Every first afternoon of every season you've got a guaranteed home game immediately preceded by a giant community hug in the streets of downtown. With clowns in motorcycle sidecars and leprechauns on firetrucks and stuff. Kids skip school. People get drunk in the morning. There are color photos in the next day's Tri-State area newspapers. There's the tradition. It's good stuff.

Does anybody really think that the rest of the country is going to stop what they're doing tomorrow afternoon and turn on their televisions and stare open-mouthed at the Yankees and wonder aloud, "Hey, why no coverage of the traditonal festivities in Cincinnati?!"

That shining and concentrated exclusivity of hosting allll of America's Opening Day is gone. It's been gone. Consider John McSherry's dramatic passing both the omen and the coda.

But it's not a bad thing. Not at all. It's a good thing. Major League Baseball has moved on to broader horizons while ya'll have just kept on doing what you do. A lot of fun will continue to be had by all. Evidently, St. Louis is jealous. Party on!

(And Chick Ludwig trying to aid his position bemoaning "Sunday night garbage" and casting wistfully xenophobic shame upon international celebrations of our favorite game with quotes from "an editor" of the Sporting News is kinda like asking my dog if his walks were longer and his life was better before the two or three kids came along.)

No doubt Bud Selig will declare the Japan Series (does anyone know who won those games anyway?) and Sunday night's game a success, as King Bud has graciously delivered his baseball to the peasant people. Thanks, Bud!

over the Sunday night opener anymore, although I did when it first happened. Marge did not take it at all well, as I remember.

Nice McSherry reference, though Alan...that could really serve as a turning point for this situation.

Maybe I'll feel the same about the Japan/International Flavor du Jour Series in time, but I can tell you that even though I have to follow those games because I am in a fantasy league, I don't much care for them.

Even though I recognize what the author of the piece is trying to say, he comes across more like Zell Miller (or Dana Carvey's Grumpy Old Man) than anything else.