Port St. Lucie

On the Weather

Wednesday, February 20, 2019
Jersey City, NJ


Outside the Game: 
I decided to go down to visit Spring Training again this year after a two-year gap. (It fell right after I got back from Australia last year, I was unable to get the vacation time for some reason.) Since my last few forays into March baseball had ended with the deaths of relatives, I had restricted myself to February, where Opening Day for Spring Training would suit my purposes, hopefully without mortal danger to my relations in my parents' generation.

So, I was supposed to fly out after work Wednesday, and, of course, the most difficult client in the world was in the way, as we were scrambling to try and make one of her unrealistic deadlines for a presentation by the end of that week.

The weather, as well, wasn't quite cooperating. It was set to uncharacteristically crack into the high fifties on Thursday, but Wednesday was greeted by the promise of an east-coast-wide snow storm. Regardless, I came to work with my luggage and in my travel clothes, but at around 3 PM, in the space of fifteen or so minutes, I got three updates from JetBlue informing me that 1) my flight had been delayed 3 hours, 2) my flight was cancelled, and 3) I was rebooked on the 6 AM flight the next morning. Given that they completely shut down the northeast airspace, it was about what you'd expect.

I confirmed my seat for the morning flight the next day and then went back to work, staying later than normal to try and sort out as much as possible. As I trudged home in the snow-turning-to-rain, I was not happy with the world. On getting home, I booked a car for the next morning and then tried to get to bed, as I would be walking up at 4 AM to make my flight. Just as I had laid down in bed for fifteen minutes or so, I got a call from the car service to confirm the ride I had booked no later than a half hour before. I grunted angrily through a call with them and then eventually drifted off to sleep at around 10 PM.


The Accommodations: 
Jersey City, against plan

On A Really, Really Long Day

Terminal "A" for awful

Thursday, February 21, 2019
Boynton Beach, FL


Outside the Game: 
There should not be a 4 AM. We only need the one in the afternoon. Really. I'm fairly certain I can prove it, or least show the absolute moral case for it.

At any rate, my day started at 4 AM. I slumped my way through a shower that sort of woke me up enough to get dressed and meet my car service downstairs. The only bright spot was at this ungodly hour, there was no traffic at all on the roads. I think I counted perhaps a dozen cars on the road the entire trip to the airport, which was under 15 minutes.

We were at terminal A (for awful), and upon getting to security, I was presented with a line that was far too long for this time in the morning. I can only surmise that all the bumps from flights the night previous led to all the first flights out this day being packed. But as proof of god hating me, I waited a half hour on a security line at 5 AM.

I eventually got into miserable terminal A, and after grabbing some food at one of the only two open stands in the entire miserable terminal, I lined up for my flight. The West Palm Beach flight was right next to the Tampa flight, and it was a subway series as all the people in Yankees gear were lined up for the Tampa flight, and the Mets fans were lined up for WPB. Thankfully, boarding went without issue. Thanks to the bump, I was in the bitch seat at the back of the plane, but I got in quickly when my boarding group was announced, and I got overhead space without incident.

The person in the window seat was an all-too-chatty account executive, but thankfully the aisle seat was filled by a woman who did not want to talk. We got off on time, and I was able to get a beverage and snacks before drifting to sleep, an act made more difficult by the fact that the woman in the middle seat across the aisle insisted on keeping the window shade up so she could work, so I had to huddle away from the sun as best as possible to get some sleep.

Outside of the shade being up and our flight crew thinking they were way more witty than they actually were, the flight went fine. I called my father when we landed, as he instructed me to do, and I would eventually be yelled at about that because what he meant to tell me was to call him when I was ready to be picked up, and I have not yet developed the necessary telepathy to discern that.

We did eventually get together, driving to a nearby restaurant. I wasn't quite sure if I was hungry or not, but as I managed to put away a huge breakfast, I lean towards the idea that I was at least peckish. We drove the rest of the way back to my parents' condo, where I took a further nap to try and get back into the land of the living.

Modest staircase

That one held, and I headed out into the afternoon in my mother's car to visit the nearby Flagler Museum in Palm Beach. This was the Florida mansion of the co-founder of Standard Oil, who also built the eastern Florida railroad, and then bully-headedly kept going out to Key West (although a subsequent hurricane would destroy his bloody-minded project). The mansion was Gilded Age excess in the extreme, and I took the last guided tour of the day, in addition to an audio tour that covered the second floor of the house. The day-to-day life described for his winter retreat was interesting in its excess, but honestly, the mansion wasn't as tasteless as the average suburban McMansion today. It was excess, but it was excess done with style, which at least counts for something.

The first private railcar toilet. Bask in progress.

The backyard even held a pavilion with Flagler's personal railroad car, famous as the first private car that had toilet facilities. He apparently liked to invite his fellow tycoons to ride with him just to show off his pisser. It really makes you wonder about things. I'm not sure what, but things.

Here is where things get adventurous. As I was getting back to Boynton Beach, I realized I needed to go to CVS again, so I put it in my GPS to find the nearest one. It directed me to exit earlier than I usually take, but I didn't think much of it. I follow the helpful computer voice, but I miss the turn-off, and try and do a couple of right turns to get me back, but I get lost, and as I'm trying to work out how to get back, I see whirlies in my rear window. I put to the other lane to get out of their way, but they are on my ass, so I pull over.

Now four cops get out of the car with their hands on their guns, and I'm a little concerned. I roll down my window, and they tell me preemptively that I was going 40 in a 35 (not likely, but it would turn out to be a pretense anyway) and ask for my license and registration. I give them my license and explain that I'm not sure where my mom keeps her registration. The cops are at all points around my car, and they are asking me to roll down my other window, and I'm wondering what in the hell is going on. They ask what I'm doing, and I tell them I'm trying to get to CVS. They ask why I'm here again, and I tell them that I just asked the GPS to get me to the CVS, and that I missed the turn, and I was just trying to get back there. They asked me why here, and I told him again about the GPS, which I pointed out to him.

