“GreenDay”

For a baseball fan, Spring Training can offer more to the spectator than any other time of the season. Sights and sounds that are normally obscured at a Major League venue during the regular season, are enhanced by the minor league intimacy of pre-season.
Eighteenth century Enlightenment author Alexander Pope began a poem “Hope springs eternal within the human breast.” He no doubt portended the game of baseball, and its optimistic trappings of each spring. Sanguinity is the order of the day for ballplayer, management, and fan. A coveted roster spot remains for an untested phenom hoping to fulfill his promise, or the aging veteran trying to quell the passage of time.
. At a time when most big league cities are still in the firm grip of winter, their franchises go through the weeding out process by playing in Grapefruit and Cactus Leagues found in the sunshine of Florida and Arizona.
Every team is tied for first place in their respective divisions. Yes sir, Spring Training, a rite of passage for the passionate.
My first spring training was also my son’s first. While vacationing in Florida, we drove three hours from Marathon in the Florida Keys to Bobby Maduro Stadium in Miami, to witness my beloved New York Mets take on the Baltimore Orioles on their winter turf. Top down, music blaring, the company and the anticipation made the trek seem much shorter than it was. The stadium itself was in disrepair. Wisely, it has since been razed. But that day young stars Eddie Murray, Cal Ripken, Dwight Gooden, and Darryl Strawberry brought a majestic dignity to the tired ballpark, paying homage to past Orioles and Mets, Frank and Brooks Robinson, Tom Seaver, and Nolan Ryan and others who once trod its grounds. Our mild sunburns were a small price to pay indeed for such a delightful experience.
Last Friday, my son Cory and I made our way up to Jupiter, Florida to take in a spring training contest between the New York Mets and the St. Louis Cardinals at Roger Dean Stadium. Racing up Florida’s Turnpike, I envisioned the exchange between a highway patrolman and myself, had I been pulled over…
“Yes, sir. That’s what I said, a Spring Training game. The Mets are playing! What time does the game start? Why, 1:05. Yes, I know it’s 10:30 and we’re only fifteen miles away from the stadium.”
I also envisioned him letting me go, because he too is a baseball fan. The only real urgency we had was to garner tickets for the game. Other than that, it was just I had to get there as soon as possible. It mattered little since the gates hadn’t opened yet. We took our place in line, our tickets secured from a gentleman scalper (he charged less than face value). Once inside, to me it was like observing a work of art. Finding a place down the left field line, my son and I….well, we just watched stuff.
While the Cardinals worked out on the many fields located throughout the complex, we watched the Mets take batting and infield practice simultaneously inside Roger Dean Stadium’s friendly confines. For good measure, another coach hit fungos to clusters of outfielders positioned on the greenest of grass. The little ballpark, home to two minor league squads, was pristine. The most minor of details caught our eye.
There were numerous spheroid impressions left in a nearby wall by errant foul balls. There was the noticeable absence of school age children. I absurdly suggested to Cory, that due to this unusually relaxed environment, several beach chaise lounges should occupy the open area where we stood. We watched a small gathering of fans scramble for wayward well hit foul balls.
One particular aggressive and obviously mentally unstable retiree, in an effort retrieve a spring training souvenir, had himself a mishap. Trying to rekindle the spryness and agility of a time long past, bounded down the outfield bleachers in hot pursuit of this meaningless batting practice baseball. No longer a spring chicken, he failed to negotiate the final row, and his attempt at impersonating a Flying Wallenda ended disastrously. He temporarily lost consciousness, and judging by the reaction of a spectator nearby, sustained a ghastly wound, perhaps even a broken leg. A Mets trainer was summoned who promptly removed the shirt he was wearing to use as a tourniquet. Another fan faired considerably better.
Unlike the no holds barred approach to foul balls at regular season games; this person clearly felt a dutiful sense of propriety was in order when pursuing a Spring Training memento. This fan felt it necessary to call off his fellow revelers, who reverently deferred. Shouts of “I got it, I got it” were honored as this fan negotiated the balls flight. He quickly and smoothly transferred his beer from his right hand to his left, in order to be better able to snatch the white orb. In the purist’s tradition, ungloved, he deftly snared his prize, eliciting grand applause of approval. Once the game began, our attentions focused on the action on the field.
Our disappointments were inconsequential compared to the satisfaction gained by the day’s events. Ramon Castro, whom I had the pleasure of making his acquaintance while he readied himself for pre-season at the Memorial Fitness Center; did not make the trip down with the Mets from their home in Port St. Lucie. I was also hoping to chat up Tyler Greene, a shortstop in the Cardinal organization. I had umpired several games Tyler played in while he still in high school. Cory, who no longer pitched, had faced him while both participated off season high school programs. With a certain amount of pride Cory reminded me he had struck Tyler out all three at bats against him. Tyler went on to an outstanding collegiate career at Georgia Tech and with Team U.S.A. He had made the Cardinal 40-man roster, and was now vying for the opportunity to appear in his first regular season game in The Show.
Crowds clamored for his autograph and attention, the opportunity to visit dashed. They’ll be other chances to wish him well I’m sure, maybe at a Florida Marlins game at Dolphins Stadium. However, another Green, who flew under our player radar, got our attention.
Spring Training is a time for the opportunity to possibly observe a future star, a player whose performance is noteworthy. In the spring of 1998, Cory and I witnessed a number “66” on the Los Angeles tear it up. The number is significant because often the higher the number, the less likely the player to make the big league team. The player wearing “66” crushed the ball in batting practice. He played first base expertly during fielding practice, and when he got the chance to show his stuff as a substitute in the Dodger line up, he made the most of it. “66” crushed the ball in both of his at bats. One hit the outfielder lost behind a cloud. The Dodgers did bring him to L.A. that year. But “66” did not languish in the minors for long. Paul Konerko eventually became the Dodgers starting first baseman, and continued with his stellar career with the Chicago White Sox.
Andy Green is not an unproven rookie. He has spent some time in the Arizona Diamondbacks organization with little fanfare. The Mets signed him in the off season. Cory and I were impressed by his hitting prowess during batting practice. He gave his full effort during fielding practice. His speed made us take notice. When the Mets inserted him in the lineup about mid-game, what we saw was not a fluke. Andy Green continued his fine play with timely hitting knocking in a run, and made a couple of nice plays in the field. We became immediate fans of Andy Green, and hoped the team would take this spark plug north to New York.
Cory’s lone regret was that he didn’t get to see sidearmer Darren O’Day pitch for the Mets. Cory met O’Day while he was a student at the University of Florida. Cory often saw him at work at the local Gainesville watering hole Gator City. This was Cory’s lone smudge on what was otherwise a fine day at the ballpark.
Spring Training is not a time to think of green as in player salaries, it’s a time to think of the Greenes, or Greens, that can seize the opportunity presented to them. Spring Training is not a time to lament what might be, but a time to heed more words of Alexander Pope. “Blessed is the man who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed.” A day at Spring Training never disappoints, it just renews the hope.