We were gonna skip school or work and wonder how brains or God or whoever could squeeze all that blue sky, ash wood, cowhide, green grass, chalk dust and enthusiasm into a floating diamond of coordinated pinball players for nine innings or more?
The chains were gonna slip away like drunk snakes and we were gonna reach above the wall and sneak a peek; shape shift into drift wood and merge with a gush of melted mountain side snow; racing head first towards the ocean.
Elemental carbon was gonna be more than a periodical table. It was gonna spark more than flags and anthems and ego. We were going to look out at the sky; drunk on infinity.
But it wasn’t meant to be. I was sitting in the cafeteria break room at work instead. It was 2:45 PM in Montreal. My body seized control; turned my mind sober. Opening day was nothing but a rally flirt, just a game among 162; an exaggeration; a myth of Sisyphus and the world’s grimace tried to suck me in deeper.
But then an amazing thing happened. I received a jolt of something from somewhere and I began to see wills as big or small; not the check list wills of who wins our knickknacks when we die, but the will of courage. We are the chariot rider. We control the reigns. The horse-our emotions is at our mercy.
I became convinced that people can read these wills like braille without the bumps and fingers; more like mannerism detection; rewarding or punishing us accordingly.
My will must have been Polo Grounds big because no car, wheelchair, or pedestrian sign interrupted my locomotion. I made it home in 17 minutes flat; arriving at precisely 4:17 PM. It was the top of the sixth inning; Brewers leading the Braves 2-0.
I abandoned all discipline and vows and middle ways. They fell away like lizard’s skin. I resubscribed to the flirt and seduction of opening day; downed some metaphorical champagne and started feeling giddy. Gibraltar was no longer 90 feet away. I was there and a strange and wonderful thing happened.
It was only a damp, dark room and an arrangement of electrical pixels on a screen in the corner, but it did a convincing impersonation of Brandon Kintzler pitching the top of the seventh inning, Wil Smith in the eighth, and Francisco Rodriguez in the ninth.
Final score; Brewers 2, Braves 0. Gallardo-the winner over Teheran. Milwaukee in first place with a 1-0 record, ahead of Pittsburgh and St. Louis who also won, but the M in Milwaukee is closer to A than P or S.