The boys are back in town.

It's opening night of redemption time. Whole new season. Leading off where the old order ended, continuing the circular, beautiful, never-ending narrative, we begin again with the classic battle. Katie wears her red believe shirt. I sport my baby blue Yankees hat. On opposite sides of the room, we listen to my Sterling John and Susan together. It's the strangest matchup. David Wells vs. Randy Johnson. And Wells is Boston. Johnson New York. Johnson, the ugliest man alive, the nemesis who blows strike after strike in the face of pinstripes, cut off most of his straggly excuse for facial hair to change over and bear a handsome interlocking NY on his chest. And our Wells, the pudgy biggest Babe fan, the man who sung a game with perfect pitch, is pitching for Boston. He's not pitching pretty tonight. It's hit batter and balk, watch out for a walk. And we're winning. Sheffield, Matsui doubling and redoubling my enjoyment. What could be better. Spring's sprouted and baseball's in bloom.