Category Archives: Baseball

This Post Didn’t Cost You A Penny.

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This word didn’t cost you a penny.

Neither did THIS one.

Just free words. On a free blog.

I like stringing words together. Some people can spend hours in their gardens, tending, and weeding, and pruning, and picking.

I can’t imagine.

Maybe this is my gardening. I love to fuss with words on a page. Move them around like a game of three-card monte. Watch the nouns and verbs grow into sentences – or into quippy fragments. Occasionally even into coherent thoughts.

When someone comments here or tells me that they read a post, it really means a lot. Millions upon millions of words crowd into the internet each day. (Sorry for the “millions and millions” estimate, I just didn’t have time to count them all.)

That you took a minute or two out of your day to read my string of words is very kind. I really mean that.

So, I sort of cocked my head sideways (yes, like a puzzled puppy seeing a turtle for the first time) when I read something recently by one of my favorite writers. He said that if someone gives away words for free online, they make it hard for the writers trying to make a living at it.

(I’m not even going to tell you who he is … but if you’re a fan of Baltimore and groundbreaking television, then you can figure it out.)

This initially upset me.

First, I didn’t realize I was making it hard for other writers because no one paid me to hit the “publish” button on this post.

Second, and perhaps more important, I don’t like people being mad at me.

(To that point: I’m still concerned that I angered some of my friends by disparaging their Red Sox in recent posts. Like here … and here. It’s not like I keep mentioning the Curse of the Andino in every post … but maybe it did accidentally slip in once or twice. I believe I have more friends who are Red Sox fans than support any other team. I’m not sure why that is, but they are all wonderful people who don’t need to be reminded every day about woeful past seasons. Really. It’s not like they lost 90 games last year. And, anyway, as they would be quick to tell me … there’s lots of room at the bottom of the AL East … and their team didn’t just drop five games straight.)

(No charge, by the way, for the bonus baseball tangent.)

Back to topic.

I don’t want to make any real writers angry. I certainly don’t want to devalue their work.

I’m conflicted.

Am I cheapening words by just typing and posting willy-nilly on here?

Or, is this blog like zucchini? (Note the clever continuation of the gardening logic.) Every summer I have gardening friends who grow way too much zucchini. (Why is it always zucchini? Why can’t they grow too much chocolate? Or, coffee?) They give their bounty away. Some of it to me.

Did they cheapen the work of farmers by growing some vegetables and giving it away?

I could go on, but let me just say this …

I’m a massage therapist. People rub each other’s shoulders for free all the time — it doesn’t devalue what I do. I just have to do it better than they do.

If you’re a professional writer and you’re worried about bloggers cheapening your writing and taking your livelihood away … write better than we do.

A sportswriter (who gets paid to write) said this weekend (on a program where he was paid to give his opinion) that baseball bloggers can say whatever they want, without worrying about anyone calling them on factual errors. Unlike professional sportswriters, baseball bloggers also can complain about a team’s performance or decisions without compromising their relationship with the team or enduring any repercussions.

Here’s what I heard:

1) I, the lowly blogger, am fortunate to be able to speak my truth because I don’t have to worry about Oriole Manager Buck Showalter ever … ever … returning my call, (wow, lucky me), and

2) When push comes to shove, apparently, this sportswriter’s going to tow the party line when it comes to covering the Orioles or Nationals (his main beats). For him, writing something negative – even if true – would compromise his relationships and sources on the team. If that’s his worry, can we actually depend on him to write the cold, hard truth when the truth is unkind?

I think he meant to say … Twitter and Facebook and blogs are unfiltered mediums.

But, fans with opinions have been yelling at umpires, smart-mouthing players, and rudely second-guessing managers since the game began. Now, there are new ways to send those rants out to the world – by just hitting the “send” button.

And, in the same way fans ignore the drunk, noisy shouters at games, we also tune out annoying, know-it-all online ranters.

