Even better: Opening Day was coming earlier than it ever had before in the United States. This is like learning that Christmas will actually be in November. Nothing could be more perfect for Dustin. Coincidentally, he’d even be off work on that day.
To be honest, however, I forgot when the day arrived. On the morning of March 29, I woke up with a nice, long mental list of all the things my husband should help me do around the house on his day off. There was a door that needed to be fixed, a shower that needed to be cleaned, and a grocery run that wasn’t going to happen on its own.
Dustin seemed to be stalling. It took him ages to get going. And I was annoyed because, well, we couldn’t let his day off go to waste.
And then, with a face just like a toddler who has been keeping a secret, Dustin said, “MLB Opening Day is today. Remember?” He smiled like he was 5.
Dustin has been this way ever since I’ve known him. Baseball has never been “just a sport.” It’s what fuels him throughout the spring and summer. When we lived in San Diego, California, our apartment was just beyond the trolley stop that took passengers either east to the Padres’ stadium or west to the Fashion Valley Mall. That summer, we’d walk to the trolley stop together, briefly hold hands while we waited, and then each go our separate ways — he to the stadium, me to the mall. I was lucky none of our children were born on Opening Day or during the World Series. He might have missed it.
So, last week, Opening Day 2018. The day was finally here, and Dustin, with that 5-year-old grin, wasn’t doing anything until he saw the first pitch. I tinkered in the kitchen with dishes and cleaning up after the kids and their breakfast. Dustin started cheering, “Here it is! The first pitch! It’s coming, Sarah!”
He begged me to come watch, so I stood with him in front of the television, wiping my hands on a dish towel. The Marlins’ Jose Urena sent a fastball to the Cubs’ Ian Happ, and, forgive me when I say this, but Happ “unceremoniously” sent it flying to right field. A home run.
Dustin started screaming again. “A home run! A home run off the first pitch!”
As I went back into the kitchen, Dustin trailed behind me and wanted to know: How I could call that “unceremonious”? Then he just smiled, shook his head and answered his own question: “Because it’s not Little League.”
I’m sorry, but the MLB will never compare to Little League. For the entire summer of 2000, I skipped Padres games to go to Fashion Valley Mall. Since my kids started Little League, however, I have rarely missed any game, even ones without their team. The reason:
Players don’t hit a home run off the first pitch. And if they did one day, you can be sure everyone on that field would be screaming. The hitter himself would smile all the way to home plate. His mother would be screaming in the stands. Younger players behind the dugout would run to get the home run ball out of the woods. And people would still talk about it decades later.
Yes, Happ’s home run was impressive. There hasn’t been a first pitch home run since the Red Sox’s Dwight Evans hit one off Jack Morris of the Detroit Tigers in 1986. But home runs in general are hardly out of the ordinary in the Major League. In fact, there were 33 home runs on Opening Day. I don’t know what’s left for MLB players to accomplish when the first pitch ends in a home run and neither the hitter nor the pitcher seems that surprised.
I’ve re-watched the footage multiple times. Maybe Happ gives a tiny smile after his hit. It’s hard to tell. But every Little League home run I’ve ever seen has resulted in kids — even the pitcher — removing their hats for a better view, their mouths hanging open, and the hitter smiling at the stands as he rounds the bases.
And still, in Little League, even with a home run like that, your team can ultimately lose by 10-20 runs.
Dustin just smiled knowingly as I told him all these things, explanations he’s heard a thousand times before. And then he asked, “How many days until Little League Opening Day?”
“33,” I said.
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