"Why Time Begins on Opening Day"

That is a title of a Tom Boswell book. From 1976 until 2005, I trod to every single Red Sox opening day. Thirty in all. From a pot smoking college student to a full blown alcoholic to a bemused observer of it all, I went until the charm wore off. After all of that time, the Carmine Hose had given me all I had asked for. A symmetry to my life that revolved around baseball with a World Series trophy as an exclamation point. Al Stewart, "The Year of the Cat." all the way to Chasbie Steinburg, "The Year of the Pink Hat." Six two and even. From a gawky kid seeing Pumpsie Green and Minnie Minoso chatting before a game to someone who is called "The Official Photographer of Rickwood Field," (I couldn't be more overjoyed about that honor.) From the kid in a purloined box seat to the man-boy in rhubarbs in the bleachers to the wide eyed man in a catbird seat at the oldest park in the country, thanks Baseball.

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