To be fair, he did allow that there are “some” good baseball bloggers out there. (Please, pick me, pick me!)

And, that thing about making mistakes? I try to fact-check everything I post, but I make mistakes. I recently posted a factual error that was kindly corrected by a reader within just a couple hours of posting. So, I think the thoughtful blog world does police itself.

Some writers get paid to put their thoughts, ideas, and stories into words. I will never begrudge them a penny. Writing good, not easy. Writing well, even harder.

For the rest of us – who struggle to make sense of the world through words – we must find our compensation in other ways.

As long as I can make my Editor/Husband chuckle from time to time … and as long as I can help ensure future generations know about the Red Sox Curse of the Andino … I guess I’m gonna be good with that.

Always Cheer The Underdog & Other Good Advice From Mom

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My mom would be delighted that this Mother’s Day post is early.

For her, being on time was as bad as being late. If you couldn’t be early, why bother?

I’m usually on time with things. Occasionally late. Never early. This drove her crazy.

If my mother were here she would never have seen this blog. She wouldn’t really have cared about it, except for one thing.

My dad has already been mentioned a time or two. But, she hasn’t.

And, that, to my mother, is as bad as being late for an appointment. I can turn from the beloved only child to utter failure with just a single unintentional slight.

So, today, I’m making things right. I’m early.

Here’s one for mom.

My dad didn’t care much for baseball. My mom didn’t either.

But, there are these two things …

FIRST, when I was about 10, it was her idea to make a birthday cake for me with a San Francisco Giant player made of sugar sitting on top of a Los Angeles Dodger “sugar man” that she had pushed into top of the cake.

“My” team squished my dad’s team right there in the frosting.

It was pretty funny.

The next year she did the same thing with a San Francisco 49er football “sugar player” sitting on top of a Los Angeles Ram. The joke was a little old by then, but since “my team” had defeated “dad’s team” yet again, it was still funny.

SECOND, and probably most important, she always, always, always rooted for the underdog.

Underdogs were golden and her reasoning was indisputable. If the underdog lost, well, it was pretty much expected. What can you do? But, if they won, then she had something she could lord over dad and the rest of the world for days.

This led to an out-of-the-blue decision one year that she would root for the New York Mets in the 1969 World Series. I was still pretty small. (However young you think I was at the time, I’m sure I was even younger.)

Mom decided that she and I would watch the Series, although, aside from “hit the ball, catch the ball, throw the ball,” neither of us really knew what we were watching. But, by golly, we were going to cheer the underdoggy Mets to victory.

Mom’s attention span for things like baseball turned out to be pretty slim.

Not only did my mother not watch an entire game, I’m pretty sure she never made it out of the first inning. As she would get up to have a smoke and move to other tasks, she would say, “You watch and let me know what happens.”  So, I guess, I became her personal Curt Gowdy. My memory of this is pretty dim.

When the Mets won the Series, they lost their underdog glamour. They lost my mom. She never rooted for them again.

But, I wonder if at that moment, the Baltimore Orioles – who fell to the Miracle Mets in that Series – creeped into my bloodstream.

Perhaps it was that decision by my mom that led to my own decision 19 years later. When the Orioles themselves couldn’t have been a sorrier team of underdogs, they became “my team”.

Like mom, I clearly have a soft spot for underdogs.

Mom & me, sometime in the post-Mets years. She could rock those sunglasses indoors & out!

Mom & me, sometime in the post-Mets years. She could rock those sunglasses inside & out!

