by West Coast Craig
Avon — That’s right, I’m throwing a little Shakespeare at y’all this morning. This year’s Masters had already plucked the keen teeth from the fierce Tiger’s jaws, the earth (well, bunker) devoured the approach shot of Chad Campbell on the first playoff hole, and burned the long iron shot of Phil…but unfortunately for Kenny Perry, while Augusta was a course untainted for 70 holes, you have to play 72, and his case 74. The last four were forgettable, as time caught up with the 48 year old, as it does with all of us. I was really pulling for him, mainly because I’d really like to have seen something major won by somebody older than me. It’s something that hasn’t happened in awhile. Angel Cabrera (no relation to Orlando or Miguel) is close, so I’ll just have to settle for that.
I remember the first favorite athlete of mine whom I was actually older than—Joe Sakic—a watershed moment in any fan’s life. Since then, of course, you get used to the idea that you’re pinning your hopes and dreams on kids who were born during the Reagan administration…or Bush Sr.’s. Do you realize that this year’s high school graduating class was born the year Nevermind came out? Ugh.
This year’s baseball season has been both glad and sorry. Glad for teams like the Marlins, off to the best start in their short history; sorry for teams like Cleveland, off to their worst start since 1914. The Mets and Yanks are both off to inauspicious beginnings…but at least the Mets can say they ran into a buzzsaw in South Florida, a real live divisional nemesis for them, though let’s see how they do once they hit the road. The Yanks’ .500 record came against doormats Baltimore and Kansas City. Now, both of those teams could turn out to be good, perhaps this year’s Rays? Or the previous year’s Rockies? Probably not, though at least the O’s and KC are franchises that are both older than I am. The Washington Nationals aren’t, and they pretty much deserve their 0-6 start, simply by waiting so long to fire Jim Bowden.
Time has yet to draw lines with its antique pen upon the new Gotham cathedrals, opening for real today…unless, as reported here first on MTM, you’re talking sight lines. Beauty’s pattern for succeeding stadiums seems to be in the eye (line) of the beholder. As for myself, I’ll be at the nation’s third oldest major league park, Dodger Stadium for its season opener…so do thy worst, old Timer (and by Old Timer, I mean you, Randy Johnson), despite thy wrong (hand), My love on opening day shall ever live young.
