The older I get, the more I feel the childlike anticipation of Opening Day.

It’s a little quixotic, to wake with giddiness over the prospect of a baseball season, but I brush that under the proverbial rug in order to relish the glee.

Many say it’s a child’s game, one played by boys who were lucky enough to hold onto their Peter Pan Syndromes and run, hit and throw balls for an exorbitant living. And yet the game becomes more intertwined into life each season. It’s the stuff of email and myspace conversations, excursions to the ballpark or debates at the bar. It’s watercooler discussion and the nods of approval that come with proving that a girl can hold her own while talking sports with the guys, statistics and percentages and probabilities.

It’s also waking up one morning and contemplating matching a ballcap with a suit jacket. Just sayin.

I’ve spent the day wishing fellow fans a happy Opening Day, sending text messages to confirm that the game will be on television at 4 p.m. and otherwise reading up on the various outlooks and remarks about the coming months.

But what it really comes down to is feeling the excitement. This is always my favorite time of year.

And it’s finally here…