Port St. Lucie

On Needing and Getting

Tradition Field, 2015

Saturday, March 14, 2015

Washington Nationals vs. New York Metropolitans
Grapefruit League (Spring Training)
Tradition Field
Port St. Lucie, FL
1:10 PM


Outside the Game:

Back at my parents' condo, I was gratefully only awakened once by my father getting up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. As he wasn't playing golf because he would be going to the game with me, I was spared the second awakening. I spent the morning looking at the rest of my trip and working out all the times I could justify staying in a hotel to avoid staying with my parents--while nursing my sore back from the fold-out couch. It was a relatively early start, and I was out the door by nine.

On the hour drive north, I ran into the largest speed trap that I'd even witnessed in person. It was almost comically large. It started with on cop on the side of the road just before the exits to Port St. Lucie, so it was clearly geared to nap New Yorkers who may be speeding up to the game. I thankfully saw the first cop early and slowed down, but in the course of the next two miles, there were at least six cop cars involved in tagging and running down supposed speed offenders on the way to the game. It was a big haul that clearly made the patrolled area richer... um, safer. Of course, I meant safer.

I eventually parked up on another lawn, guided by more people in reflective vests, though the elaborate rope cattle-channels that had been arranged at Tradition Field so far paled anything I'd previously encountered. I eventually found my personal slab of grass, called my father to warn him about the speed trap, put on my sunscreen, and head out into the mid-Florida morning.

Since the last visit, they had opened up the practice fields to fans, so that, of course, was my first stop. I ran into pitchers doing fielding drills and one of the practice squads taking some batting practice. It is then that the warning battery light ominously came on my camera. I carry a spare, of course, but something about the light struck an uncanny chord, perhaps realizing somewhere in my hind brain that I hadn't recharged that backup battery since last year.

Autograph fields

Regardless, I went about my business and got inside, and after two pictures, the battery faded to black. I put in my replacement and saw it was on the warning cycle as well. I took as many pictures as I could before it, too, went to black. So, the only field where I technically didn't need to take more pictures but desperately wanted to take more pictures found me without an operating camera. Hurrah.

Heading out after the game entailed a small amount of congestion to get out to the main road, and then smooth sailing back south. Desperately out of clothes, I threw in a load of laundry as soon as I got back, took a shower, and got dressed for the family pizza party that evening. My clothes got out of the drier minutes before the guests started to arrive, so I quietly folded in the back room and then came to join the festivities, such as they were.

The party was endured, barely, but went on far too long. Exhausted from the day's events, I had passed out in my parents' bedroom long before the last guest belatedly left. After midnight and facing under seven hour's sleep as it was, I yelled at my mother until she stopped cleaning up to prevent "ants" and went to bed in the living room.


Stadium & Fans:

Home plate to center field, Tradition Field

Tradition Field in lovely, downtown Port St. Lonely hadn’t really changed much since my last visit. The big new thing was that the practice fields behind the park had been opened up to fans, mirroring the trend around the Grapefruit League to give fans more access to the players and prospects. The slapdash nature of this opening was very much in effect, as there were a couple of non-committal signs pointing in the general direction of the entrance, at the back of one of the parking lots.

You then must tromp across a field and dried-up riverbed to get to the practice area set up in typical Spring-Training arrangement, with practice fields interspersed with skills areas for running, fielding, bunting and the like. In a nod to making it slightly fan-friendly, there are street signs naming the various paths in the facility after Met luminaries such as Gil Hodges and Tom Seaver, though the practice fields themselves are recipients of boring numbers as opposed to names of former greats as you find in other Spring Training parks. Still, some progress is still progress.

The rest of the park remained largely the same, with some vendors changing a tiny bit, and the sponsorships for some of the bars and party zones doing the inevitable cycling that happens year-over-year. The park had a pretty good turnout for the contest against the Nationals, and now with the reduced time between innings thanks to the new rules, there was even less going on for interstitial entertainment than before. Mr. Met, sadly, remained up north.


At the Game with Oogie:

Hot dog and souvenir soda

As I had my own car and had to do a review, I hit the beaches early, unfettered by parents and relations. Before their arrival, I got a hot dog and drink, as well as a batting helmet full of meatballs, because how can't you, really?

At the appointed time for everyone else's arrival, I went to a place that had a view of the ticket area to see if I could see them. They spotted me first, as they were right below me waiting to get in line for the elevator. I had thought my father was being particularly lazy, but it turned out that a family friend attending the game with us had just undergone surgery and was in a cast.

Thus united, we were off to our seats on the first-base side, under the merciful shade of the overhang. I had already grabbed food earlier in my ramblings, but everyone else grabbed food and drinks (many getting the meatballs in a batting helmet), and just before the game, the later contingent of my relations showed up to fill in the seats. The talk was limited to the play on field and the nice day we had in the shade.


The Game: 

This meaningless Spring Training matchup had the Washington Nationals facing off against the New York Metropolitans. As it happened, this pre-season match-up of NL East rivals was a walk away by the New York squad, signifying absolutely nothing about the season ahead.

The game started slowly, with Washington only getting a walk in the first, and the Metropolitans going in order. The Nationals managed to get a guy to third in the top of the second thanks to a one-out double and a ground out, but there he stayed. New York again went in order. Washington took their turn going in order in the top of the third, but the Metropolitans decided to score some runs, getting four of them in with a double, single, sacrifice fly, walk, and a David Wright three-run homer to dead center, leaving them with a 4-0 lead after three innings.

