But most of us are more complex than that. Most of us bring a little bit of baggage to each Opening Day--that sense of history that completely determines our outlook on the game.

We wake up on Opening Day just as we wake up on any other day. And if history has conditioned us to be rabid Jim Rice hecklers, nothing inherent in the concept of Opening Day is going to stop us.

To the Jim Rice heckler, Opening Day 1988 is not a beginning, but a point like any other point on an endless cycle of boos. The same holds true for all fans whose personal attachments to certain teams or certain players build and build with the passing of years.

There is no slate-wiping, no open-mindedness. Only accumulated history.

No true fan really believes, on the eve of Opening Day, that all teams are equal. The magic of an Opening Day lies not in innocence but in wisdom; Adam and Eve would have been lousy baseball fans.

For the record, I've always been a Jim Rice enthusiast, my worship growing with the seasons and partially in response to the boos. For the record, I'm also perfectly prepared to become a Lee Smith fan, given time and given his obvious abilities but for the moment, my deepest sympathies lie elsewhere. When I entered Fenway Park Monday, I knew just what had to happen--I had to cheer for Jim Rice.

Preconceptions make the fan. To root is to mix preconception with emotion and apply it to a chosen object. On Opening Day and every day.