Whenever baseball season starts it really means to me the start of summer. There is nothing quite like it.  No other sports season can bring up so many great memories of childhood; swimming, playing kick the can, freeze tag, and of course, baseball.  The game of baseball is called America’s pastime and I often hear from fans of other sports that it is not anymore, that maybe a sport like football could be considered America’s Pastime.  But I feel like we’re just saying the words wrong, or at the very least, interpreting them wrong.  Baseball, at least for me, is Passed Time.  It makes me think of time that has passed.  It’s just another mark, another way to remember the year.  Last year will be remembered as the year the Mets lost to the Royals in the world series. I’m a Mets fan and will always remember watching the games with my buddy Farles, who is also a Mets fan, hanging out late and swilling Genny’s while the games went into extra innings.  “Oh man, I’m going to be so tired tomorrow!”  All worth it.  Baseball is the only of the four major sports that does not run into the next year.  Baseball starts in the spring and ends in the fall.  It truly is a mark of that particular year.

2016 baseball season starts today.  My favorite local team, The Rochester Red Wings play their home opener this Saturday.  I couldn’t be happier.  This year, is the first year my son will go with me.  I’m very proud and very happy to write that last line, to think about how much opening day will always mean something between him and I for the rest of my life.

In honor of The Red Wings opening day, I am dusting off a poem that was published in the Corn Hill Gazette two years ago.  Go Red Wings!

A Toast to Frontier Field

It’s back! It’s back!

That old kee-rack of the bat.

And the gentle swup of leather

When the pitcher freezes another.

The organ pipes will play a loud charge

As crowds sail in by and large.

Home runs will drive over the hill

As the train cogs by at will.

It’ll be hotdogs and sunshine

On the third base line

Or a Rohrbach’s at night

Underneath the shiny white lights.

Yes, it’s true, summer certainly would exist without baseball.

I just can’t imagine it.  No, not at all.

To The Rochester Red Wings and another great season of baseball!

 

Anthony N. White is a writer currently living in Rochester, NY.

He can be heckled on Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat @Ruthieshusband

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