Monday, March 30, 1998 Opening Day hails summer, harks back to earlier eras 'Many things have gone modern, but Opening Day in Cincinnati will not change.'' - Cincinnati Reds 1952 Yearbook
The Cincinnati Enquirer
Tuesday afternoon, when the Reds open another 162-game season at Cinergy Field, there will be a bench coach in the dugout with a laptop computer perched on his knees, scrolling for data - opponents' batting average against Kevin Brown when he is ahead in the count, Tony Gwynn's on-base percentage facing right-handed pitching in day games.
Baseball is not what it was a generation ago, or two or three.
It is not what it was when the Reds played in a band-box park in the West End, when the players on the field found not much more in their semi-weekly paychecks than the guy in the workshirt shouting from the Moon Deck.
It is modern, with CD-ROM yearbooks, team Web sites, interactive fantasy leagues played out in cyberspace. It is high-tech, cable-ready.
But Opening Day in Cincinnati, that is another story.
It is still a holiday in Cincinnati; a once-a-year happening that is unique to this town in all of baseball.
There was a time when Opening Day in Cincinnati was something greater than it will be Tuesday. Then, it was inescapable for the good burghers of the city on the river. It was omnipresent. Schools shut down. Shops closed for business.
This was the day when your grandma died. That's all it took, to walk into the boss's office on the day before Opening Day and say my grandma died and I'm going to the funeral tomorrow. A wink and a nod, and the next thing you know, you're sitting in a grandstand seat at Crosley Field.
After awhile, some fans would drop the pretense altogether. One barber shop in Clifton would always have a sign in the window on Opening Day: ''Gone to the funeral at Findlay and Western avenues. Grandma died again. Bob and Art.''
''It was,'' said Harry Heskamp of Mount Washington, who will see his 68th Reds Opening Day on Tuesday with his wife, Betty, for whom it will be No. 57, ''a day everyone looked forward to all winter long.
''Some towns have their celebrations, like Mardi Gras and so forth, but for Cincinnati, it was and always will be Opening Day. The end of Winter. The start of Summer.''
For Harry and Betty Heskamp, the rituals of Opening Day have changed little over the decades.
They still get together with close friends in the morning and head to the ballpark, walking in the minute the gates open and heading for their seats on the plaza level.
Eugene Ruehlmann, the former mayor of Cincinnati, has a long memory of opening days at Crosley Field and at Riverfront Stadium, now Cinergy Field, the circular ballpark he helped create when he was mayor in the late 1960s.
But for Mr. Ruehlmann, those three opening days at Crosley Field when he was mayor - In 1968, 1969 and 1970 - are the most memorable of all. Those were the times when Mr. Ruehlmann was part of the show. He was down on the field when the Findlay Market parade snaked its way into the old ballpark and got to play a part in the pre-game ceremonies - ceremonies that haven't changed much over the years.
''My kids, who were in high school then, used to love it because it meant they'd get off school and be part of the fun,'' Mr. Ruehlmann said.
In those days, Mr. Ruehlmann said, Opening Day was ''like a Roman holiday. Everybody was a part of the celebration. The whole city dropped what it was doing.''
But whatever happens - even if the Reds lose, which they have, 56 of the 113 times the first game has been played - Opening Day is still a baseball institution unique to Cincinnati. No other city goes to the lengths that Cincinnati does to greet a new baseball season - even today, when baseball seems to have lost some of its luster and is no longer the most watched sport in America.
''It should be bigger here than anywhere else; this is the home of baseball,'' said Phyllis Karp, owner of the Main Auction Galleries downtown, and a Reds fan who has been going to Opening Day since the 1930s.
Every year around Opening Day, Mrs. Karp decorates the window displays of her Fourth Street business with pieces from her extensive collection of Reds memorabilia.
The items span a century of baseball in Cincinnati - from yellowed Redland Field scorecards to glossy photos of the Big Red Machine of the '70s to artifacts of more recent vintage, such as the program from the 1990 World Series, the last time the Reds won it all.
Opening Day, Mrs. Karp said, doesn't create the interest that it did in days gone by.
''People don't get as excited,'' she said. ''It's still a big deal: It's still fun. But it doesn't grab the whole city's attention the way it used to.
''I don't know why not. It's still baseball, and this is still Cincinnati.''
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