Opening Day: Back with a Bang

by Ian Tasso

Editorial. Photos by AP News

A five-year old Herb Brooks. The Father of Rap. The Anti-Zimmer. The Bloody Sock. Sweet Caroline AND Sweet Emotion.

For Christ’s sake, part of me is surprised President Obama and the goddamn Grinch weren’t there. I mean everybody who was anybody was there. LeBron James was there. Jay-Z. Snoop Dogg. Heidi Watley (yes, I realize she’s there every game. But still…have you seen her?)

There were fireworks, explosions, rocket ships, F-22’s. And on top of that, it was a Sox comeback win. What more could you ask for?

Wait, what? Some people are complaining it was a little over the top?

You’ve got to be kidding me. Those are probably the same people who still use Blockbuster. Dude. It’s called Netflix. Or the ones who played Magic the Gathering instead of Pokemon – you know, the kids who always brought Cheese-Doodlez for lunch, snack, recess-snack, mid-snack, and probably had them for breakfast and dinner. Disgusting. Have you seen those things?

C’mon people. The program - get with it.

It was The Opening Day of baseball – the entire sport. It was The Yankees versus The Red Sox. At The Fenway Park. What did you expect?




No, you’re right. They should have had Julio Lugo throw out the first pitch, Cher sing the National Anthem, some kid play Sweet Caroline on his recorder and finished it off with free pencils and Renteria jerseys for the first 100 fans. Now that’s an Opening Day.

Yeah. And the Browns are a real football team.

Listen. I understand that some people don’t like loud noises and fun. But this wasn’t just Opening Day against the Tampa Bay Rays in the rain.

This was Opening Day for baseball. In Boston. After a dismal Patriots ending, an exhausting Celtics’ season and the most disappointing Bruins season since…since…well…last season. And to top it all off, it was against the God Damn Yankees.

Get it? These are the Boston Red Sox we’re talking about. The ones who, when everyone said “you need offense this offseason,” said, “oh yeah?,” and signed John Lackey, Adrian Beltre and Mike Cameron.

Not to mention, the day after, they resigned Josh Beckett for the next four years – meaning the Sox have Jon Lester, Josh Beckett, John Lackey AND Clay Buchholz locked up until 2014.

Yeah, that sound you just heard was Greg Maddux, John Smoltz and Tom Glavine going, “Damn, now that’s a pitching staff.”

Look – the Sox know what they’re doing. Granted, they may have sold out to ESPN and had Opening Day on a Sunday night, kind of defeating half the fun of skipping work, skipping class, and getting your day-drink on.

But even so, on that Sunday night, everything went right. The fireworks were perfect. The little kid was hilarious. The Red Sox even finally learned from their mistakes and took Pedro out after one pitch.

And you know what? It was the only way they could have done things. Because the rivalry is back. And they know it.

They know it. The Sox know it. The Yanks know it. The fans know it.

Look – it wasn’t there last year. It just wasn’t. The Sox got bumped early in the playoffs. The year before, the Yankees didn’t even make them. Boston won the World Series in 2007, but we didn’t even play New York in the postseason.

There’s been a constant overturn of players over the years, and it didn’t even feel like my Sox against those Yanks anymore. No more Manny. No more Giambi. No more Curt. In 2009, we won nine straight, they won nine straight. There was no back-and-forth action. It just kind of felt like ‘just another few games.’

But not anymore.

Because last year, New York won the World Series. And it pissed off Sox fans. They had a parade. And it pissed off Sox fans. Teixeira said ‘God sent him to the Yankees to win a World Series.’ And it pissed off Sox fans (and probably God too).

Then they traded for MLB’s version of Mr. Rogers (or Babar, depending on which generation you were raised in) in Curtis Granderson; gave up a Dice-K shirt, a burnt waffle and a bag of Sun Chips – the shitty kind, the Garden Salsa kind – for the National League’s second most deadly strikeout artist, Javier Vazquez. And you know what? That too pissed Sox fans off.

Not only that, but through it all, they “lowered” their payroll (which is like “losing” weight if you go from 450 pounds to 425), and gave Yankee fans something to Tweet back when us Sox fans all bitch about all the money they spend.

And while those same Sox fans were getting all fumed up, Boston’s front office was hard at work creating the biggest Anti-Yankee Machine since David Ortiz circa 2004. With his middle finger to the baseball world, Tito signed two of the game’s best defenders, the best available pitcher, finely tuned his Bomber Kryptonite and said, “bring it on.”

Squirtle vs. Charmander people. Bring it. And believe me – it will be brought.

Because if there’s one thing I learned after watching A-Rod kiss that trophy last year – except maybe thinking, god, he has some purple lips, doesn't he – is that I hate the Yankees. I hate them.

And it’s the first time since the days of Mueller, Millar, Nixon, Bernie, Sheff, Boone and The Zim that I honestly feel that way when I say it.

It’s back ladies and gentlemen. And if you didn’t feel it Sunday night – or last night – I’m not sure you’ll ever feel it again.

Because Easter night wasn’t just Opening Day at Fenway. It wasn’t just Opening Day for baseball. It was Opening Day for the new rivalry.

Chapter 2010: Enter the Beard (I’m coining that by the way). Youkilis vs. Teixeira. Beckett vs. Sabathia. Offense vs. Defense. Sox vs. Yanks.

It’s back. Baseball’s back. And life is good.

So good, so good, so good…

It’s been a strange beginning, yes. Any combination of Dr. Dre, a designated hitter not hitting, run-preventers not preventing, and Adrian Beltre batting .429 is bound to raise some eyebrows (back on the juice?)

But a lot of baseball is about sitting, watching and waiting – the season is 162 games long after all. Most of it will even out; like Lester’s 7.20 ERA, Pedroia’s 81 HR pace, Beckett’s one K and the fact that JD Drew is still heathy.

Some of it won’t; namely the price of tickets, A-Rod’s purple lips and C.C. Sabathia’s cholesterol level.

Nobody really knows. All I do know, though, is it’s going to be one hell of a ride.

Because in my first 10 years as a Boston fan, I learned to expect the worst. My most recent 10 have taught me to expect the best.

And what have I learned through it all? Absolutely nothing.

Except to expect everything.