Then they asked where I came from. I told him I was coming from the museum and repeated what I was doing again. They asked who I was talking to, and I told them that I hadn't spoken to anyone since the museum. They asked if I had anything illegal in the car, and I said it was my mom's car. He asked if I thought my mom had anything illegal in the car, and I couldn't stop myself from saying, "Not unless she got a lot more interesting." They eventually decided I wasn't lying, and told me to get on 95 and go back home to go CVS because I was in the hood. I thanked them for some reason, and headed the rest of the way home.

On the way back to the condo, I stopped off at a CVS closer to them for some supplies, managed to not be blitzed by cops, and then grabbed a shower as my father ordered up some Chinese food. I ate dinner and then retreated into my bedroom to watch some TV, before dropping off to sleep not later than 11 PM.


The Accommodations: 
As mentioned, I was stayed at my parents' snowbird condo for the duration of the trip. The guest room has two small twin beds that have "MyPillows," which they were in love with for some reason, but I just found them small and uncomfortable. They keep the condo at no cooler than 75, which is too warm to sleep, but in pilling all the pillows in the room on one bed, removing all the covers, and turning the ceiling fan on max, I was able to get some sleep. And also because I was exhausted.

The wiring problem that prevents a normal light switch from being installed still persists, so the one light in the room still runs on the Clapper. I gave my father some smart outlets a couple of Christmases ago so he could use Alexa to run the light, but he promptly lost them.

That said, you can only complain so much with "free."

On Unexpectedness

Blue heron in the Paradise Garden at Morikami Gardens

Friday, February 22, 2019
Boynton Beach, FL


Outside the Game: 
As this was the only real day I had to sleep in, of course I had a restless night's sleep. I attempted to get up once, failed, and went back to sleep for a while, trying to shield my eyes from the merciless Florida sun seeming through the closed blinds.

I was up for good at 9:30 AM, where I scarfed down some leftover Chinese food, showered, and headed out into the bright, bright morning. My destination was the Morikami Museum and Japanese Gardens, a strangely out-of-place destination a short distance from my parents' condo that begged a visit.

The gardens are some of the finest Japanese gardens outside of Japan proper, constructed by one of the only remnants of a colony of Japanese farmers that attempted to make a go of it in Florida at the turn of last century. Orange Cheeto Grande took the premiere of Japan there during his last visit, but I tried not to hold it against the place. Perhaps the most bizarre thing about the place was that my mother had gone, and not only liked it, but raved about the restaurant. My mother. A person who does not eat any "oriental" food.

I got there and went in after a little bit of driving to find the parking lot. I paid my entry fee, got some fish food, an audio tour, and some walking-around water, and then headed out into the morning.

Dance for my scraps, minions!

And the gardens were everything that they were made out to be. It was a magnificent, tranquil Japanese garden over quite a large footprint. I walked around almost all of the way, taking in the side gardens and the dry Zen rock gardens, before hurrying back to the main pavilion at about a quarter of noon. I was trying to beat the rush for lunch, and managed to get one of the last tables in the air conditioned interior with no wait. I had a lovely, relaxed lunch, and by the time I was done, there was a line back to the entrance of the visitors center to get in, so that worked out.

I spent the remainder of the afternoon seeing the rest of the grounds, as well as revisiting where I had already been. The extensive nature walk was especially nice, as there was no one else on there with me, so I was able to really relax and get lost for a while. After getting my fill of the place, I hit up the gift shop rather extensively and then headed out.

I got home and showered and napped before the family started to arrive for the required pizza party. It was fine, and everyone ate and talked, and I helped my parents clean up before hitting the hay for the game the next day.


The Accommodations: 
The condo again. Nothing new or exciting on that front, except to reiterate that MyPillows are awful.

On Starting Spring

First Data Field, 2019

Saturday, February 23, 2019
Atlanta Braves vs. New York Metropolitans
First Data Field
Grapefruit League (Spring Training)
Port St. Lucie, FL
1:10 PM


Outside the Game:
I was up "early" relative to objective time, but not relative to my schedule for this trip. After a quick shower, my father and I were off to the races at about 9:30 AM for a mostly uneventful drive up to the stadium. Well, at least until we were about to turn on the road to the stadium, when my father had an unavoidable bathroom emergency, forcing us to ditch off to a gas station at the intersection for him to conduct his business. We eventually made it the rest of the stadium, where he dropped me off to go in and he retreated to get some breakfast.

I took my pictures and went to the practice fields, to find that they had just closed. Wandering around, I found Gary, Keith, and Ronnie hanging out outside of the SNY vans. After their meeting broke up, Gary and Ronnie signed some autographs, while Keith immediately bailed back to the parking lot. I followed at a distance and saw him dump something into an expensive blue sports car rental, which is about what I'd expect.

After some more walking around in the Opening-Day excitement, I decided to do some shopping before the gates opened. That was a mistake. The store was packed, and after grabbing a few items, I was in one of the two checkout lines to get out, and they were not moving anywhere. God bless them, the old folks manning the tables were doing their best, but everywhere in front of me were people claiming discounts that they did not have ID for, slowing down the process to a stop. I persevered, but right when I was about to pay, one of the previous people who had claimed a discount came back with proof, the gates were opening, and after waiting a half hour, I just dropped my items and went to go in.

I got on one of the long lines, but one of the attendants eventually got me to realize that they had opened a new, shorter line, and I sheepishly got on it and was inside in no time.

After the game, my father and I waded through the crowd back to his car, and I pointed out Keith's expensive rental car to him. It was a bit to get out of the parking lot, but the attendants were directing traffic, so it was mostly painless. I napped for most of the way back, but I woke up just as we hit some stopped traffic because of recent accident. I finally got my father to bail off the main road, showing him how the "avoid" feature on his GPS works (on a car he's had for a decade), and we eventually found an alternate way back to the condo.

Running a bit late, we quickly showered up and headed out to dinner, and my parents' lack of prep hit us again. We went to a different restaurant than we normally go to, but there was a street fair going on, so after dropping my mother and me off, it took my father nearly a half hour to park, so he was in a great mood for dinner. We managed to survive the experience, and I had some excellent veal saltimbocca. Usually, one element or another overpowers the dish, but it was very balanced and light, so that was a treat. Perhaps not worth all the rest of the aggravation (and my father forgetting where he had parked), but we eventually got home, and I immediately made for bed for the early day tomorrow morning.


