This I Believe

Every April, my family and I make the trip over to Safeco Field to partake in the Opening Day festivities. Sitting there in my seat, I begin to see the excitement and anticipation on the other 47,000 faces in the crowd, and all around me I hear the same snippets of conversation. The “I hope this season’s better than the last couple,” or the “I hope this new guy they got is as good as they say he is,” or even the “I hope he’s the home run leader again this season.” At all of this, I have to smile because I know that I am not the only one there full of hope.

I believe in hope, and for me there is no other day full of it more than on baseball’s Opening Day. That one day marks the beginning of a new year and the hope that it will be a good one. It doesn’t matter if you’re a seasoned big league veteran or a pee-wee little leaguer, or even, simply, a loyal fan, you can’t help but feel hopeful.

Even down on field level, I can see the hope on the faces of the players: The slugger wanting to hit that home run over the left field wall, the pitcher hoping to throw a no-hitter, the rookie anxiously waiting for his chance to play, and the unanimous hope for a win. Maybe some of them are hoping to be selected for the All-Star team or even of winning a World Series championship ring. Above all, I think they’re just hoping to get their one moment in the sun.

Just a few weeks ago, I attended my young nephew’s very first little league game. Watching those twenty eager little faces filled me with that same feeling I get when I’m at the Mariners’ Opening Day. All those little boys just waiting to take their places on the newly sodded field, hoping that they can be just like their big league heroes for just a couple of hours on a Saturday afternoon. Even though this league didn’t keep score, I sat in those aluminum bleachers praying that the tallest boy in the maroon and gold uniform, my nephew Colin, would be able to hit that fastball that was pitched to him. The familiar, dull sounding thunk of the ball and bat connecting informed me that my prayer had been answered. Even over the other boys’ cheering, I could make out Colin’s voice: “Did you see that? A fly ball to center field. I hope my Aunt Heather saw that!” Once again, that element of hope that always seems to accompany Opening Day.

This year marks the first year that I’ve missed Opening Day at Safeco Field, and I certainly had good reasons to. What with work and school obligations on top of a nasty cold. I was very sad that I wasn’t able to be there at the ballpark in my usual seat along the first baseline. But even sitting on my old couch in my living room, decked out in sweats and snuggled under a blanket with a box of tissues nearby, I still had that same feeling inside of me that I’ve had on every Opening Day I’ve ever attended.

Maybe it’s just me; maybe it’s not even hope that I’m feeling. It certainly seems that way to me, but I could be mistaken. Maybe I’m just getting caught up in all of the great excitement of the sport and in the nostalgia of all of the great memories I have from the Opening Days in the past. I’m not sure. All I do know is that no matter where I am on next year’s Opening Day, and every other one after that, I will always have the hope.