Plush may be gone in body, but he is still listening, watching. Hands clasped below his chin, nodding silently. He whispers to no one, everyone: “Make it so.”

Plush’s spirit and heart are full, despite the years, despite the many grains of sand that have fallen in the hourglass. Time changes us all, does it not? The Great Moustache is gone, replaced by The Quant. (Not unrelated, Plush knows, gone too are the negative-WAR infielders.)

But enough history. Plush understands that while stories edify, they are too often the easy comfort of old, bearded men high on nostalgia. So Plush will tell no tales today. But:

Plush still hears sounds from the past, beautiful and deafening echoes, echoes that foretell a new epoch. Can you? Plush asks. Can you hear them, too? youtube.com/watch?v=C1Qng-…

A gale kicked up, pushing the fog to the middle of the lake. “The Mustache,” Plush whispered. “We’ll be fine,” Coach said.

Coach and Plush boarded the yacht. Owner Attanasio turned the High Life toward Milwaukee as the engine roared.

Plush snuck a glance back and saw The Great Mustache ascending. Maybe it was only the wind, but Plush swore he heard a voice.

That was a good one, the voice said. No, a great one. See you in 2012. #Plushdamentals

Owner Attanasio led Plush and Coach Roenicke to the highest reaches of the Miller Park catwalk. He spread his arms. “It is time,” he said.

“Yes,” Coach Roenicke said. “Yes,” Plush said. The sun had just risen. The park glowed with hope.

“Where’s The Great Mustache?” Coach asked. “Taking his ethereal form,” Owner Attanasio said. “He is here. Everywhere, all around us.”

“Showoff,” Coach Roenicke said. Plush smiled contemplatively. A year ago, The Great Mustache In The Sky gave him life.

A year ago, Tony Plush was a mere footnote. A year ago, Plushdamentals did not exist. The Brewers were not the NL Central defending champs.

“So much is different,” Plush said. “Doesn’t feel like it,” Coach Roenicke said. “Didn’t we just play the damn Cardinals?”

“Dwell not on the past,” Plush said. “Prince has frosted tips now. We are all intimate with the intricacies of urine sample collection.”

At the mention of Prince and urine, an angry wind kicked up and blew out to straightaway left. “The Mustache,” Plush whispered.

“Enough with the poetic Opening Day hoo-ha,” Owner Attanasio said. “What do you say we just kick the Cards’ asses? That a plan?”

The gale blew harder. Owner Attanasio flipped up the hood on his finest gray sweatshirt, dug his hands into his pockets.

“Sure thing,” Coach Roenicke said. He turned. “Plush?”

Plush was already gone, down to the cage. The answers to some questions are so obvious, they need no response. #OpeningDayPlushdamentals