We’re a baseball family and Major League Baseball’s Spring Training was one of our rituals. Every March, whenever we could get away, we packed everyone up and headed to Arizona where there was no snow, no ice, no sleet. There was green. Green everywhere, defying the desert, on baseball fields as far as the eye could see. We weren’t strictly homies – although we spent most of our time with our Colorado Rockies, we made side trips to a dozen other venues in the vicinity to see the other western teams. We brought along baseballs and stood outside the locker rooms or in the parking lots waiting for the players – most of them unrecognizable and never-to-be big leaguers – to stop and sign the baseballs for our kids.
There was the one time when the famous shortstop signed the jersey our kids held out to him with his name on the back. An official Major League jersey with the famous shortstop’s name and number on it. The only official league regalia we ever had – it was a gift, we would never have paid for something so expensive. Then there was the time one of our kids couldn’t get there because of college stuff and the soon- to-be Hall of Fame first basemen walked by us. My wife was on the phone with our wayward college boy and yelled, “Hey Todd, say hi to Sam!!” And Todd did, just that, yelling out, “Hey Sam, wish you were here!”
We sat on bleachers and watched bunting drills, pitching and batting practice. And our kids chased foul balls. And got a bunch. The games themselves didn’t matter much – watching the drills and practices was much more intimate and entertaining. The kids could get right up against the backstop and call the pitches themselves. And sometimes a future Hall of Famer would just stroll by and say hi over the phone to our son.
Spring training is starting again. But our kids are grown…and busy. Too busy to take a few days with mom and dad to sit in the bleachers and once again come to the sad realization that our home team is probably still not going to be good enough this year. We thought about going on our own, without the kids…but, nah. We’ll wait till the grandkids are old enough.
Two of our three, with Hall of Fame pitcher Bob Feller at Spring Training