The Stadium & Fans: 

Home plate to center field, First Data Field

First Data Field hadn't changed all that much since I'd been there last, though the crowds were certainly bigger for the first game of Spring Training. It may have been the first sell-out I saw for Spring Training with them, at least.

There were some minor cosmetic changes to the park (new concessions signs, new concessions, opening up the old picnic area in left field), but apparently the haggling between the Mets and Port St. Lucie had been resolved, so there will be major renovations in the next few years. Whether they ever get done or get done on time remain to be seen. The only thing special they seemed to have for opening day was a golf-cart-full of 69 Mets on the berm with the 7 Line Army. I was able to get some good pictures while I was walking around.

Cleon Jones in the hizzouse

There were also more Braves fans than I would have liked (i.e. >0).


At the Game with Oogie: 

Pork sliders

So I was originally at the game with my father, eventually joined by many of my relations in the first inning as they trundled in. As I had gotten decisions early on the amount of people coming to the game, I was able to score two rows of five seats in the shade behind home plate, which were a sight better than the restricted view seats we had to settle for during my last trip because I couldn't get a head count until the last minute. One of my cousin's kids was colicky, so my cousin had to bail early with him, but everyone else stayed to watch the game.

I grabbed a burger at the Ulti-Met Grill and then pork sliders at the new stand that replaced the Italian place. Despite knowing better, I tried to go to the team store in the stadium itself, but got stuck on another long and unmoving line, so bailed again. If they don't want my money that bad, I'm happy to oblige them.

There were an unsavory number of Braves fans in attendance, who were a lot more lippy than I like my Braves fans (which is not at all), so it was particularly nice to be able to shut them up and send them home disappointed with a nice (and pointless) win.


The Game:

First pitch, Braves vs. Metropolitans

This Opening Day contest between the Braves and the Metropolitans was one of the more Spring-Trainy games I've ever seen in Spring Training. Though the Metropolitans walked off with the pointless win, I'm not sure if it was a spiritual victory or not.

Both sides went in order to start the first, as is tradition. In the top of the second, however, the Braves turned a fielder's choice, two singles, and a sacrifice fly into two runs and jump to an early 2-0 lead. New York answered in the bottom of the inning, where a one-out, two-run homerun tied it up at two apiece. Atlanta got a runner as far as third in the top of the third, thanks to a walk and two hit batsmen, but nothing came across. However, the Metropolitans capitalized on a two-base error, ground-out, and single to take their first lead, 3-2.

The Braves stranded a single and New York went in order in the fourth and the fifth. Atlanta just had another plunked batsman to show for the top of the sixth, while the Metropolitans extended their lead to 4-2 with a towering leadoff homer to center.

The Braves had a reached-on-error and single to show for the top of the seventh, while New York went in order in their half. Atlanta closed the gap with to 4-3 with a one-out homer to left in the eighth, and the Metropolitans again went in order. For their last licks in the ninth, the Braves stranded a one-out single, leaving New York with the pointless 4-3 victory (and also denying the curiosity if they were going to use the international extra innings rule in the Grapefruit League this year).


The Scorecard: 

Atlanta Braves vs. New York Metropolitans, 02/23/19. Metropolitans "win," 4-3.

The new twist on the Metropolitan's $5 Grapefruit League program this year is that it comes in either of the team colors (blue or orange). I chose blue, for the record.

Sadly, the same awful scorecard is still inside it. The semi-gloss paper makes it hard to write in pencil, especially with colored pencil, and the same bizarre lack of pitching lines affects this card as it has previous incarnations. (I crammed the pitchers names at least into a curious blank space right under the lineups). The scorecard features exactly 17 player lines, just enough so that you don't have space for replacements for all the players, which is nearly a given in Spring Training games. Players lines end in somewhat cryptically named columns for at bats, RBIs, runs, and hits, and the columns run for 11 innings and then stats. In addition to the glossy paper, they saw fit to have colored background printing under the scorecard, which makes it very difficult to read the scoring on those squares, and it makes a big mess if you have to erase.

The game itself was standard Spring-Training fare for the most part, though some elements were on steroids. The Metropolitans used 9 pitchers, averaging one per inning, although the starting pitcher made it into the second before falling apart. The Metropolitans also managed to plunk three Braves, which I can only be so upset about. Player substitutions started early in this, the first game. All the Metropolitans swapped out in the fifth, which the Braves started in the fifth and ended by the seventh.

But there were no particularly odd plays of scoring note.


The Accommodations: 
At my parents condo, one last time. As soon as we got back from dinner, I pretty much went straight to bed for another early morning, at least of my own devising this time.

On Another Early Day

West Palm Too Damn Early

Sunday, February 23, 2019
Jersey City, NJ


Outside the Game: 
Too early.

4 AM is too early to get up in the morning. I have all the respect and pity for people who have to do this every day, but no. It is not for me.

A half-awake shower and printing a boarding pass preceded a quick drive to the airport in the dark, Florida "morning." Thankfully, unlike NYC, there was no one in the security line, and I was through and too my gate with 45 minutes before boarding.

Facing another flight too early, I decided to upgrade. I went up to the counter and managed to communicate my mumbled wishes to Sue, who not only got my an upgrade, but got me an upgrade with no one next to me. I gratefully gave her my credit card, which repeatedly got rejected. Visions of angry, half-coherent calls to AmEx dancing in my head, she apologized for the problem, and she said she would just waive the fee. Sue became my bestest friend at that moment, even before she said she was going to try and start boarding early so everyone could get settled for such an early flight. Sue, at gate C11, I want you to know I love you.

We did board early, and I was in seat A1. As the first person on the plane, I was able to get overhead space for all my bags quite easily, and I was quickly followed by the person sitting in the aisle of my row, who had similar concerns. We settled in as the rest of the plane boarded and both stayed awake until drinks and snakcs services, napping the rest of the flight. (I can only assume he did, as he was failing asleep as I was, and he seemed to wake up at the same time.)

