For most of my life, Baseball Opening Day came and went without much fanfare. I’ve always loved live events- the rush of a stadium crowd, the shared energy, the way time seems to pause when something truly special happens. But for me, that thrill usually came from music. I’ve spent years chasing that high from a front-row seat at a rock show or a sunset set at a summer festival.
Baseball? I respected it- but I didn’t feel it. Not yet.
That changed several springs ago when my son, seven at the time, asked if we could go to the Baseball Opening Day. I hesitated. Not because I didn’t want to go, but because I wasn’t sure if he was ready to sit through nine innings! But there was something about the way he asked like it was something big. Something he’d been waiting for.
So, we went.
We got to the stadium early. He was buzzing with questions- about the players, the scoreboard, the walk-up songs. I watched him take in the smells, the sounds, the rhythm of it all. The slow build. The rising tension. The sudden cheer after a base hit. By the fourth inning, with a hot dog in his hand and mustard on his cheek,
He leaned into me and whispered, “This is the best day ever.”
And right there, in that moment, I got it.
Baseball; especially Opening Day- isn’t about speed. It’s about presence. It’s about rituals and traditions and how the start of a season feels like a world hitting reset. And for him, this was more than just a ballgame. It was his first real taste of that collective energy I’d spent my adult life chasing at concerts.
That afternoon, I realized I wasn’t just showing him a game. I was handing something down. A tradition. A memory. A moment that, years from now, he’ll remember with the same clarity I recall my first live show under the summer sky.
Since then, Opening Day has become our tradition. Baseball Opening Day created special memories for both of us. He’s still a few years away from his first concert, but I can see it coming. For now, the crack of a bat and the cheer of the crowd is our shared soundtrack.
If you’re on the fence about making time for a ballgame this spring- do it. Bring the glove. Buy the hot dog. Make the memory. You may think you’re just there for the game, but you might be witnessing something much bigger: the beginning of someone else’s tradition.
“See you in the stands —wherever your perfect seat is!”