for the fans..

Finally. Morning. The only day more important to an 11 yr. old baseball nerd than Christmas. Opening Day. Having grown up watching nothing but WGN and TBS broadcasts since infancy, today is like watching the rock move aside on Easter Sunday and nothing less. We have the tickets, which I hold, and park. Mile High Stadium, glorious host to years of Broncos triumphs as well as Bono and the Boss, looms large as the Roman Coliseum in front of me. The Horse..Bigger than life when seen even at at distance, rears in Glory, almost daring my fanhood, even as a child, unknowing of what it really stands for. As the usher takes the flimsy piece of paper that represents all that my young life has stood for, and tears it, I feel a sense of justification. Although my testicles have not yet felt the groan of manhood, I feel something important has passed. Something only the ancients have spoken of. The smells envelope my underdeveloped naustrum as I take in the wonder. 76,273 seats greet me, as though they know what I’m in for, yet daring me to find out for myself. As my young mind swirls in wonder, I sense something bigger than me, something which, although conveyed through tube screens, can never be realized until realized in the flesh. The walk to the seats seems as if in a dream, floating on some weightless pillow of pre-adolescent fantasy.
The first pitch is thrown before a sound is made. In my young mind, it’s all silent anyway. As if all a dream.
Top of the 1st over, Rox come to bat. My vantage point tells me that I’m just close enough to know that I really am here. The players, although no larger than small mammals, seem as though they exist in another plane, yet the moment is here for all to be shared. The moment EY steps to the box, though, it’s there. The realization of the moment. And on a 3-2 pitch, a ball was lifted to left-center field that would change my life. As it left the park, the understanding of every single of the 80,227 fans in attendance knew that Colorado sports had changed forever.

to all my friends..

In the end, perhaps we should imagine a joke;

A long joke that’s being continually retold in an accent too thick and too strange to ever be completely understood.

Life is that joke my friends.

The soul is its punch line.