But, while baseball wasn’t her thing, good advice was. So, to make things right on this blog and to give my mom a well-deserved online “I love you”, here’s some sweet guidance she gave me:

  • When making pie crusts always use vegetable shortening and ice cold water. Use a metal tablespoon to measure the water.
  • When making pancakes always use an electric skillet.
  • When your hands and/or feet are cold, heat your belly with a hot pack. The heat will radiate to your fingers and toes from the inside.
  • When using your grandmother’s recipes, remember that she often left out “secret” – and essential – ingredients when she shared them. On purpose.
  • I named you for Jackie Kennedy, there’s no need to have holes in your jeans.
  • It’s never too early to start coloring your hair. You won’t look so obvious when you’re covering up the grey later on.
  • Don’t scrimp on nice clothes, nice shoes, and anything you put on your face.
  • Pets are the best friends you’ll ever have.
  • Don’t ever get a pet, they’ll break your heart when they die.  (She gave good advice, but that’s not to say she didn’t contradict herself from time to time.)
  • If you leave for church 40 minutes early you’ll have time to say your prayers before Mass. “Can’t I say them from here?”  “Come on, let’s go.”  Corollary: If you arrive early for Mass, you are entitled to leave early – directly after Communion.  Just keep walking and don’t make eye contact.
  • If you arrive for your doctor’s appointment 30 minutes early they might be able to take you early. They never did and this was one of the few pieces of extraordinarily rotten advice she ever gave.

Flash to April 14, 2013.

Editor/Husband: “Why are you working on this now? It’s three weeks until Mother’s Day.”

“Because, I don’t want to be sitting up at midnight on the Saturday before Mother’s Day trying to get this finished.”

“Oh, you will.”

No, I won’t. And, I didn’t. And, here it is.

Early.

Happy Mother’s Day to my mom up in heaven … and to all moms everywhere!

Free Baseball: Chilly Spring Edition

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Today, a sweet Dodger, some Giants recreate a historic Delta House moment, nine cubs (the real kind, not a Chicago lineup), and the latest on the Squirrel Uprising.

“Free Baseball” refers to games that go to extra innings. You only paid to see nine innings … so, the extra ones are free. On here, it refers to the videos, stories, and online stuff I stumble upon and love, but that don’t quite merit a post of their own. Hence, they’re extra.

Enjoy!

10th Inning  Matt Kemp is a LA Dodgers superstar.  I will, on occasion, make snarky wisecracks about him.  But, that ends today.  Because, I just saw this sweet video of Kemp visiting with a young fan.  It’s a short clip, genuine, and it made me cry.  It wasn’t overwrought.  It was just Matt Kemp doing something amazingly kind and precious.  I will never utter a bad word about him again. Ever.  Click here.

matt kemp

11th Inning Have you ever wondered what a squirrel would do if he had to go out and get a real job? Well, I hadn’t, until today.

Apparently squirrels in Arizona have been scamming humans and passing themselves off as “service animals.” You know, seeing eye dogs … so, seeing eye squirrels? I have no idea what exactly the squirrels are up to (except they are clearly planning to use this to their advantage in a Squirrel-Human war).

The squirrels became such a threat that Arizona found it necessary to pass a law forbidding them from ever again being hired as “service animals”. If they gotta pass a law, you know those squirrels were up to something. Squirrels may be wily, but they can’t make laws.  So, count this as a win for humans.

Click here for the story.

What’s next? Will the squirrels try to take over our baseball games too? What? They already did? Watch this squirrel infiltrate a college baseball game just last week. Click here.

squirrel chase

Prepare yourself for the Squirrel Uprising. It’s begun.

12th Inning Two things you should know …

1) The World Series Champion SF Giants came back from the brink of defeat in the National League playoffs last season. They attributed part of their amazing comeback to the inspiring cheerleading of their right fielder Hunter Pence.  (He’s been on this blog before with his special brand of crazy … click here).

2) Animal House is the greatest movie ever made. Really. I’m not just saying that so you can roll your eyes and beg to differ. I can offer up great chunks of that movie line-by-line (movie-quoting is usually a trait reserved for men, but on this count I can quote up against the best of them).

Here’s what happens when you put a bunch of Giants in a room and ask them to recreate the greatest scene from the greatest movie ever made.  (Interesting side note, these Giants are so young not one of them had ever even seen Animal House. Which is a tragedy.)

Click here.