The plane arrived so early in rainy Jersey City that we clearly surprised the ground crew. We got to the gate with no problem, but then they spent, no kidding around, about twenty minutes trying to get the jetway connected to the plane. Everyone in the crew said that this was an unprecedented wait. We eventually were disgorged out into Terminal A, and not caring any more, I went and got a cab ride home, again having to give the cab driver the way, but still being too lazy to try and wait for a Lyft. It's my own fault, really.

So, I was home around the time I normally get up on Sunday. I was even in time for Talking Baseball which was not on for some reason. (It would turn out that Ed Randall was trapped in a subway and would start the program about 45 minutes late.) I made it to noon before taking a nap, and there was an additional nap later in the afternoon that may or may not have been voluntary.

But as it was, I was extremely jetlagged after not having left the east coast. So it goes.


The Accommodations: 
Jersey City, sweet, Jersey City

Click here to see all the photos from this trip.

2019 Stand-Alone Trip

Port St. Lucie

On Fleeing

Newark Liberty Bald Eagle Apple Pie God Bless America Airport

Friday, March 16, 2012

West Palm Beach, Florida


Outside of the Game:
Work. Work never changes. Over the holiday season, I was on a suicide project launch that was stealing the very soul from my person, but it thankfully got put on hold due to a corporate fulfillment dispute for several months, improving my quality of life tremendously. Out of sight and out of mind, I truly believed that by completely ignoring the situation, I could make it go away and never, ever come back.

As luck would have it, the project would come back with both barrels the day before I was to go down to Florida to see my family, and, not coincidentally, a Spring Training game. So there was clearly nothing left to do but turn off my cell phone and get on the plane.

Having absolutely nothing to look forward to for MLB this year, it is not with some great eagerness that I headed off, but rather the need to scratch an itch that had been festering for the six months since I last saw a game in person. In 2010, by going to a game on my birthday in December and seeing a Spring Training game in March, my breaks between games were only three months apart, so I was feeling this offseason fairly acutely.

Having abandoned all work responsibilities, the only thing between myself and watching a professional baseball team play against the Mets was the flight. There were some dark omens hanging about the endeavor. Continental and United had recently completed their merger, most likely over the strenuous objections of their respective IT departments, as the weeks after the official completion of the merger have been absolute computer hell for their systems. And while it might be convenient to blame the neck beards for this one, you just know that someone in a suit ignored a folder full of strongly worded emails and said, "Launch it."

Other fallout of the Continental/United merger were less apparent until I got to the airport. Previously, one of the perks of being in the frequent flier clubs was the ability to board ahead of the cattle. They had recently changed the system so that it was solid "numbered group only" boarding, with the fact that the first four or so groups were priority members hidden from the hoi polloi. There were a lot of outraged frequent flier members trying to board first, and the ground crew wasn't doing a great job of explaining the situation. The plane eventually boarded slightly late, as the connecting flight was delayed, and, charming as always, the airline personnel berated us to board the plane more quickly to make up for their problems, holding further delays to ourselves as the punishment. Something about that logic never quite works for me.

Sadly, there were some more charming moments on the plane. The well-preserved and overly entitled bint behind me decided that she wanted to play some in-flight game for the entirety of the flight. (This brings up a rather severe design flaw in the devices in the back of the seats, as if someone aggressively uses them, they are essentially just poking the person in front of them repeatedly in the back of the head. You'd think someone would have questioned that design at some point.) After waiting an unsuccessful hour for her to lose interest, I took a peek over the top of the chair to ask her if she could perhaps be less aggressive with my seat back, to which I was told, "I'm playing a game," with the parenthetical "too damn bad" very clearly audible at the end. As this has happened a number of times now, I'm always fascinated by inconsiderate people sitting behind me possessing such a lack of situational understanding about who can make whom more miserable. After ten minutes more of poking, I did a nice, long, slow recline. I swear to god, she actually harrumphed. To which I replied, "I'm reclining." And then in stony silence she stopped poking my seat, and I then raised my seat, and a pleasantly passive-aggressive detente was reached for the rest of the flight.

We actually ended up landing a little early after all that, and I was roughly ejected into the infinite brightness of a Florida afternoon. My father picked me up, and whisked me away to the relative unbrightness of their winter apartment. I got settled in and took a nap, and the remainder of the afternoon was spent getting ready for another family pizza party at the condo that evening.

It was an acceptable enough evening to see the family again, and one of my cousin's sons came over with some of his baseball team after their Friday night game to help finish off the insane amount of pizza we had purchased. They also helped keep me up-to-date on the latest baseball slang ("on the bump" means "pitching," for example), which is important for someone of my advanced age and sensibilities.


The Accommodations:
I was again staying with my parents in their elder community along the Intracostal waterway in Boynton Beach. This year, their unit was on the second floor of a building set back from the waterway itself, but it was much more nicely furnished, and more specifically to my needs, it had a nice pull-out couch that only left me partially crippled the next day.

On Unavoidable Disappointments

Digital Domain Park, 2012

Saturday, March 17, 2012

Digital Domain Park
Atlanta Braves vs. New York Metropolitans (Split Squad)
Grapefruit League
Port St. Lucie, FL
1:10 PM


Outside the Game:
It was a quick sleep from the end of the previous night's festivities and the start of the next's. My father and I got up, had some oatmeal, and went to meet with my cousin's kid to head off to the game.

Armed with the experience from last year, we were better prepared to find the stadium. My father's new in-car GPS was able to plot a more correct path, and when we were actively looking for the turn we missed last year, we discovered something a little more allegorical than it should have been. Once you get off the highway, there is a quick left turn you have to make to get to the stadium, as opposed to keep driving out into an endless swamp. There is clear signage on the exit from the highway and before the turn, but at the turn and once you pass the turn, there is no indication of where to go. With our eyes peeled this year, we found the sign for the left turn we had to make. It was not a traffic sign, but clearly appeared to be part of a strip mall sign on the other side of the road. In addition, the entry on the sign to direct you to the stadium was in slightly different colors than the rest of the sign, making that line particularly hard to read. So not only did they not take the progression of directions to their natural and logical conclusion, they went further by falling down on the most critical of these updates in a completely inexplicable and short-sighted way. Those of you looking to make direct connections with this situation to the overall performance of the current Mets' ownership will not be stopped by this author.

