Call it a "storybook ending."
Call it a "new era takes flight."
Call him a "hero" and "face of the franchise."
The crows seem to be calling his name, thought Caw.
One game rarely means that much when a team plays 162 of them.
Not the case last night.
I attended the Nats opener, the christening of Nationals Park in Southwest D.C. and here's the need to know.
First off: The Nats are on pace to win 162 games. Just throwing that out there.
The bad:
From my seats along the right-field line there's not much skyline to see, just two big parking garages and some cranes working on residential and commercial "high rises."
(The 1899 Heights of Building Act stipulates privately built structures could be no higher than the Capitol Building).
But it doesn't look bad. It looks like you're in an urban setting; it just doesn't look like you're in D.C. There's also the Anacostia River (chock full of cement factory runoff and decomposing 1980s crack dealers) running behind home plate. However, the only way to soak up the river is to go on the ramps and look out. You can see a Navy ship docked out at the Navy Yard from the left field upper deck seats, but for a stadium on a river, the water's presence isn't strongly felt. At least not like Pittsburgh or Cincinnati.
Too many dudes. Specifically, too many dudes in my row, which means not enough ample leg room.
Singing Sweet Caroline. No explanation needed, right?
The fans. Sat with some great people who I'll probably never see again. Even scored a free hand warmer off my neighbors. But plenty of fans left before the game finished. Washingtonians still don't know how to attend sporting events.
The food. There are simply too many options trying to pry my dollars away from me. From local establishments like Ben's Chili Bowl, Five Guys and Hard Times Cafe to standard stadium fare like Dippin Dots (apparently it's no longer "the ice cream of the future") and "Steak of the Union," the place just constantly smells like grilled meats.
The good:
The place constantly smells like grilled meats. Five Guys burgers took a year off my life last night.
The scoreboard. It's the biggest in the land and crystal clear.
The grass -- Kentucky blue -- looked amazing.
The concourses were wide and the bathrooms efficient.
The views from the upper deck -- the Capitol, the Navy Yard, the Washington Monument -- are solid.
The Metro. We arrived really early, about four hours before gametime, so the 'Tro wasn't packed. It drops you off 150 yards from the stadium and the walk up is majestic. A year ago it was potentially fatal.
The Presidents Race. Think Milwaukee Sausages, but presidents. And Teddy Roosevelt never goes the right way. Must be because of the polio, that's one heckuva disease. Wait a minute, Teddy never had ...
The name. It's still just Nationals Park. Not Geico Park. Not Viagra Park. Not Se Ri Pak Park. Not Pork, it's what's for dinner, Park.
The dark blue seats. They make the park look slimming and they'll help mask the lack of bodies in attendence for those lovely Marlins-Nats July games.
Ryan Zimmerman's clutchiness. Austin Kearns' assists. Nick Johnson's hustle. Matt Chico's Chico-ness. Dmitri Young's stretching (here's his secret: he doesn't).
This may be the most-hyped Reds team of the decade. Apparently names like 
