Opening Day turns Cincinnati into a place of myths and legends. There are 30 teams in the big leagues. None of them does Opening Day like Cincinnati.

On this day, the whole town stands united. Honoring tradition and looking ahead with optimism.

This mood lasts the length of the Findlay Market Opening Day parade. And for at least nine innings.

On this special day, the Cincinnati Reds own the town.

They do so every Opening Day. But even more so this year.

Today, the Reds open a new season and a new home, Great American Ball Park, at the same time.

OPENING DAY

• Schedule of activities • Parade map and street closings • Get there early • Weather conditions and forecast • Answers to other fan questions • Complete Opening Day coverage

The last time this simultaneous opening occurred in the Queen City, William Howard Taft - a Cincinnati native and former catcher - sat in the White House as the 27th president of the United States.

The year was 1912.

Ninety-one years later, Opening Day reigns over Cincinnati. On this day, news from the world beyond the hometown momentarily ceases to matter. The winds of war stand still. Iraq remains on our minds, but the Reds will still play ball.

Domestic strife falls silent. Boycotters may picket downtown. But the game will go on.

Dogs will yap. Kids scream. Wives nag. Husbands grump. All will be ignored.

Such is the power of Opening Day in Cincinnati.

The unifying force that combines the past, present and future stems from the Cincinnati-style civic pride embodied in Opening Day.

This pride embraces Cincinnati's love of the Reds, being first and ushering in a new season with the hopes and dreams it symbolizes.

On this occasion, it is fitting and proper to celebrate this civic wonder, to point out what makes it so special, to look for the heart of Opening Day.

History, tradition

Opening Day is an unofficial holiday across Greater Cincinnati. Kids skip school. Adults call in sick. Lame excuses flourish. More loved ones are laid to rest on this date than on any other day of the year.

A Clifton barbershop used to hang this sign in its window every Opening Day: "Gone to the funeral. Grandma died again!"

How ironic, high jinks happening in such a hard-working, stern-faced town.

John Allen knows why. The Reds' chief operating officer explains it with two words: "History. Tradition."

The Reds' Opening Day has both bases covered.

The history has been handed down from generation to generation. It's printed on the sheets of wax paper wrapping the hot dog buns at Great American Ball Park.

"America's First Professional Baseball Team," the wax paper's message proclaims as it encircles a Reds' wishbone C. "Established 1869."

Professional baseball was born in Cincinnati with the Red Stockings, the Reds' forerunners. This team and the bragging rights of being first have kept Cincinnati on the same level playing field with ball clubs from the huge metropolises.

The Red Stockings went undefeated in their inaugural 1869 season, amassing a record of 57-0.

History books place the team's payroll between $9,100 and $10,500.

The highest-paid player was shortstop George Wright. He hit over .500 (depending on which book you believe, his astronomical batting average for the '69 season was .518, .629 or .633) with 49 (or 59) home runs. For his efforts, he earned $1,400. Or $1,800.

Compare that to the price tags for today's players. The average big-league salary for the 2002 season was $2.3 million. The major-league minimum for the 2003 season stands at $300,000.

Those figures started right here. In tight-fisted Cincinnati.

"You can have the New York Yankees and Yankee Stadium. You can have all the other clubs. It's still a Cincinnati game. It was born here," says Phyllis Karp, born in Cincinnati in 1917.

The president of Main Auction Galleries on West Fourth Street has missed only six Opening Days since 1926.

"The Reds won that day," Karp recalls.

Beat the Chicago Cubs, 7-6.

"I always remember the winners," she says.

Karp knows why Opening Day envelopes Cincinnati.

"We're a small town at heart. Prominent Cincinnatians own the team. Hometown boys play on it. We root for the home team.

"We even salute it like a small town. We give it a parade."

The Findlay Market Opening Day Parade began in 1919, the year the Reds won the tainted World Series against the Chicago White Sox.

The parade stands at the center of two Opening Day myths.

Myth No. 1: The parade is as old as the Reds. Not quite.

This grassroots effort staged by Findlay's merchants steps off its 84th annual edition today. Before the market's grocers got into the act, the team held parades to draw people to the ballpark. The first one took place in 1891.

Myth No. 2: The parade has always been a big deal. Hardly.

Al Silverglade, a second-generation Findlay merchant, saw the parades in the 1940s. They consisted of "14 merchants wearing suits and ties, waving little flags and smoking cigars. There were no floats, no marching bands."

And not much of a crowd.

"Maybe 35-40 people turned out."

Mike Silverglade, Al's son and a Findlay merchant, has been the parade's co-chairman for 20 years.

"Every year, I swear it's going to be my last," he says. "But this parade is not something you can turn your back on. My ancestors would hunt me down and haunt me if I quit."

So he keeps working the parade. Walking the route. Seeing the crowd grow every year by the thousands. Adding names to the roster of marchers.

"This year, we have a 205 entrants," he says. Marching bands. Floats. Clydesdales. Even a councilman in top hat, tuxedo and tails.

For the 15th consecutive Findlay Market parade, Cincinnati City Councilman Jim Tarbell will appear dressed as Peanut Jim Shelton. The legendary peanut salesman hawked his fresh-roasted goobers outside Crosley Field and Riverfront Stadium for 50 seasons, until his death at 93 in 1982.

"The parade ties everything together," Tarbell says as he stands at home plate in Great American Ball Park. He had just witnessed the March 22 dedication ceremonies.

"The route snakes along the streets of the city's oldest neighborhood," he says, "And, it runs right through the heart of downtown. It's all for the oldest professional team in baseball."

John Pate believes the parade is the best part of Opening Day.

"Everybody gets to go to the parade," he says. The West End carpenter just stepped from a ladder inside one of the new ballpark's restaurants.

Pate has worked at three of the Reds' homes. He readied Cinergy Field for its implosion. He toted cases of beer bottles up and down the aisles of Crosley and sang out: "Ice cold beer here!"

"You don't need a ticket for the parade," Pate adds. "Rich or poor, black or white, anybody can stand there and have a good time."

Ties that bind

Opening Day acts as a grand unifier of a disparate landscape.

Greater Cincinnati is a jumble of clearly defined neighborhoods separated by deep divisions.

"Each neighborhood roots for its local school," says Cal Levy, the Reds' marketing director.

"The only thing they can agree on, the only thing that brings them together, is when they root for the Reds. And that rooting starts on Opening Day."

Rooting for the home team sounds old-fashioned - like going out to the ballgame for some peanuts and Cracker Jack. But, with Opening Day, it is a deep-seated tradition based on love.

"Make no mistake, we are in love with the Reds," says Kevin Grace. The University of Cincinnati archivist and historian is the author of Cincinnati on Field and Court, the Sports Legacy of the Queen City.

"No matter how bad the Reds were the year before or how badly the fans were treated, on Opening Day you have brand-new hope for a new season."

The slate's clean. All's forgiven.

"But not forgotten," Grace adds.

It is remembered and cherished. That's how traditions are made.

"Traditions bring together the past with the future," he says.

In this sense, Opening Day takes on the overtones of an ancient religious tradition, particularly one that holds out the promise of rebirth.

This annual rite of passage confirms we have survived another long, cold winter. The snow's gone, we hope. The grass on the field is green.

The Reds are in town. Another season's about to begin.

Opening Day's here.

Let us play.

Cliff Radel, a west-side native, writes about the people, places and things that define his hometown. Email cradel@enquirer.com.