This story originally ran in Hometown 9 on March 31, 2008.

By Nick Tavares

My opening day routine has changed a little over the years. When I was little, it remained the same for a long, long time — TV turned to WSBK-38, Red Sox hat on my head, my Mike Greenwell t-shirt on, sitting alone on the couch, baseball glove in hand, baseball nestled in the glove, and I wasn’t likely to move for the next three hours. Growing up in New England, there wasn’t any other way I could imagine spending such a day.

The Sox usually opened up on the West coast, and still do, so the game would usually start around 4 p.m., perfect for a kid who stepped off the bus at 3:30. Then, it would be time to catch them take on the A’s, Angels, Mariners or whoever it was that particular year. The baseball cards would be out on the coffee table in front of me, a notebook would be nearby to jot down what number the new Sox were wearing (“Jack Clark, 25, check. Danny Darwin, 44, check.”) After that, it would be dinner time, and then the rest of the week’s games would be moved to NESN, a channel I couldn’t watch until they moved it into a more affordable cable package years later.

And I’d settle into what was always a fun season, regardless of whatever frustrations the Sox had in store for me.

The fun about opening day is the overemphasis put on the game itself. With 161 coming, the actual winning or losing isn’t necessarily indicative of a stellar or horrible season. But it’s still taken that way. One memorable instance that comes to mind is the Boston Red Sox opener in 1992. Their loss in that game was greeted with one of the greatest reactionary headlines of all time — a screaming “WAIT TILL NEXT YEAR!” across the cover of the Boston Herald.

The outcome aside, opening day is the first real day of spring, the beginning of games of catch at the park, the first real, juicy hot dog, and the first time you can swear at your team from the comfort of your bleacher seat or your couch.

I’m all grown up and living in Arizona, so opening day is a little different now. Opening day is the sign that it’s starting to really get hot out there, catch at the park has been going on since about January or so, and if you’re anything like me, you were frantically trying to get to as many spring training games in the Valley and down in Tucson as possible. What remains, though, is that these games count now.

When Mark Reynolds drives one deep down the left field line to send Eric Byrnes wheeling around the base paths, it brings the Snakes one step closer to another National League West crown.  When Bob Melvin calls on Brandon Webb or Dan Haren to start the game and Brandon Lyon to shut the door, it will be more evidence of the Josh Byrnes era in Arizona bearing fruit in the way of winning baseball.

And, even if I forgo the glove and the baseball cards, I’m still just as likely to be sitting on the couch, cap on my head, notebook close by to take note of anything special or interesting.

It’s opening day, after all. Some traditions have to live on.