Yes, I am aware both that I am mixing my holidays and that there's something going on between those two obscure AL East teams that bears a vague resemblance to our beloved game, but I will be forced to disqualify it. As far as I am concerned, the season begins tomorrow at 12:10 MT/2:10 ET, when at last, after a hiatus of far, far too long, our beloved purple pinstriped boys will take the field. Ubaldo Jimenez vs. Yovani Gallardo, Miller Park. I'll be able to catch the first hour or so, but I will then be unavoidably detained by class. At least I plan to do nothing on Friday afternoon aside from watch the home opener.
I was planning to make this Review the prognostication corner, but then Rox Girl had to go and pre-empt me this morning, so unless you have a few individual stat lines or off-the-wall fearless/bizarre predictions (like who will nearly fall victim to the racing sausages tomorrow) I don't know what I have for you. Now is the time when everything has been analyzed and theorized to within an inch of its life. We've roundly castigated those who don't appear to be on the Rockies bandwagon, and some who appear to be on it (I'm looking at you, Mark Kiszla). We've put all our weight of hope and expectation on them, and now it's just a countdown until that moment when life begins again.
It's springtime, and anything is possible. Tomorrow begins a journey that we hope will not end until November, in ecstasy instead of agony. We'll overreact to everything. We'll worry about platoons and sore shoulders. We'll calculate VORP and wOBA and cheer for concourse bombs and shutouts. We'll scream and jump up and down and make fools of ourselves. We'll bitch and carp and groan and think the world's ending. We'll ponder closer committees and outfield battles. We'll hang on through high summer and nerve-wracking autumn. We're used to giving everything, but we'll still give it one more time.
Because, after all, that's just what we do.