Despite these failings, we got to the game and parked. Arriving before the bulk of the crowd, we got a fortuitous parking spot right by the exit to the highway, which made exiting just as easy. Our drive home after the game was uneventful.

That evening, I sat by the Intracoastal, finishing off my score card and starting this write-up while my parents went to church, and afterwards, we went for a quite acceptable dinner. I spent the rest of the post-dinner evening again by the Intracoastal doing more work while a humdinger of a retirement community St. Patrick's Day party went on in the community center behind me.


The Stadium & Fans:

Home plate to center field, Digital Domain Park

Digital Domain Park found itself largely unchanged from last year, although some renovations had happened since my last visit. The entire right field line had been renovated so that the Berm picnic area out in left center was no longer accessible only from a separate entrance around back, but was now connected to the main park. The walkway out to the berm was now called the Arrigo Party Porch (mirroring the Tiki Bar out in left), letting anyone with a ticket wander out there. The area out behind the Berm concessions stands was particularly interesting, as just beyond the edge of the parking lot behind right field, there is the beginnings of a swamp with a prominent "Beware of Alligators" sign posted for effect. Note to visitors: do not park in the right field lots at Digital Domain Park.

The rest of the park remained largely the same. There was a sizable crowd that day, including a regrettable contingent of Braves fans, of which we have already spoke. The crowd was mostly passive through the brisk game, but they did come alive during the controversial events to be described in a bit.

They were running the same charity give-aways as last year, and an additional auction of autographed memorabilia from around the majors. Unlike last year, I didn't win, but considering I won the Reyes jersey last year and the subsequent events, it is probably for the best I didn't win a John Hancocked David Wright shirt.


At the Game with Oogie:

Spring Scoring

As with last year, I was going to the game with my family. In order to get a non-netted view of the game, we swung around to the first base side, still huddled under the shading overhang. We were in two rows again, with my group arriving first, and my other cousin-in-law and his kids showing up right before the game, having attended one of their own number's ballgames earlier in the day.

Sadly, we were not alone. You know, I don't know what it is about Braves fans. Sure, they are marked for a special punishment by whatever powers run the universe, but do they have to be so obvious about deserving it most of the time? There was a well-behaved group in the row ahead of us who were tolerable enough, but around the sixth inning, some of their friends showed up from wherever they were sitting, and deposited themselves in our row next to me in some vacated seats. They announced their presence with a cringe-worthy racist joke, and then settled in.

Now, under nearly any other circumstances, I am happy to answer any questions on scorekeeping that come up. You'd be surprised how many people at games will ask me about scoring or the game, and I'm willing to talk for as long as they are about the process, and usually longer.

Except when I'm busy. Such as when they are making 20,000 position changes in the later innings of a spring training game that are being desultorily announced by the staff. The person right next to me cheerily started asking me questions right in the middle of the first of those announcements, and I had to ask her to wait a second. I have witnesses to the effect that I was polite about the process, and I told her that I'd be happy to answer some questions, but there are a lot of updates happening right now that need my full attention, and could she wait a minute?

This didn't seem to deter her, as she just kept on talking over the PA system as I was desperately trying to keep up with the swaps. When I finally got caught up, I asked her what she wanted to know, but she ignored me. Until, of course, the moment the next big switch happened, when she was all of a sudden keenly interested in the scorecard again, and I had to ask her, perhaps more curtly this time, to please wait a minute as I tried to keep up with these updates. And once I got caught up again, she ignored me again. A less charitable person would think she was doing it on purpose.


The Game:

First pitch, Braves vs. Metropolitans

For the most part, the game was a curious pitching duel, as the starters got extended out at this late point in spring training, while marginal position players continued to get thrown into the meat grinder to see if some unexpected prime rib made itself known. For the first five or so innings, there were a few regular base runners, who mostly got erased in a myriad of double plays, and the prospect of an hour and a half game loomed realistically, with only the impediment of needing one team to score.

Cruising to this point, Mets starter Jon Neise got into some inexplicable trouble in the fifth, plunking the pitcher to put two men on with two outs, but he worked his way out of it. His temporary reprieve ended in the sixth, when he loaded up the bases and got pulled, but the next reliever saved the situation by inducing two ground balls to get out of the inning.

The Braves were making similarly stymieing the Mets with only one hit through five. But in the sixth, the Mets would finally break through with back-to-back singles, further advanced by a ground-out to the right side. Daniel Murphy, in a St. Patrick's Day miracle, singled in both runs, putting the Mets ahead, 2-0.

The seventh went quietly on both sides, but the Braves started to put something together in the eighth. The new Mets reliever got a quick pop-out to start the inning, gave up back-to-back hits, and then got another weak pop-out. In what can only be Spring Training logic, he got pulled with two outs, and his "relief" then promptly gave up a single and a double to give up the lead, 3-2. Dear Skip: the non-roster invitee can't work out of a jam with men on base. Can we never do that again, now?

But the Mets came back in the bottom of the eighth, with a single and a walk. Then pinch-hitter Lucas Duda came to the plate, and with two strikes, stroked a clean double down the left-field line, scoring two runs and putting the Mets up 4-3. Except, he didn't. The double, which was clearly fair by at least two feet, was called foul by the umpire, also clearly in the thrall of Spring Training. This was an amazingly awful call and Duda just got jobbed. Unsurprisingly, on the do-over, Duda struck out, and the next two batters went in order. It is Spring Training, however, so you can only get so upset (no one even bothered to leave the dugout to argue), although there was a Mets fan in our section who was having an aggressive aneurysm at the umpire for the rest of the game.

After a leadoff bunt single in the ninth, the Braves went out on a 4-6-3 double play and a ground-out to the pitcher, and the listless Mets also went in order, making the 3-2 score final, allowing me to watch the Mets lose to the Braves for the first of many times this season.


The Scorecard:

Braves vs. Metropolitans, 03/17/12. Braves "win," 3-2.

