Andy Van Slyke, 1995 Stadium Club #541

Yesterday, Matt Wieters had the honor of hitting the Orioles' first home run of the 2013 season, breaking the seal with a first-inning, two-run blast off of reigning American League Cy Young winner David Price. That got me wondering: who was first in each of the previous 59 seasons of O's baseball? Through the magic of Baseball Reference, here's your list.

Some notes of interest:

• Clint Courtney's home run was the first in team history, in their third game. The 1954 Birds hit a whopping 52 home runs all season, led by Vern Stephens' total of eight.
• As you can see, Gus Triandos hit the Orioles' first home run of the season in FOUR straight years, 1956-1959. What's more, all four were two-run homers.
• Brooks Robinson had a three-year streak from 1966 through 1968, part of his team-high five "first homers". Cal Ripken Jr. tied his mark with his fifth in 1998.
• How about Mike Devereaux's three-year run from 1992 through 1994?
• Cal and Tony Batista have the only two grand slams.
• Pity Joe Coleman of the Tigers, whose father (also named Joe) pitched for the Orioles. The younger Joe surrendered the first O's homer three times in a four-year span (1972, 1974, 1975). Three other opposing pitchers were touched up twice: Kevin Appier (1994 and 1997), Pedro Ramos (1959 and 1960), and Roger Clemens (1989 and 2002).
• There are some unlikely names here. Les Moss hit two home runs as an Oriole; Andy Van Slyke and Cesar Izturis had three, Rick Schu four, and Courtney had five.
• Marty Cordova's home run, besides being the club's only round-tripper ever in March, was the last of his career. It came in the infamous snow game.

Lee Smith, 1995 Stadium Club Members Only #42

Every morning from Monday through Friday, it seems that I'm forever hurrying. Climbing out of bed with a start, knowing that even a five-minute snooze will put me behind schedule. Jumping in the shower, scrubbing myself off quickly, not taking a moment to soak in the refreshing steam from the hot water. Shoveling spoonful after spoonful of cereal into my mouth so I can hustle out the door to my car. I drive to the train station on pins and needles, certain that today will be the day that I miss my train. Though one red light here or there has never made me late to my knowledge, I still groan in frustration as I see the light turn from green to yellow on the near horizon. I don't start my days with a particularly positive or peaceful outlook.

I think we could all take a cue from Lee Smith. The classic image of the former all-time major league leader in saves is one of leisure. The call would go out to the bullpen for the righty, and he would come sauntering out through the door in center field, jacket in hand. He wouldn't run, because the game wasn't going to resume without him. He wouldn't jog or even power-walk. He would just stroll out to the mound, barrel chest resting on top of long, powerful legs, completely in control of himself and his surroundings. It was as if he was saying, "Here I am. What have you got for me?".