| | | Beep/Beep/Beep/Beep/Beep! Bam!
|  | | If this is April, then it must be time to catch the likes of Juan Gonzalez. |
I slammed the meat of my palm into the snooze button again. If I had to do it once more, I'd have to apply an ice pack. Pounding a button every nine minutes a la David Carradine can take its effect on a man's hand, especially when he never got a yellow belt in karate.
But are you kidding me? It's Monday, April 2.
Let me repeat that: IT'S MONDAY, APRIL 2.
You think I'm going to punch in? You think I'm going to work a George Hamilton tan under the fluorescents? You think I want any part of The Water Cooler today?
Pal, let me remind you: It's Monday, APRIL 2. That only means one thing.
What, did you lose your sense of Americana?
It's Opening Day, my man.
We don't work on Opening Day.
Let's discuss Opening Day. Of all things American, of all our cultural
products that began in the 1600s with those freaks on the Mayflower all the way up to today, when Jennifer Lopez wows us with her crop-tops, none is more stately, more unique than Opening Day.
Well, giving serious propers to my high school civics class, I'll throw every November's Election Day in there, too. Then again, given that our last election was run as efficiently as Don Denkinger called the '85 Series, I'll go with Opening Day.
So I ain't going to The Cooler. I'm sleeping till I wake up, then
attacking a fridge filled with Pabst Blue Ribbon. I live on the West Coast, so if I get up around 11ish, I'm good for the middle innings of an East Coast opener.
Oh, how you East Coasters miss out on that phenomenon: the way-too-drunk sleep, followed by the bed stir, followed by the click of a
remote, followed by live sports, in color, on your bedroom TV. You guys gotta wait till 1 p.m. to get NFL football! Go West, young man!
But I digress. It's Opening Day. I've come down with a mysterious case of tuberculosis, which I will phone in to H.R. -- whenever I get a chance. For now, I'm snoozing. Then, I'm going to the ballgame. Then, I'm drinking some more. That is, until I hear the pounding at my door.
Pound/Pound/Pound/Pound! Who could it be?
Oh, man, not my boss! Shoot, he knows where I live. He came to one of my 4th of July keggers. I had to invite him. I wanted to keep my job, man!
I decided to crawl out from the sheets to check the fish-eye lens on my door. I peered. I looked. I saw a gray-haired, gray-bearded dude in a toga with a Louisville Slugger cane. Say what?
"Who is it? Nobody's home!" I said, a tangle of contradictions.
"Open up, Murphy!" the gray-haired, gray-bearded dude with the Louisville Slugger cane said. "I know you have cans of Pabst in there!"
Holy cow. This guy was good.
"But who are you? And why are you wearing a toga?" I shouted through the door.
"Dude, haven't you figured it out?" the man said. "I'm The Spirit of
Opening Day. You summoned me in your dream. I'm all that's right about
America!"
I threw open the door. "The Spirit of Opening Day!" I said, offering a
high-five.
Gray Hair responded with a clenched fist, looking for a knuckle-bump.
"High-five," he muttered, disgusted, brushing past me. "How '80s are you, bro? Don't you watch Baseball Tonight?"
I gave him a knuckle-bump, tossed him a frostie, and cracked one myself. It was then I noticed the grass stains on the toga. "Grass stains?" I said.
"Dove for a pop-up in my Saturday softball league," the Spirit of Opening Day said. "Made the grab. Don't you ever forget it. Now, knock back two more of those and we're hopping the Muni to Pacific Bell Park."
"You've got Giants-Padres tickets?" I said, excitedly. My previous plan was to sneak in as a concession-stand worker. I even had the hair net.
"Two in the bleachers," the Spirit of Opening Day said, belching. "Let's go, my man."
"Cool!" I said. "I'll read you my Weekend List of Five on the way
there!"
The Spirit of Opening Day motioned for another cold one: "Just this once," he said. "And keep it short. We've got some ball to watch."
With that ...
1. Opening Day Is a Daytime Affair, Puerto Rico or No Puerto Rico
Listen. Mexico, Japan, Puerto Rico -- that's great, just fine. Lovely
countries all, and we're all in support of the World Series actually lending verity to its adjectival phrasing. But repeat after me: Opening Day takes place Stateside, in the afternoon. Period. Teams that go for Opening Night? Take a walk. Teams that open in Lithuania? Great, get a parade at the UN when you play the Yanks or Mets. Bottom line: If you are a big-league team, you open in the continental 48, and you do so under daylight.
2. Today Is the Greatest Day to Be an American
I've got a gray-hair in a toga springing for the $6.50 Anchor Steams hard by the Bay in the City, and I've got Duke-Arizona tonight on the tube. Find me one day that tops this. Maybe -- maybe -- Game 7 of the Series on its own. Other than that? Please. Today is the reason why you stand and put your hand over your heart at every ballgame while some 15-year-old Christina Aguilera-wannabe from the suburbs of your favorite team's city lengthens the national anthem like it's a taffy pull. You can deal with the 4-minute "Star Spangled Banner" if it means Opening Day, NCAA hoops final at night, and practice rounds at the Masters underway.
3. Hail to the Irish
You want to bag on women's hoops? Fine. But I've got a soft spot for the distaff side on the hardwood. Face it, if you had a daughter out there balling, you'd be a basket case. You'd alternate between crying your ass off out of pride and cringing every time she launched a trey that drew nothing but glass. That's what I saw when Notre Dame and Purdue went at it. But it's awesome American chicas grow up with the chance to bang home two from the charity stripe with six seconds to play, like our girl Ruth Riley for the Irish. A girl named Riley winning it for the green? We'll take that anytime.
4. The BellSouth Classic
Given that the world's finest were playing practice rounds two-and-a-half hours east at Augusta National, let's drop the charade and bag the pre-Masters tourney. Listen: Scottie McCarron is a NorCal kid, and for that he draws our love. Not only that, he's a Bruin. Righteous. But the neck putter is a bad look, and we can't take any tourney seriously this close to Green Jacket Time. So let's forget it happened, and move straight to the dogwood.
5. Duke-Arizona
Devils-'Cats? Who do I like? I like me, sunburned from Pac Bell, with a Keystone Light in my hand for tipoff. I also like Jason Williams, who has Monday-night-in-April-greatness written all over him. A roll call from that crew: Walton, Magic, Jordan, Ellison, Smart, Laettner, O'Bannon, Cleaves ... yep, add J. Williams to the roster. A perfect end to a perfect day.
Brian Murphy of the San Francisco Chronicle writes the "Monday Morning Water Cooler" every week for Page 2.
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