Giants

And, here are the two scenes side-by-side.  Click here.

side by side giants

13th Inning And, finally, bear cubs … lots of bear cubs … courtesy of the Wildlife Center of Virginia (where my husband works). They are currently caring for nine cubs – the same number as a Chicago Cubs lineup, but, with apologies to Chicago, these fellas are much cuter.

Feeding Time, click here.

feeding time

Medicine Time, click here.

medicine time

P.S.  Good healing vibrations are going out today to Toronto Blue Jays Pitcher J.A. Happ who was badly injured last night by a line drive that hit him in the head. It’s a reminder that even a simple game can change everything with just one pitch. He remains in the hospital as of this writing.  Wishing you a quick and full recovery, Mr. Happ!

And, thank you to the Toronto Blue Jays broadcasters who were incredibly respectful during last night’s incident. They did not replay the injury over and over, did not become animated or overwrought. They simply described the unfolding situation quietly, and with respect and concern.

It’s Still Early. Unless It’s Too Late.

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May 2013A couple days ago, a local baseball broadcaster said, “In April we say, ‘it’s early’. But now it’s May.”

This is poetic because it references baseball, but it could apply to anything. Or nothing. It could be incredibly deep and thought-provoking.  Or it could be stupid. For all I know it’s just meaningless gibberish.

So, it’s May and it’s no longer early (unless you’re a basil plant in which case … ok, you there, basil, it’s early. Pipe down and stay inside a few more days.)

Since it’s no longer early, I should be able to tell you who’s going to the playoffs.

But, I can’t. Because it’s still early. Unless, it’s already way too late.

Who knows?

(The Orioles are going to the playoffs by the way, but it’s too early to be saying that. Except parenthetically, of course.)

If you’re the Angels of Anaheim, it is early. You may be doing poorly (which leads to much mocking at your expense), but you’re one of baseball’s big spenders, one or two of those millions of dollars must surely pay off eventually. (You might want to have a little get-together with the Dodgers and talk all this “money well spent” thing out.)

If you’re the Red Sox … you are doing very well. You are doing better than anyone, and better than anyone expected. You’re off to a fast start.

(There, Red Sox fans, are you happy now? I said something nice. It’s not like I am always sitting here reminding you of the Curse of the Andino every time I mention Boston.)

But here’s the thing. The Red Sox are like the couple who shows up an hour before the party starts. (And, they’re usually the people you didn’t really want to invite, but felt you had to, because they would eventually find out they weren’t invited, because everyone else was, and it’s going to lead to some awkward moments on Monday. So, just to make things easy you invite them and hope they have other plans  … and then, dammit, they show up an hour early. But, they do bring spinach dip, so that’s nice.)

Anyway, the Red Sox often get off to very fast starts. They love early.

The Yankees just lean against the wall, fold their arms, tap their feet, whistle tunelessly, and wait. Eventually, the Red Sox’ early runs out. Then the Yankees slowly step over the smoldering wreckage and into first. I hate that.

The Yankees know it’s still early because most of their stars are on the disabled list. So, it’s too early to know how good or how bad their season will be, because they’re not even playing yet.

And, the Dodgers keep getting hurt, so it’s impossible to know how early or late it is for them.

If your team is off to a shaky – but not horrific – start (hi, Baltimore!) then it’s still early. Sure, the Red Sox are smokin’ hot, but you’re only 3.5 games back.

The Red Sox are going to fold like a massage therapist on laundry day. (Inside joke there for my fellow therapists.)

So, Orioles fans, lots of time left. It’s still early. It’s also never too late to find a fifth starting pitcher, so you just keep looking, ok?

If you’re woefully dreadful, because your owners have sold off all your stars, pocketed the profits, and still think they can stick you for an $8 hotdog and 25 players you’ve never heard of, then yes, for you Miami Marlins fan, it probably is too late. But, you still have the Bobblehead Museum, so there is that.

