While work thinks I'm in Louisville, visiting my ailing grandfather that doesn't exist, I know where I'll be on Opening Day. Sitting on a wobbly bar stool, cold beer in hand, pizza sauce stained onto my chin, with a stupid smirk on my face that can only be rivaled by the first time I saw breasts not owned by my mother. Opening Day is more than just the official start to the baseball season. It stands for the beginning of Spring. It means late night trips to the grocery store in shorts and sandals, the smell of cooking red meat atop hot burning charcoal. It means having your windows down as you belt out the words to "I Can't Fight This Feeling Anymore" and the right to drunkenly purchase an unneccesarry Russell Martin jersey on Ebay at 2 in the morning. This my friends, is baseball season. So sit back, 
relax, grab yourself a Fantasy Baseball magazine, and make sure the propane tank on your grill is full.38 days to go.
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