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This is Retro Sports Radio. Visit RetroSeasons.com for more sports history.

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Open day in the major leagues is a very special day. It always has been and always will be.

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Fans get their first look at their ball club and care little whether reporters who cover spring training

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had pegged it as a potential first division club or one that would have to struggle to stay out of the summer.

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That's the way it was on April 16th, 1940 in Chicago's Comiskey Park.

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The White Sox had finished fourth the year before. Their opening day opponents were the Cleveland Indians who had finished third.

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While the fans, the coaches, every player had his reason for fitting something special that day, I too had a reason.

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A particular one. For Cleveland had tagged me to be the pitcher.

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The year before I had won 24 games against eight losses. My fastball was humming during spring training and my hopes for another good season were high.

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The Sox went down 1-2-3 in the first inning and the fans gave me a courtesy cheer as I left the mound.

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The crowd roared when the first Chicago batter was announced in the second inning. Remember, we were playing in Comiskey Park.

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I walked the first batter on four pitches, but the cheers turned to moans as the next two batters grounded out.

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Two outs now, my control was holding. But wait, the next batter walked, then another.

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The bases were loaded. One minute I was all but finished with the inning and the next minute I was in trouble.

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My blades of fastball passed Bob Kennedy and the trouble vanished, temporarily.

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We Indians got a low run in the fourth inning. Beyond that, the zeros kept popping up on the scoreboard.

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I sighed with nervous relief as one after another of the Sox batters prated back to their dugouts.

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By the eighth inning, I had retired the last 15 batters in order. By now, everyone knew I was working on a no-hitter.

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And they started picking up support from the Chicago fans who were naturally torn betwixt applauding a great performance

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and going home without an opening day victory for their own club to whom they were always so loyal.

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Fans yelled for me to mow them down, but still other fans and of course were yelling, Sox get a hit.

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Then came the tell-tale inning, the ninth, and I'll tell you about that one in 60 seconds.

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Shadows closed in as the first batter came to the plate in the ninth. I got him, two more to go.

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I retired the second batter, and I could feel a chilly breeze whistling through the park as I retired him.

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One more to go, and I couldn't have faced a tougher hitter, one of the most dangerous hitters in the American League, no less than Luke Apling.

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I worked carefully, I had to. The count went to three and two, and Apling fouled off a half dozen pitches before walking.

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That brought up the toughest hitter in the American League for me to pitch to in the Persian of Taft Wright.

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The tying run on the first, the winning run at the plate. Our first pitch was a fastball, he fouled it off to the screen.

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Then a low ball outside, one and one. Next pitch, a fastball at the knees, which he pulled between first and second.

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Ray Mack, a great defensive second baseman, dashed to his left, back on the grass.

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He dove, speared the ball, did a complete somersault through the first base, and nipped right by less than half a step.

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The game was over. Indians won, Sox 0, and I had pitched the first no hitter on opening day.