The $6 magazine program was largely the same as last year, with ambiguously labeled "A," "B," "R," and "H" columns in the summation. I chose to use them as "At bats," "runs Batted in," "Runs," and "Hits." Beside an ambiguous circle around Murphy's strike out to indicate his getting the short end of the stick, and the surfeit of double-plays, there was nothing scoring-wise of note. Nothing, of course, except for the frantic updating of the lineups after the fifth inning, not much aided by lazy game announcers who did not give complete, timely, or accurate updates on the game, either in announcements or on the scoreboard, which some might rightly argue is their actual job.


The Accommodations:
I was once again staying at my parents' snowbird condo. There were various discussions about what constitutes a proper room temperature, with the side of reason and logic dictating that 80 degrees was too warm to sleep in, and the other side arguing that they were cold. The argument was decided when they went to sleep and left the thermostat in the living room with me.

On the Utter Beauty of Incompetence

Fluffy clouds

Sunday, March 18, 2012
Hoboken, NJ


Outside of the Game:
The day started off pleasantly enough. My parents and I went out for breakfast at some fancy champagne brunch place where I filled up on anything and everything not inclusive of seafood. And it is a good thing I did.

After some ironic concern about getting to the airport on time for my flight, I got my boarding pass, went through security, and found that my flight was already delayed a half hour. Our connecting flight in was delayed coming down from Newark, and a half hour delay that long before boarding is almost never a good sign. Nevertheless, for a while it actually appeared that it would just be a half-hour delay, and we got boarded up roughly on time to take off a half hour late.

When I got to my seat, the entertainment system wasn't working, which should have tipped off strike two in my mind. My entire row wasn't working, the only row on the plan so afflicted. I didn't think too much of it at the time, but I clearly should have.

Because they managed to screw up the stand-by seating, causing delay two, and strike three, I guess. The cross-analogies are getting away from me. After a disgruntled passenger who was told there was a seat for him was dragged from the plane, we got as far as the runway before delay three happened. Some routine signal was not firing correctly, so we had to go back to the gate for maintenance, where, coincidentally, I was told that they would reboot the entertainment system for us.

"Fifteen minutes" for the crack maintenance crew to fix the faulty sensor took two more hours, and, not surprisingly, they never rebooted the entertainment system. Oh, did I mention the screaming babies? Because there were screaming babies all over the place, who can't be blamed for the situation, to be sure, but I sure can blame those lying son-of-a-bitch flight attendants who made me stare at a blank screen in silence for three hours while they cried around me.

A scant three hours after we were supposed to depart, we were in the air. And the flight felt much longer going up than it did coming down. But it eventually did end, to the surprise of everyone on the plane.

Blearily, I placed the call for my pickup home, which thankfully arrived quickly and without incident, taking me regretfully back to my apartment.


The Accommodations:
Eventually, Hoboken.

Click here to see all the photos from this trip.

2012 Stand-Alone Trip

Port Saint Lucie

An Introduction:

One the final frontiers of my baseball travels was the harbinger of better things: Spring Training. With my parents wintering in Florida for the first time, everything was in place to check this off my list.

On The Joys of Air Travel

Friday, March 18, 2011
Boynton Beach, Florida


Outside of the Game:
Any day not a work is by definition a good day, but even Mother Nature herself seemed to shine a smile on this day, as the Spring weather in New Jersey came within five degrees of my destination in Florida, although it apparently got much colder up North for the rest of the weekend in my absence.

I had a civilized early afternoon flight out of Newark Liberty God Bless America Airport to West Palm Beach. I had originally feared that I would be the only person over 30 on a plane full of college kids going to Spring Break, but the dumb-ass twenty-something traffic was going in the other direction, as break was the week before for most colleges. As it occurred, I would in fact be one of the few passengers under 70.

I got to Newark Liberty Bald Eagle Apple Pie Airport with time to spare, and so grabbed a sandwich for the flight before lining up to board. The boarding process was a chaotic affair, as there were so many special boarding customers, and the gate staff did very little to keep a firm hand on order until things got jiggy. With so many special boarders without staff comment, eventually the unwashed masses just figured it was general boarding and started to storm the gate. The airline employees then resorted to imperious orders, clearly frustrated with our inability to follow the many dictums they hadn't actually provided until that very moment.

We eventually began the cheery death march to our seats, but on the jetway, staff were confiscating every other person's carry-on bags rather abruptly and with little explanation beyond "low carry-on space." It will likely not surprise the reader to know that the flight attendants claimed to know nothing about why the bags were being taken [and no doubt appreciated half of the plane being grumpied up for them], and that there was, of course, a completely empty overhead bin at my seat.

These disappointments behind me, I settled in for a movie and Japanese practice for the short flight down. In a cloudless sky with no wind, we managed to encounter some middling turbulence on the way to the ground, but it was an otherwise uneventful flight.

On landing, I was met by my father, and everyone who had their bags illegally seized got refreshedly grumpied again as we trundled down to the baggage claim. In what was clearly a severe crime against all of humanity, our day was utterly ruined by the extra half hour removed by the wait, and I drove back to my parent's condo with my dad.

The thing I always forget about Florida is how god-awful bright the place is. You can't even adequately describe the brightness, as it transcends the common five senses and is bright straight through you as a metaphysical object -- no amount of mere solid shading can fully protect you from it. I spent a good deal of the ride back with my eyes tightly shut and my hat pushed down hard on my head in an inadequate effort to keep said brightness at bay. After meeting my mother at the condo and dropping off my stuff, my father took my for a bright drive around the bright town, followed by my rather energetic nap back at the condo, huddled indoors away from the endless, sentient bright.

That evening, my parents were hosting a party for a metric gaggle of my relatives at the condo. I got to see cousins and uncles and whatnot I hadn't seen in decades, or met new offspring with whom I had not yet been acquainted. The years in particular had not been kind to my uncle, who was knee-deep in Alzheimer's. I always remember him as a quick-witted cut-up goofball always telling off-color jokes to his nephews, but this evening, he spent the entire night starting and stopping the same story with a glazed stare. So there's that.

