Opening Day? This year, it’s just a Thursday.
And we were all supposed to be someplace else.
Maybe you were going to be taking the 7 or the LIRR to Citi Field, stopping for that annual photo in front of the Home Run Apple, dropping by to see old friends at a tailgate not far from the plaque for Shea’s home plate.
And to see Jacob deGrom vs. Stephen Strasburg? The Mets hosting the world champion Nationals? Wow.
Or perhaps it was an Amtrak Acela pilgrimage down to Baltimore, grabbing a Natty Bo outside Camden Yards, anxiously chatting up your buddies about Gerrit Cole’s debut, taking bets on his punch out total vs. the hapless Orioles.
Yes, Cole really was a Yankee. The final piece of the puzzle. Almost too good to be true.
Me? I was going to be taking a sunny half-hour walk from my Inner Harbor hotel, iced coffee in hand, laptop slung over my back, lost in happy thoughts about new beginnings and what the 2020 season held in store for all of us.
Cole awaited. As did Gleyber Torres, and DJ LeMahieu, and Gary Sanchez, and Brett Gardner. What lineup would manager Aaron Boone post by the clubhouse door?
Those first few giddy steps of a thrilling seven-month journey. We couldn’t wait to take them. Opening Day. A scorebook filled with blank…