Just One Day of Perfection

The trees are still leafless, the grass is still yellow, and the skies are still dark. But spring is here.

For 14 major league baseball teams, yesterday was Opening Day, the surest sign of spring. And for one day of the year, the sun is shining in every big league city.

Only on Opening Day are all of baseball's ace pitchers in action. Roger Clemens. Dwight Gooden. Danny Jackson. Dave Stewart. Only Opening Day draws the president of the United States to Baltimore to watch the hapless Orioles.

For just this one day, all the disappointment of the past is forgotten. In Oakland, Kirk Gibson is an unfamiliar name. No one within 50 miles of Anaheim, Ca., can remember who Dave Henderson is or what he did three years ago.

Cardinal fans, for just one day, do not burn Don Denkinger in effigy as they have since 1985. In Toronto, the dartboards with Dane Iorg's image in the center, pierced everyday since the 1985 playoffs when his pinch single shot down the Blue Jays, have a day off.

And in Boston, for just one day, the phone lines to the residences of Bill Buckner, Mike Torrez and Larry Barnett are not abuzz with threatening calls.

On Opening Day, all the turmoil of the offseason is laid to rest. For just one day, Pete Rose is not a gambler, but the greatest hitter of the past. Wade Boggs is not an adulterer, but the greatest hitter of the present.

For one day, Darryl Strawberry is not a hoodlum who beats up his teammates. For 24 hours, Pascual Perez is not a drug abuser. Just once, Steve Garvey is monogamous.

Bruce Hurst is not a traitor for fleeing to San Diego. The Yankees are not heartless ingrates for dumping Willie Randolph. Just for one day.

And for one day, as well as the other 364 days of the year, Atlanta's Dale Murphy is a class act.

On Opening Day, all the doubt and despair of the next six months is superceded by boundless hope undying faith.

In Texas, the Rangers will ride the Ryan Express to their first World Series. Eddie Murray will pull a Kirk Gibson to take the Dodgers to yet another one. In San Diego, Hurst and Jack Clark will prove that a team that wears brown can win it all.

This is the year that the Reds will improve on their three consecutive second place finishes. This is the year the Braves will live up to their self-proclaimed title of America's Team. This is the year the Angels will win it for Gene Autry.

The Blue Jays will win because of their four lefty starters. The Red Sox will win because of their five righty starters. The Mets will win because of their 15 legitimate major league starters.

The Yankees will win the World Series despite a 45-year-old Opening Day pitcher. The Red Sox will win it all despite 71 years of frustration. The Orioles will take the pennant despite 1001 good reasons why they should be playing AAA ball.

For one day, the Mariners, Braves, Phillies, and, yes, the Orioles, are in first place.

Today 12 more teams open their seasons. Tomorrow reality sets in. The pessimists take over. The dreaded "Wait 'Til Next Year" headlines hit the newsstands.

But for one day, Opening Day, the Boys of Summer can do no wrong. They catch every fly, stab every grounder and hit only line drives. They can end airline strikes, clean up oil spills and bring world peace.

On Opening Day, astroturf looks like grass. The domes look like a starlit sky. The Red Sox road uniforms look like Pierre Cardin originals.

Just on Opening Day, the hot dogs don't taste like cardboard, the bleacher bums say "Excuse me" when they spill beer on you, and the umpire, God forbid, is right.

Because baseball's back.