(Observation: why do the Red Sox and the Yankees get to feast on poor Houston’s bones all through April? Don’t they have to play anyone else?  And, you just know Houston’s going to have a magical little mini-surge in there somewhere, and it better not be when they’re playing the Orioles.)

So here’s where we are as May kicks off.

Every division has two or three teams playing better than .500 ball. They’re doing well. They had good early.

And, every division has two or three teams playing sub-.500 ball. But, never count a late bloomer out. (See, Astros … I got your back.)

Maybe it’s not too early or too late. Every day brings new possibilities.

A pitcher down in some Triple A town last night might have finally figured out how to pitch, rather than throw. He may be ready for a June promotion.  He may save a team’s season.

Or one night, a star’s knee buckles on a routine play and suddenly everything changes.

So what’s the Yoga lesson?

For those who say it’s still early. They’re wrong.

For those who say it’s no longer early. They’re wrong, too.

For those who say it’s not too late. You might be right.

And, for those who say it’s too late. Just you wait.

It’s just right now.

Or, as baseball legend Yogi Berra said, “It ain’t over till it’s over.”

My husband/editor would like to add that of the teams that led their divisions on April 30, 2012, only one (the Nationals) went on to win their division. So put him down as a vote for “it’s still early.”

In other baseball news, Orioles first baseman Chris Davis is, sadly, no longer on pace to hit 162 homeruns this season. He also hurt himself during last night’s game. One wonky knee can spoil things for everybody.  (Get well soon, Mr. Davis!)

As for me, I cracked my head against the wall in the bathroom this morning. I’m not sure how or why this happened, short of the wall reaching out and just smacking me for no good reason. While I’m probably going to be ok, if you never see another post here from me, you’ll know why.

Groovin’

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I always assumed that being “in a groove” came from the days of vinyl record albums when your needle needed to stay in the groove in order to get the music out. (This will date me, but I did tape pennies to the needle arm in order to keep it from skipping.)

Now, I find out – because I love Google – that “groove” is from Middle English and has evolved from “grove” or “groeve” which means a deep pit. (See, and you thought you weren’t going to learn anything from me today.)

So, being in the groove would seem to be a very bad thing.

A groove is also what baseball calls the juicy middle of the strike zone.  Groove one in there, Mr. Hanrahan. Just watch … click here.

That kind of groove is great for a hitter.  For a pitcher? Not so great.

Lots of ballplayers complained last week that they weren’t “in the groove.”  The ups-and-downs of Opening (Day) Week … day game/off day/night game/day game/night game … threw players out of their rhythm.

The first week of the season is sort of the weirdo week of a very long baseball season anyway.

It seems to be so important, and yet no one seems to be in the groove.  The games played in April are important, but aren’t really any more important than the games that will come next week, next month, or the month after that, or the month … oh, you get the idea.

Opening Day games sell out in the middle of the week.  Everyone wants to go, even when the weather is brisk.  An insanely chilly 38 degrees in Chicago for instance.  

(One of many things that makes baseball far superior to football is its devotion to being a warm-weather sport.  There is no place for snow on a baseball diamond. Well, now that J.T. Snow is retired anyway.)

Casual fans go for the hotdogs and beer, the ambience, and to say they’re going to Opening Day, which never seems to lose its nostalgia and luster.

Many just like an excuse to take a half-day at work, and really, who can blame them? Celebrities throw out the first pitches. The best pitchers in the game face off.

And, all the team Mascots are freshly laundered and smell like clean fluffy muppets, weeks away from the grimey, sweaty, mustard stained fuzz balls of mid-summer.

Dedicated fans and sports pundits wrestle with a scant handful of stats from a scant handful of games, but are still ready to make Playoff and World Series predictions, even though there are 156 games left to play.

Some players start off crazy-hot.  Homerun shmoosher Chris Davis, I’m looking at you.  And, you know it can’t last – won’t last – but you try to envision it anyway.  At one point last week, the Orioles’ Chris Davis was on pace to hit 162 homeruns this season.

