I'm confused. Weren't they supposed to hit better this year?

Anyway. I'll be leaving for the park in about 10 minutes and I thought some Opening Day musings from two years ago might be better than nothing (which is the option if I don't resurrect some, ah, previously posted material). 1999 marked my 25th straight opener; 2001 marks my 25th straight opener in my Section 30 season tickets. So it still works. Sort of.

Here it is. See you at the ballpark.

*****

The baseball culture is uniquely addicted to milestones -- from lifetime biggies like 500 home runs, 3,000 hits and 300 victories to mid-career signposts like 100 doubles or 1,000 games played -- and virtually every season, somebody is marking something. Our 10th year of existence! Our 75th season in this ballpark! The 25th anniversary since we won the World Series! The players may not be aware of anything that happened before they arrived (remember when Andruw Jones wanted to know who this Mike Schmidt fellow was?), but we fans sure are. We can't escape it.

Funny, then, that we have very little knowledge of personal achievements. How many games have you attended? How many times have you walked into Fenway Park? How many home runs did you see Jim Rice hit? Or Carl Yastrzemski? Unless you're a compulsive obsessive, saving every scorecard or ticket stub, who would know?

Some things, though, you can't miss. I'm reaching one of those unmissable ones this afternoon. Today will be my 27th consecutive Opening Day at Fenway, and 25th in my Section 30 season tickets.

Twenty-seven straight openers. Every single one since 1975.

I can recite every opponent and every result (though not every score) without looking them up. Beat the Brewers. Beat the Indians. Lost to the Indians. Beat the Rangers. Beat the Indians. Beat the Tigers. Lost to the White Sox. Lost to the White Sox. Lost to the Blue Jays. Lost to the Tigers. Beat the Yankees. Lost to the Royals. Beat the Blue Jays. Lost to the Tigers. Beat the Indians. Beat the Tigers. Lost to the Indians. Lost to the Orioles. Beat the Indians. Beat the Tigers. Beat the Twins. Beat the Twins. Lost to the Mariners. Beat the Mariners. Beat the White Sox. Beat the Twins. Twenty-six of them, 16 victories and 10 defeats. Look it up. You'll see.

What do I remember about them? Not a whole lot. Hank Aaron and Tony Conigliaro in the lineups in '75. Bill Campbell losing the '77 opener, six months after receiving the first of the big-money free-agent contracts (though "big money" was a relative term in those days) and getting the first free-agent raspberry from the fans. Claudell Washington misplaying a ball in right field in 1978, allowing the Sox to come from behind. Don Zimmer getting tossed from the '80 opener. Carlton Fisk, in both '81 and '82. ('Nuf said.) Dave Stapleton tearing up his knee while chasing a foul ball in '84, which led (eventually) to the acquisition of Bill Buckner. Clobbering the Yankees in '85. A gem of a shutout by Bruce Hurst in '87. New hero Lee Smith giving up a game-losing home run to Alan Trammell in '88. Roger Clemens getting routed by the Tigers in '94, and wondering if the forlorn figure making his way to the dugout after being lifted in the fourth inning was at the end of the trail. Mo Vaughn in '98. Carl Everett in '00.

What have I learned from them? That no matter how much we try to glean foresight into the upcoming season from what happens on Opening Day, it's just another game. Just 1 of 162. Campbell's and Smith's spectacular failures, 11 years apart, didn't prevent either of them -- or the Sox -- from having great seasons. The wonderful dismantling of the Yankees in '85 was prelude to nothing more than 81-81. Some of the most disappointing, underachieving years of the last quarter-century (1976, 1996) started with victories. Some of the most glorious (1986) started with defeats.

What do I enjoy about them?

Everything.

For as little stock as I put into whatever happens on the field, today really is a religious holiday for those of us who love the game. Sorry, but I actually buy into all the themes of reawakening and rebirth and renewal, of coming together again under the thin April sun. Generally, I ain't one for baseball's mystical mumbo-jumbo. Generally. Opening Day is different.

So, yes, I'm looking forward to the Baseball Bards. The bevy of planes overhead, carrying signs for everything from radio stations to tires. Fenway Frank and his "This Is The Year" garb. This is the firing of the gun in Hopkinton, with all the joy and hoopla that erupts when the first steps of a long race are taken.

I'll be back next week, with the real fans, when we're truly down to business. But today is party time. If you're near Section 30, stop on by. I'll be there.

For the 27th straight time.