t that, after all, a pleasurable sort of tension? A feeling of nervousness in your body that has no real consequences? Is that the delight of watching sports? A roller coaster of sorts?
When the Reds took the field, I teared up. Our new manager, a hometown guy. The familiar faces. The joy to be back. The sun. The green. The blue of the sky. The windows open. We have survived. We made it. We lived to see another season.