(The only point to this blog post, really, was getting to say “the Orioles’ Chris Davis was on pace to hit 162 home runs this season.”  You can stop reading now if you want.)

Some players have very, very bad days that skew statistics in most awful ways.

When you’ve played a week and still are batting .000, or are a pitcher with an earned run average of 20+ runs a game, you know you’re definitely not in your groove. (Yet.)

We all have grooves.  We get in them.  We lose them.  We revel in them while we have them, pine for them when they’re gone.  Sometimes we don’t even know we are in a groove until we’ve fallen out and things start going wrong.

Every time I step on my Yoga mat, I know, probably within 30 seconds, whether I’m in my groove or not.   It’s easy to practice Yoga when you’re in your groove.  It is infinitely more important to push through your Yoga when you are not.

I guess that’s good advice for all grooves.

Grooves are fleeting.

Which is why it’s too early to give the Orioles’ Chris Davis the MVP trophy and the Giants’ Barry Zito (2-0, ERA 0.00 in 14 innings) the Cy Young Award (even though I’m a-ok with either).

And, it’s also too early to give up on your team just because they haven’t found a groove yet.  (Unless you’re a Miami Marlins fan, in which case the team owners owe you an apology.)

This is the FOURTH complete blog post that I’ve drafted in the past week and the only one that will see the light of day (true confession: I’ve written that on all the discarded drafts too, so there’s no telling if this one will even make it to the Editor/Husband “here, have a look” stage).

So, clearly, I’m not in my blog groove.  But, I’m still happy that baseball season is here.  And, I’m happy to keep unrolling my Yoga mat because I know there’s a groove hiding in there somewhere.

Not in your groove today?

Here, try this … it’s a guilty pleasure.  “Let the Groove Get In” … Justin Timberlake … definitely worth a spin.  Click here

Justin Timberlake

#1: Home Sweet Home ~ Spring Training in Charlottesville, VA

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In baseball – as in life – the goal is to come home.

Spring Training ended Saturday.  Opening Day is (officially) Monday.

Hope Springs Eternal.

I have one spot left on my top five Spring Training series.

And, I come home to Charlottesville, Virginia.

It isn’t home. Not exactly. But, it’s just a few minutes up the road and that’s close enough.

Charlottesville isn’t the most amazing or the most interesting or the most historic Spring Training location.

No Babe Ruth. No Jackie Robinson. No island, no dance hall.

Charlottesville is my #1 Spring Training place, not because of what happened here, but because it’s home. And, every home should have somewhere to warm up your baseball bones.

Between 1890 and 1916, many teams spent Spring Training in Charlottesville.

The Boston Reds in the 1890s. The Boston Beaneaters (today, the Atlanta Braves). The young Boston Red Sox. The Washington Senators (who had officially changed their name to the Nationals in 1901, but who everyone still called the Senators, until the team just gave up and changed it back in the 1950s. So really, call them whatever you like here).

The Washington Post

The Washington Post

Teams unpacked at Wright’s Hotel near the train station (it was later the Clermont and is now the Starr Hill Building). Or, they rented local fraternity houses.

They trained on cold and snowy days – and there were plenty of them in March – indoors at Fayerweather Gymnasium (now home to the University of Virginia Department of Art). It was a state-of-the-art facility with one of the longest indoor tracks in the country.

They played at UVa’s Lambeth Field, which one reporter at the time called “the best college field.” (It’s still in use today for intramural sports).

Lambeth Field, Charlottesville. Early 20th-century. Photo Courtesy of UVa Small Special Collections Library

Lambeth Field, Charlottesville. Early 20th-century. Photo Courtesy of UVa Small Special Collections Library

Walter “Big Train” Johnson, one of the greatest pitchers to ever play the game, spent a couple Spring Trainings there as a National/Senator. (How good was he? He would win more than 30 games a season – twice – and consistently had an ERA around a sinful 1.50. Yeh, The Big Train was good.)

