Today is the day we become who we are in earnest.
Today is the day we are Mets fans in our natural habitat, the baseball season.
Today is the day that past stays past and future runs far off because, at long last, we have a present with which to concern ourselves.
Today is the day we continue to fetishize the past and idealize the future but we do it in a whole new context.
Today is the day we add a new year to our ledgers.
Today is the day we have 2005 to go with, if we’re lucky, 1969 and 1986 and 2000 or, if we’re not so lucky, 1979 and 1993 and 2002.
Today is the day 2005 begins to dictate its own narrative.
Today is the day 2005 transforms to memory for another day, for an afternoon game in 2008 or a rain delay in 2012 or a cold winter’s morning in 2015.
Today is the day we have something important to do for the first of 162 times — at least.
Today is the day when every little bit of news, speculation and innuendo is for real because it affects the way we live.
Today is the day that pre-season predictions can be flushed; they’re useless anyway (is there anything more insipid than the sportswriter who can tell you who’s going to go 72-90, who’s going to go 90-72, and who’s going to win the World Series in seven in March?).
Today is the day that weather matters. Except for blizzard warnings, I doubt I knew the temperature three times all winter. Who needed it?
Today is the day that grass is a wonderful thing. A zillion and two elegies have been composed to green grass and baseball. If it weren’t for baseball, I’d barely know grass exists.
Today is the day we reset our biological clocks to 7:10 and 1:10 and other junctures as the pocket schedule dictates.
Today is the day “let me check my calendar” means the pocket schedule.
Today is the day we know our geography: CIN, HOU, COL, et al.
Today is the day when we check the out-of-town scores.
Today is the day we worry more about ATL, PHI, FLA and DC far more than NYY.
Today is the day half-game resurfaces as a legitimate unit of measurement.
Today is the day The New Mets aren’t a slogan but a fact.
Today is the day uniform numbers like 71 and 83 disappear from all but bullpen catchers.
Today is the day we note that Ramon Castro is 11, Chris Woodward is 4 and some fellow named Carlos is 15.
Today is the day Mike Cameron is a rightfielder and deals with it.
Today is the day Pedro Martinez and Doug Mientkiewicz are no longer ex-Sox who used to keep midgets and balls, respectively.
Today is the day they are Mets. They make their own legends starting now.
Today is the day Mike Piazza is still a Met and we find out whether he embellishes or diminishes his legend.
Today is the day we try to get used to Tom Glavine. Again.
Today is the day Jose Reyes runs with abandon because it counts.
Today is the day David Wright starts moving up in every conceivable fashion.
Today is the day we don’t miss Leiter or Franco or Vance Wilson or Super Joe.
Today is the day Willie Randolph proves he is no Art Howe.
Today is the day Omar Minaya is prematurely judged.
Today is the day every beat writer finds his own angle.
Today is the day every sportscast has worthwhile video to show and, if the producer is thinking clearly, lead with.
Today is the day radio is our best friend whether we’re blacked out or not.
Today is the day Fran Healy finds yet another nerve to gnaw on.
Today is the day we tire of the Foxwoods jingle. Again.
Today is the day we have all kinds of things to tell whomever will listen.
Today is the day we have something to talk about.
Today is the day.
Tomorrow and the next day and the day after that, too.
Thank God. We've survived another pointless winter (and endless complaining from Met-fan husbands). As Joshua would say, “Yippee!”