Got up this morning, threw on a t-shirt and some shorts, grabbed some sun-tan lotion and headed off to Pac Bell to go see my first game of the season. Didn't have a ticket, but knew it wouldn't matter. There's always tickets to be had if you're willing to pay. Just had to go.

It was a beautiful day for a ball game. The sun was out and the temperature was perfect- just warm enough for sun-tan lotion but not too hot. Everyone was in a good mood, drinking beer and talking baseball. The boats were out in the bay and the grass was so green it almost glowed. Even if Barry didn't play, Livan Hernandez, the laid-back, slow-moving baby Huey starting pitcher for the Giants went three for three with two doubles, two runs scored and an RBI. He even scored from second on a double. Everytime he roped one, the crowd would roar as one and give him a standing ovation, half giggling at the ridiculousness of it all.

On a day like today, so beatiful and sunny, I don't think there's any other place on God's green earth that I'd rather be at than Pac Bell park. I don't really believe in God, think organized religion is pretty much a crock, but I'm a card carrying member of the Church of Baseball. Of Willie, Mickey and the Duke. Of Barry cranking a home run into the water. Of two outs, runners on, bottom of the ninth and the closer doing nothing but throwing heat against the opposing teams' best power hitter.

Or, in the mighty words of Crash Davis:

"I believe in the soul ... the small of a woman's back, the hanging curveball, high fiber, good scotch, that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap. I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve, and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days."