In more depressing news, I lost my Walmart virginity that night. I had brought my brand-new camera down with me to field test it at the game on Saturday, and during the flight, the lens cap had fallen off in my camera case, leaving my shiny news lens a mess of dust. I managed to leave my cleaning kit at home, so I had to get something suitable to clean the lens. We ordered pizza for everyone at the party, and down the street from the pizzeria was a Walmart, which was my best bet for camera supplies in the area. Bowing to the inevitable, I overcame the tangible wall of despair and went in, found a cleaning kit in two minutes, and then spent ten trying to check out. Weighing the options of the octogenarian manning the electronics counter and the few listless-looking cashiers meandering their way through their lines of equally listless customers, my best course of action left me at the mercy of a a self-check out isle. So not only did I visit a Walmart, it is forever recorded on my credit card statement for posterity and eternity.

On a more positive note, most of my cousin's kids are huge baseball fans. One was the relation who came up to New York last year to see the Subway Series game. It is rare to be around so many other hard-core fans, so there was a good deal of baseball talk for most of the evening, which was agreeable enough. Most of the assembled would also be joining my father and me at the game the next day.

Eventually the evening ran down, we split up the tickets for the next day, and everyone either went home or went to bed.


The Accommodations:
As mentioned, I stayed at my parent's condo in one of the many senior-only communities that seemed to dominate the landscape down there. This summer was an experiment for them in the snow bird lifestyle, as they both had recently retired completely, and my father was enthusiastic about the prospect of golfing all year. They rented this unit from my godfather's widow, and it was in a nice enough community right on the Intracoastal Waterway (which I embarrassingly enough didn't know existed until I got there and had my father explain the thing to my disbelieving self). A doored-in porch off the kitchen led out to a lawn that was directly next to the Intracoastal, so it was a nice enough thing.

I did, however, have to sleep on the couch. I have slept on worse couches to be sure, but I was younger, and had a much more compliant lower back in those days.

On Everything Turning Up Oogie

Digital Domain Park, 2011

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Washington Nationals vs. New York Metropolitans [Split Squad]
Digital Domain Park
Grapefruit League
Port Saint Lucie, Florida
1:10 PM


Outside of the Game:
Port St. Lucie is a good hour from my parents' condo, so we had to leave at a relatively early hour in expectation of getting there in time for the gate opening at just after 11. My father and I had to give a ride to one of my cousin's sons, as well as drop off some chairs and whatnot they had borrowed for the party the night before.

My cousin's husband is an architect by trade, and they were in the process of moving out of a multi-million-dollar spec home he designed in which they had been living. I got the grand tour, and as impressive as the house was, I can't imagine what it must be to try and live there. How does one do some laundry when you carry your laundry through the colonnade, down the spiral staircase, and over the hardwood floors to the marble-inlaid laundry room. I suppose the obvious answer is, "You don't; the help does," but it still doesn't address issues such as: Is it really comfortable to sit in a pile of Tuscan throw pillows on an ornate Italianate fainting couch to watch some TV?

One thing I did discover during the tour was the stack of computer games in the kid's room. And there it was. There was one of my tribe here. After finding this out, he and I spent a good portion of the drive up to the stadium talking about video games and the like, to the great consternation of my father, who had barely tolerated my own interest in the subject growing up. Being trapped in a car with two computer game nerds was as annoying to him as, well, being trapped in a car with my parents was to me.

After the game, there was an uneventful drive home, punctuated by naps by my cousin's son and myself, only interrupted by my father, annoyed that he, too, couldn't take a nap until we got back home. We dropped my relation off and then went back to the condo, where my parents ran off to catch the late Saturday mass while I hit the condo complex's exercise room and got ready for dinner.

My parents and I went out to one of the myriad of local Italian restaurants and had a tolerable evening alone in each other's company before returning to the condo to get some rest.


The Stadium & Fans:

Home plate to center field, Digital Domain Park

This was my first foray into Spring Training baseball, and I had spent years hearing about what a dump Digital Domain Park (nee Tradition Field) was. And in at least one regard it quite lived up to that reputation, as the signage to get to the park is actively unhelpful. Although there are some not-at-all-attention-getting signs for the stadium on the highway, the signs nearly immediately disappear in an unhelpful way right before a crucial turn for the stadium needs to be made. Literally one more sign with an arrow pointing to the right would save the process, but it is apparently not seen as necessary, as my car merrily went on its way until we realized we had definitely gone too far and consulted a local for more specific directions to triangulate our position. The GPS entry for the stadium is similarly counter-productive. The whole thing can be seen an a massive allegory for the lack of details that permeates the Metropolitans franchise from the ground up, so that this should be the case at their Spring Training facility should be no great surprise.

Another great knock against the facility from players and broadcasters both former and current is the lack of anything to do in Port St. Lucie. I was not able to get any data on that, but the much-maligned park itself was not the letdown I was expecting. While I don't have much experience with other Spring Training facilities in Florida, Digital Domain Park itself was a quite respectable single-A park (which it is for the remainder of the year for the Port St. Lucie Mets), although extensive renovations on the facility had happened twice prior to my visit.

The seating is all on one level, with a large concrete overhang covering the area behind home plate, and metal bleachers extending out the right field line, terminating in "The Berm," a picnic area in the outfield with its own entrance and concessions. Regular concessions fill the area behind the seating bowl, with a number of specialty and premium concessions, such as the Tiki Bar in Left Field, the Dyna-Met Grille, and a "mini-burger" stand (which probably are not called "Sliders" because that's the mascot's name, and so unfortunate associations could be made).

There is also common talk about the Metropolitans being unable to fill their Spring Training stadium, but it was close to a capacity crowd the day I went, which was a weekend home day game late in the Spring schedule. The crowd was active and into it, and if I had to guess, I'd say at least a third of them were people like myself -- non-locals coming down explicitly to visit to see Spring Training baseball.


At the Game With Oogie:

I never win things.

As mentioned, the game had turned into something of a family event. My father and one of my cousin's kids came up with us in the car. Joining us later would be another cousin's ex-husband and three of their children. Also as mentioned, the signage to get to the stadium is not exactly the clearest, and the later group got extremely lost, not appearing until the third inning at some point. And they are locals to Florida.

