This winter has been beset by bizarre weather, vicious politics, international conflict and more. On what can we count to restore our hope and optimism that there is something reliable in our world and lives? Here it is: Spring Training opened this weekend. Yup, pitchers and catchers started working out last weekend and position players came to camp this week. The first games were played yesterday and today.
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| Bobby Valentine, new Boston manager |
On Thursday we ventured out to Jet Blue Park, the new Spring Training home of of the Boston Red Sox, which is about an hour from our winter HQ. I'm not a Sox fan, except, of course for Bill Buckner, but watching professionals play the game is a treat. Seeing the kinds of drills they perform to get ready for the 162 game season to come is great fun.
I am a baseball fan. Football is OK, but I don't see a lot of finesse in 300 pound men slamming into each other, although I appreciate the skills of running and passing. Basketball leaves me cold and hockey is just of no interest at all.
I have played baseball and softball virtually all my life. Mind you, I have never been any good at it, but I have played it and enjoyed playing it. I love the zen of it. Periods of calm that explode into dynamic action in a heartbeat. The ultimate zen of the home run, one swing does it all. The stunning brilliance of eye-hand coordination that results in wonderment, "how did he do that?" I had the great fortune of being able to attend baseball fantasy camp for nine consecutive winters. It's the most fun you can have with your clothes on. I got to know some former professional ballplayers. The night before I faced him, I asked Bob Gibson not to make me look too bad the next day. "Don't worry," he said, "you'll make yourself look bad. I'm just going to be the vehicle." He struck me out in three pitches. Mel Stottlemyre told me that unless I knew a professional, or former professional player, no one I have ever met can throw a ball more that about 55 miles an hour. Amazing, huh? Professionals can not only throw a ball 90 mph or more, they can hit it too. Go to your local batting cage and step into that 85 mph cage. It's just scary. At the age of 50, Jerry Koosman, of the Mets, could throw the ball 80 mph. Hit it? I could barely see it.
How did I develop this extreme baseball jones? I blame one man: Willie Mays. When I was little more than a toddler (no, not last year you wise asses, and you know who you are), we had a TV with a screen seemingly the size of a postage stamp. One day, there was a Giants game on. Probably against the Dodgers because my mother was a Dodger fan. I saw number 24 play and I announce that I was going to root for whatever team he played for. I was a Giants fan.
And then there was the 1954 World Series between the Giants and the Cleveland Indians, and the catch. My world, and apparently the sports world, caught its breath. Mays was just brilliant. Just watch for yourself. This guy made plays like this almost every day. When the Giants left town in 1956, I was heart broken. For years I listened to Less Keiter recreate Giants games on WINS radio in New York.
When the Mets came on the scene in 1962, I became a Mets fan because I understood that the Giants were never coming back.
I am a Mets fan to this day, as pitiful as that may be. Could be worse, I could be a Cubs fan. But above all, I am a baseball fan. The game just never gets old for me. Watching Albert Pujols, Derek Jeter, Ichiro Suzuki, David Wright, Mariano Rivera and the like fills me with awe for their talent. With all the crass materialism and scandal that has infused the game, I know from the pros I have met that when the players are between the white lines, it's not about the money, it's about making the play, getting that hit and winning the game.
It's good to have the game back again. I sleep better knowing that tomorrow 18 men will go out on a field and play baseball at the highest level, again.
How did I develop this extreme baseball jones? I blame one man: Willie Mays. When I was little more than a toddler (no, not last year you wise asses, and you know who you are), we had a TV with a screen seemingly the size of a postage stamp. One day, there was a Giants game on. Probably against the Dodgers because my mother was a Dodger fan. I saw number 24 play and I announce that I was going to root for whatever team he played for. I was a Giants fan.
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| Willie Mays, the Say Hey Kid |
When the Mets came on the scene in 1962, I became a Mets fan because I understood that the Giants were never coming back.
I am a Mets fan to this day, as pitiful as that may be. Could be worse, I could be a Cubs fan. But above all, I am a baseball fan. The game just never gets old for me. Watching Albert Pujols, Derek Jeter, Ichiro Suzuki, David Wright, Mariano Rivera and the like fills me with awe for their talent. With all the crass materialism and scandal that has infused the game, I know from the pros I have met that when the players are between the white lines, it's not about the money, it's about making the play, getting that hit and winning the game.
It's good to have the game back again. I sleep better knowing that tomorrow 18 men will go out on a field and play baseball at the highest level, again.
