I eat them, breathe them and sleep them. I cry when they win, I cry when they lose, and I throw things when they lose to the Yankees. They have a hold of me.

They captivate me in April, infuriate me in October and in between they are the lifeline for which I reach to alleviate even the worst of my ills. For those who love them as I do they are more than a team; they are a lifestyle.

They are a constant reminder of all that is good in the world, and because of that they play for fans whose passion for them is exceeded only by their knowledge and love for the game. They haven’t won a World Series in 85 years, yet diehards like myself continue to devote our lives to rooting because without them we wouldn’t be complete.

On Saturday, however, the Boston Red Sox made a terrible mistake.

“The toughest ticket in town,” the home opener at Fenway Park, is a New England holiday. Kids playing hooky and adults calling in sick converge on the little ballpark on the corner of Brookline Ave. and Yawkey Way every year to celebrate the return of the Boys of Summer – their heroes. Rain, shine or sometimes even snow, Opening Day never loses its magic.

That is, until Saturday.

Following the postponement of the scheduled opener on Friday afternoon due to rain, fans in possession of the sacred tickets that would allow them to be the first to cheer on the 2003 version of the Olde Towne Team were instructed to return to the ballyard the very next afternoon, as the game would be played as part of a day-night doubleheader.

However when Mother Nature struck again, the Red Sox decided to eliminate the first game of the double dip and open the season that night, in effect turning Opening Day into Opening Night.

The lone decision to be made by Messrs. Henry, Werner and Lucchino involved the postponement of the game. With the Baltimore Orioles scheduled to leave town Sunday evening and not return until late summer, August 8th was set as the make-up date.

With over six hours remaining until local God Pedro Martinez would hurl Fenway’s first pitch plateward, the Sox brass had ample time to inform ticket holders for Saturday night’s game that their game was postponed in order to let those who went through hell and high water to snag “the toughest ticket in town” see what they paid for: Opening Day.

You don’t go out of your way to see the second game of the year, but you do for the first. A game had to be postponed, fans had to be disappointed and their plans ruined, but it didn’t have to be the blessed few. It didn’t have to be the Opening Day crowd.

But it was.

Boys, girls, moms, dads, grandmothers and grandfathers who waited 364 days for one special day were simply told “tough break,” with only a ticket to a late-summer game with the bottom dwelling O’s to console them. Fans who paid face value to see Tim Wakefield pitch the second home game of the season would now get Martinez and the lure and luster of the first game.

To a Nation that is the fuel behind each of the 82 home games, to the best fans in baseball, the Sox committed a terrible injustice. To tell 33,393 fans that marked this date on their calendars months ago that they would not get what they paid for is ludicrous. It almost broke my heart to watch a little boy walking though Kenmore Square in the rain carrying a sign reading “Rain, Rain go away, it’s my first Opening Day,” crying because dad couldn’t sugar coat waiting until August.

I personally paid 50 dollars for seats three rows from the back of the stadium. I drove two hours home to make the game. I woke up at 8 a.m. for a 2 p.m. game. I sat there for two hours in a driving rainstorm getting dripped on by the scoreboard and whipped around by the wind. My best friend bought a six-dollar bag of peanuts to pass the time. I waited an hour as the rain got worse before they finally called the game, and then I came back the next day to do it all again. But in the end, all I had was a ticket for August 8.

Unwilling to go to such lengths without meeting my objective, I attended Opening Night. I waited an hour in line to haggle my way into getting a ticket – another 27 dollars. I watched Pedro throw the worst game of his career and I watched the Sox lose miserably. But I saw Opening Night.

To those who weren’t as lucky, I feel for you. You were screwed by the Boston Red Sox: the team you love to love. You didn’t get to see Opening Night, or Pedro, or the new Monster seats. You weren’t the first to cheer the local nine. You waited in the rain for nothing, while others were handed the tickets you cherished.

I’m sure you’ll all show up on August 8, because you’re not the best fans in baseball for nothing. Maybe it’ll be great. Maybe Pedro will pitch. Maybe it’ll be a beautiful summer evening and the Sox will be in the thick of the pennant race. Hell, maybe you’ll even see a no-hitter.

But it won’t be the same, because it wont be Opening Day.

Mike Marzelli is a Collegian Columnist