But my main excitement for the game had happened before they even showed up. My father enjoys during the word jumble and other puzzles in the daily paper and had made some noise about not being able to get a paper that day because we had to leave so early. My cousin's son and he went into the stadium while I did my OCD photography outside. While there, I saw a local paper that was giving away copies of their product with the purchase of a $3 set of baseball cards. Next to that booth was some charity of some sort that was selling raffle tickets. Whenever I go to a game, and there is any sort of charity event or whatnot, I find it good for the karma to participate. Without thinking too much about it, I bought the baseball cards and three raffle tickets for $5 and then went into the stadium to drop off the paper to my father and go around and take more pictures.

All of this was promptly forgotten until about the second inning when someone came to my row looking for me by name. It took me a little while to process everything, but I had won the raffle I entered, which was for a signed Jose Reyes jersey. After posing for a picture, the item in question was unceremoniously handed over in a crappy plastic bag, which I promptly put into my waterproof game bag and got out of harm's way. It seemed that the gods of baseball were shining on me this afternoon.


The Game:

First pitch, Nationals vs. Metropolitans

This one was over quickly. The Mets' Capuano was fresh off the disabled list and had the Nationals in his pocket, taking a no-hitter most of the way through the fourth inning. The Nats' Marquis was not as adept. His wildness and inability to spot his pitches led to the Mets teeing off to the tune of four runs in the bottom of the first. Despite scattering some base runners in the next few frames, Marquis managed to hold it together until the fourth, where he let two singles go before being pulled for relief that walked another and gave up a long triple that brought everyone home, leaving the Mets with a 7-0 lead at the start of the fifth.

Relief pitchers started flying fast and furious in the middle innings, as is wont in spring games. In the top of the seventh, a new Mets' twirler gave up a ground rule double and a walk before taking a seat. Time stopped at this point for me, as I was trying to work out who was the pitcher being brought in to replace him, and why the number "46" seemed so familiar.

The crushing despair of realization hit me, as I buried my face in my hands and knew that the seven run lead was not even remotely safe, and one of my cousins' kids in the row behind figured out what was happened and tried to comfort me.

Perennial jackass Oliver F-ing Perez was being brought in.

I don't have an accurate count, but within five pitches, a towering home run was flying over the fence in the other direction, bringing home three runs. The crowd did not even have time to work up a good "boo" before Perez gave up another even longer shot to the next batter. Momentarily stupefied by this rash display of incompetence, the crowd found its voice again and began to rain down a Philadelphia-level of abuse on Perez. Although managing to get two outs on hard-hit balls to short and left field, he walked the next batter before the manager went to get him.

Hopefully the last time he leaves the mound in a Metropolitan uniform

Somewhere just prior to this moment, I was overcome with a great sense of transcendent joy. Perez was walking a razor's edge between life and death on the roster, and I realized that this pathetic performance against a split squad of the only team in the league worse than the Mets had most likely sealed his fate and would force the team to finally kick him out on his ass. I would be likely witnessing Oliver Perez's last walk off the mound as a Met, and with a zealot's gusto I began taking pictures of this blessed event. As it turned out, I was correct, and I contemplate turning the pictures into many different celebratory items, including posters and t-shirts.

After the seventh, scattered baserunners aside, the game went quietly, and the Mets held on for a 7-4 victory.


The Scorecard:

Nationals vs. Metropolitans, 03/19/11. Metropolitans win, 7-4.

The $6 program had a full-sized scorecard in the center. It had a lot of space and a lot of extra lines to accommodate those crazy enough to try and score a Spring Training game. And since there was no lineup on the scoreboard in center, trying to keep up with all the player swaps (even in this relatively late Spring game) was a bit of a challenge, especially in the late innings, when farm hands not in the program with jersey numbers in the 90s started showing up every inning. Only one member of the Nationals was left unmolested for the entire game, and another Nat stayed for the whole contest, but switched positions once.

There was a lot of scoring lunacy with a lot of unconventional outs. The top of the first ended with a National getting picked off first, and the bottom of the first ended with two consecutive outfield assists. The first was a rundown on a runner trying to score from first on a double (leading to the all-so-common 9-2-5 putout), and the last was a runner trying to score from second and a single, in a good-olde 7-2. A couple of dropped third strikes in the top of the third ended the wackiness from a scoring perspective.


The Accommodations:
Back at my parents' condo again for another round of couch versus lower back, though I was in a decidedly better frame of mind than the night previous.

On Escaping Unharmed

Sunday, March 20, 2011
Hoboken, NJ


Outside of the Game:
On Sunday, I had to head home. While the weather was much less warm where I was going, it would assuredly be much less bright, so it had that going for it. I slept in a little, hit the workout room at the condo, and then washed and packed up. After the assorted parents had been assembled, it was time for brunch. For some reason, of all the early afternoon eating options available in Florida, my parents had developed an affectation for Denny's. Since I hadn't been there in a number of years, I had no particular objection besides the obvious.

A leisurely brunch later, we headed off to the airport, where I was left off. My parents not having a computer available to them, I had to check in at the airport, and there was trouble at the kiosk, as there always seems to be. With the help of a pleasant ticket agent, I was able to get my boarding pass, but not before my suspicion was raised. I bummed amicably around the airport until it was time to board my flight.

And then they announced that the flight was oversold, and the crowd, as they say, turned ugly. Everyone shot daggers at the elite members that boarded first and there no doubt was even some resentment cast towards the elderly, infirm, and infant-bearers who similarly got early admission to the insufficient amount of seats. The general boarding of seat rows set off a general, but orderly, scrum of edgy tri-state residents to the plane.

Fate was still with me, however, and I managed to get to my seat and stow my bag with no further incident, and apparently enough people took the carrot from the airline that there was no forcible removal of patrons from the plane. An interesting side note: When the overhead space on the plane got full, the stewardess closed up the full overhead bins and helpfully told passengers arriving to stow their baggage in any of the overhead bins further up the plane. Clearly she had read the manual. Perhaps she can lend it to the flight crew on the other damn plane.

A movie, Japanese practice, some turbulence, and a mild sense of deja vu later, I was in Newark to pick up my limo ride home to a fun-filled evening of laundry.


The Accommodations:
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like Hoboken.

Click here to see all the photos from this trip.

2011 Stand-Alone Trip