Does Alexander Pope have any poems about summer?
Because I don’t think hope will be “springing” eternal this year.
Thursday was supposed to be baseball’s Opening Day. The A’s were supposed to be hosting the Twins at the Coliseum. The Giants were supposed to be in Los Angeles, playing the rival Dodgers.
It was supposed to be marked with a ceremony, like every other year. Afternoon baseball, punched up with unnecessary pomp like pregame line-ups, organ music, and bunting around the grandstand (but never at the plate — it’s 2020).
It was supposed to be a smile-filled bon voyage to begin a long season’s journey, a day of unbridled and — in the case of the Giants this season — unfounded optimism.