Teams jogged through Charlottesville as part of their training. They played games against UVa’s team. They took day trips to Thomas Jefferson’s home, Monticello, and rode the trolley to Fry’s Springs resort, known for its healing mineral baths and “Wonderland” amusement park.

Continue reading →

#2: Look It’s Me! The Orioles in St. Petersburg

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When I started this Spring Training series, I had my Top 5 list ready to go.

But, my editor/husband insisted that the Spring Training I attended should be included.

So, apologies Limestone League – the World War II-era years when teams held Spring Training north of the Mason-Dixon and east of the Mississippi. French Lick and Terre Haute. Bloomington and Muncie.

You’re off the list. (Maybe next year.)

Number 2 on my list of amazing Spring Trainings is the one I attended in St. Petersburg, Florida. 

Many people believe that attending Spring Training is the mark of a true baseball fan.

They’re wrong.

To be a true baseball fan is to watch a 17-inning game, start to finish … and then watch it again when the local sports network replays it on Thanksgiving Day. (It will take six hours and seven minutes, in case you’re wondering. And, yes, we won.)

To be a true baseball fan is to sit – or, more correctly, stand – through a freezing two-and-a-half hour rain delay during the playoffs only to have your team go down in bitter defeat in the 9th.

To be a true baseball fan is to watch your beloved team lose more often than it wins and still love them. To watch them lose 100 games in a single season. To watch them lose 21 in a row. And, still love them.

To be a true baseball fan is to say, “We’ll get ‘em tomorrow,” no matter the odds. And, mean it.

Spring Training, on the other hand, is just a lovely way to spend a vacation in Florida (or Arizona) during the chilly, waning days of winter. Sandwiching ballgames with a little beach time or tee time or margarita time.

For a few years in the 1990s, the St. Louis Cardinals shared St. Petersburg, Florida and Al Lang Stadium with the Baltimore Orioles.

There's a lot of milling about at Spring Training.

There’s a lot of milling about at Spring Training.

So, in 1992, I went to Spring Training by myself. I was much younger of course (12 would be a good guess, but since I was driving a rental car and drinking beer, though not at the same time, perhaps I was a bit older).

Continue reading →

#3: From Daytona Beach to Dodgertown

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If you think about it, 67 years is not such long a time.

Sometimes it takes the post office 67 years to deliver a letter.

Sometimes it takes 67 years to become an Eagle Scout.

Presidents Bill Clinton and George W. Bush were both born in 1946 – 67 years ago.

So were pitchers Bill (Spaceman) Lee and Catfish Hunter. (And, why aren’t player nicknames as good as those anymore?)  So were Bobby Bonds and Rollie Fingers.

And, Reggie Jackson.

It was 67 not-so-long years ago that Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier by playing a racially integrated, professional game.

Library of Congress, Prints & Photographs Division, Reproduction number #LC-L9-54-3566-O

Library of Congress, Prints & Photographs Division, Reproduction number #LC-L9-54-3566-O

But, no, not as a member of the Brooklyn Dodgers.  (You knew there had to be a twist, didn’t you?)

He did it during Spring Training, on Sunday, March 17, 1946, at City Island Park in Daytona Beach, Florida as a member of the Class AAA Montreal Royals, a Dodgers farm-team.

I don’t think a lot of my friends understand my passion for baseball (hi there, friends!)

One of the reasons is that baseball so perfectly seems to mirror the tenor of the times. It’s an opening to history and reflects us as a society and as a culture.

( I also love three-run homers, double steals, and spectacular defensive plays.  But, I digress …)

Many historians believe that the modern era of civil rights began with the integration of major league baseball.

And, so we come to Jackie Robinson and Daytona Beach, the only place in 1946 Florida that would allow a colored man to play in a white man’s game on a white man’s field.

