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Happy New Year

An episode of The Simpsons once explained the origin of April Fool's Day as a modern celebration of the pagan New Year (bless Lord Baal, indeed). This is likely apocryphal (Easter, of all things, is closer to that mark, what with the themes of resurrection and return from physical deprivation), but it's funny anyway. But, to me, April 1st has always been something of a personal New Year's day (as is my birthday, May 29, but for other reasons). How's that for cultural relativism, even from a culture of one?
But April does bode the beginning of Spring in earnest, which, as with most beginnings, can be rough and even discouraging. April showers (do you know anyone named April Showers?)...and what not. But spring brings baseball, with all its fault and virtues, to say nothing of all the blooms and pollen. Or the longer days (shorter nights). I try not to notice the passing seasons, at least not to the extent of exhibiting serious Seasonal Affect Disorder, but you'll never see me wearing a thick sweater in the heat of summer, either.
Perhaps it's no coincidence that many important events in my life have happened in April. Two long-term relationships ended five days apart (in different years) in mid-April. I've started each of my career-type jobs within a day apiece in April. My mother's birthday...the balance is somewhat disproportionate, at any rate.
I heard a tale of practical jokery today that's too good not to spoil in the telling. A coworker of mine said that one of her friend's kids emptied out a bottle of shampoo and refilled it with mustard and ketchup, much to the chagrin of the child's brother. For some reason I found that amusing, although you might have to be there for yourself (I wasn't). The good old Lord of Misrule strikes again.
It was good to hear that the Orioles put a whooping on the hated New York Yankees, to the tune of 10-3. Once again (in two encounters if I'm not mistaken), the Orioles gave Roger Clemens an opening day beating. I've loved baseball for as long as I can remember. One of my formative experiences was going out in the streets of Little Italy (or at least onto the steps), listening to people cavorting and otherwise celebrating the World Series victory of 1983. I remember Cal Ripken catching the final out...and then seeing all my favorite players just go nuts (except for Mike Schmidt...but that's a different story). I can still remember most of them (I was six at the time).
Much has been written, spoken, and not done, about the ills of modern baseball. The business of baseball, with the escalation of salaries for mediocre players, to say nothing of Alex Rodriguez, pushing the national pastime further and further out of the range of the common working family. I think I spent 50 dollars at the last game I attended two years ago or more, and sitting in the second cheapest seats in the house (the center field bleachers of Oriole Park, the best damn seats in the stadium) to boot. The familiar fire kindles in my breast nonetheless, to see my team do well. Go O's!!
It is sad to see that the game has gone so far away from its roots (it IS a game, by the way). Where did this start...maybe with the opening of Skydome in Toronto? My knowledge of baseball labor history leaves something to be desired, but the capitulation of the ownership in 1994-1995 was a backbreaker. The NFL, scandalous as it may be, is well-run in comparison.
And those are my ill-formed thoughts for this New Year's Day.