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#4: Isle Be Seeing You ~ The Cubs in Catalina

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I’ve never been to Wrigley Field.  It must be pretty nice, what with the ivy and all. Built in 1914, it has been the home of the Chicago Cubs for 99 years.  Only Boston’s Fenway (1912) is older.

I’d like to visit Wrigley some day, but not in March.

Because it’s cold.  And, it snows.  And, there are no Cubs there in March.

(Did you know that the Cubs are one of the only major league teams that doesn’t have an oversized, furry mascot roaming around during games? The Cubs are ready-made for a mascot – they’re Cubs, for heaven’s sake.  The team believes a mascot would cheapen the majesty of Wrigley. They are wrong. Mascots are amazing.)

But, back to Spring Training … and #4 on my list of most amazing Spring Training locations (mascot, optional).

There are very few cases of a team actually buying their own Spring Training facility. (Multi-multi-multi-millions of dollars, the majority from taxpayers, fund most of the Spring Training parks you can visit today.  Thank you, Americans!)

In the early years, most teams were virtual nomads, wandering from whatever college or minor league park in the south might accommodate them for a few weeks each spring.  They bunked en masse in fraternity houses or cheap hotels, and dined at boarding houses overseen, I gather, by plump, elderly widows dishing out the morning grits.

Now, imagine if your owner bought an island – an entire island! – and then plopped you and your teammates right down in the middle of it.

Who cares if the nearest other team is THOUSANDS of miles away?  This is Paradise, Baby!

And, so, when Chicago Cubs owner William Wrigley shelled out about $3 million for Santa Catalina Island, 25 miles off the coast of California, in 1919, he packed up his Cubbies and shipped them off to Xanadu.

Cubs Catalina

Dodgertown? It’s a TOWN.  The Cubs had an island!

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#5: The Yankees Go To Shreveport

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The game is full of subtlety,

Of science and of art,

Where mind and brain

Beneath the strain

Must carry out their part.

 

But when it comes to climax stuff

Beyond the final scoff,

Give me the bloke

With mighty poke

Who tears the cover off.

~ Grantland Rice, New York Tribune, March 15, 1921

 In today’s installment of “Spring Training Is Way Better Than Sitting In A House Without Power During A Freak Snowstorm In March” … let’s head to Shreveport, Louisiana.

 March 1921.

Spring Training with the New York Yankees. (And, you know this better be good if I’m going to spend a post talking about the Yankees.)

See, Spring Training wasn’t always Grapefruits and Cactus.  Georgia, South Carolina, Texas, and Alabama were all popular destinations in the early years of baseball.  Teams just seemed to wander around.

Spring Training over the years has evolved into a structured program to polish up one’s skills with weight training, fielding drills, batting practice, and conditioning programs.  (Even, most happily, Yoga. Big shout out to the Oakland A’s and Baltimore Orioles who have mentioned their Yoga programs in recent weeks.)

Back in early 20th century however, Spring Training was really just a time to get everyone back together, detox from the excesses of the off-season (mineral hot springs were especially popular), burn off winter weight, toss around a medicine ball, and try to get back into some sort of playing shape.

After a few rowdy Spring Trainings in Jacksonville, Florida (highlighted by more than a few “drunken orgies”), the Yankees moved their spring headquarters to Shreveport in 1921 because of its isolation (and because it was, ostensibly, a dry town).  Safely away, they hoped, from the devilish temptations of booze, broads, and brawling. 

Shreveport – in the midst of its own crazy oil boom (and not very “dry” at all) – would be a place where Babe Ruth and the rest of the team could focus on baseball.

Oh, did I not mention Babe?

George Herman Ruth.  Baltimore native.  The man who bestowed one of the most successful and enduring curses on the Boston Red Sox.  He did some other stuff too, hit some homers, changed the face of baseball, you know, that sort of thing, but I think I hit the high points.

New York Yankees, Spring Training 1921. Babe Ruth is there in the center.

New York Yankees, Spring Training 1921. Babe Ruth is there in the center.

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