The Nats again went in order in the fourth, and New York joined them in the bottom of the inning. Washington finally got another base runner with a walk in the top of the fifth, while the Metropolitans had a solitary two-out double of their own. Despite a leadoff single, the Nationals managed to go in order in the top of the sixth thanks to a double play, while New York tacked on two more runs with a leadoff homer to left and a triple followed by a single to make it 6-0.

Washington finally got on the board in the seventh with a single, a double, and another single, driving in two runs to make it a more respectable 6-2. The Metropolitans promptly got those runs back with a double and a homer to left, extending the lead to 8-2. The Nats just had a single in the top of the eighth, while New York continued to feast on the Washington bullpen. Five more runs came in the bottom of the eighth thanks to three straight singles to start off the inning, then a walk, a double, and a two-base error on the shortstop, leaving them with a 13-2 lead. Washington went down swinging in the top of the ninth with a leadoff single and a homer to right, but three outs closed up the meaningless win at 13-4 New York.


The Scorecard:

Nationals vs. Metropolitans, 03/14/15. Metropolitans "win," 13-4.

The scorecard was part of the $5 full-color magazine program. It took over the centerfold spread of the program on semi-gloss paper that made it difficult to write in pencil and especially colored pencil. In addition, there was printing behind the scoring area, which smudged easily and made it difficult to erase.

Each batting line had a colored space for a replacement batter, batting totals were at the end of each line, and inning totals were at the bottom of each column. However, the batting lines at the end of each line were labelled "A," "B," "R," and "H," and assuming that was "At Bats," "RBIs," "Runs," and "Hits," it was, at best, an unconventional alignment and ordering. Also, there were no pitching lines, although I entered them in in some blank space at the bottom. The scorecard took up only about a half of the area, leaving some baseball art at the top and scoring rules and stadium rules at the bottom. The background was white, but there was no easy white space for notations. There was nothing in scoring boxes except for the background printing, so it was comfortable enough to score.

There were mercifully few plays of note. The two-base error in the bottom of the eighth by the Nationals shortstop lead to a run, and the ceremonial swapping out of the starters ran its course between the eighth and ninth inning for the Nationals and the fourth and eighth for the Metropolitans, with only one player on each team not getting a rest.


The Accommodations: 

I was back at my parent's condo again, wishing that I wasn't.

Click here to see all the photos from this trip.

2015 Grapefruit League

Port St. Lucie

On a Curious Effect of the Season

Newark Liberty Bald Eagle God-Bless-America Airport

Friday, March 15, 2013

Boynton Beach, FL


Outside the Game:
It always seems that around this time of year, work is getting me down. This year was no different, but no doubt more intense, as thanks to client foot-dragging and several rather abrupt changes of direction, I had managed to work 180 hours in the previous three weeks, instead of the more traditional 120.

So I was more than ready to head down for Spring Training, especially as my work troubles were flying parallel to what seemed like an endless off-season without baseball. Taking my first vacation day since last July, I dragged myself out of bed and off to the airport. The trip did not begin under good signs, as even after 9 AM on a Friday, the Pulaski Skyway was still clogged up in both directions.

More surprisingly, this turned out to be the last hitch in my travels. I got through security with little trouble (partly due to the fact that I bought my tickets back before my Silver Elite status had lapsed), had a quick breakfast a terminal diner, and headed out to my gate, where a crew, a plane, and gate staff were already waiting.

I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop on this flight, but it never did. There were swarms of children and the elderly joining me down to West Palm Beach, but the boarding of the flight was orderly and relatively without incident. The children remained well-behaved for the entire flight, and I found myself playing Skee Ball on my iPad for the duration of the uneventful trip.

My father picked me up at the airport, and I was again thrust into the land of eternal brightness. My parents had a different unit in the old folks condo complex this year, which came with an additional bathroom and bedroom. I immediately made use of the later to take an extended nap, and enjoyed the nicest Friday I've had in quite a while.

As has become tradition, my family in Florida came over for a pizza party that evening. It was mostly tolerable, as most of the younger folks and myself adjourned to the patio to talk baseball and Archer for most of the night. One of my aunts is hosting a Caribbean student who is up to play baseball for a local high school. He was an interesting source of insight and discussion on different cultural practices in baseball.

Pizza was eaten, plans were made for getting to the game the next day, and eventually everyone went back to their domiciles of choice.


The Accommodations:
As mentioned, I was again staying in my parents' snowbird condo in Boynton Beach. This year, I had a room all to myself, which was a welcome change from sleeping on a pull-out couch in the living room, to be awakened by whatever parent dragged themselves through first the next morning, inevitably earlier than good taste would dictate.

Worthy of note was the truly bad taste the owners of this condo possessed. The place was filled to the brim with knickknacks from Boston and Martha's Vineyard, but because of one NY picture in the menagerie, my mother had decided they were from New York. Wherever their origin, the truly astounding amount of ceramic pigs and ugly nautical items pointed an accusing finger at whoever was responsible for their interior decorating.

On the Games Not Mattering

Tradition Field, 2013

Saturday, March 16, 2013
Miami Marlins vs. New York Metropolitans
Tradition Field
Grapefruit League (Spring Training)
Port St. Lucie, FL
1:10 PM


Outside the Game:
It was a relatively early start the next day. We had the children of cousins to pick up to take to the game with us, and I was officially writing up this stadium for my first gig with Stadium Journeys magazine, so I had to get there early. We got there with a minimum of fuss, parked early, and I parted ways with my compatriots to do my stadium write-up.

After the game, we got back to the car for a similarly unnoticeable drive back to the condo. My parents went to church, I went to sleep, and we went out for another contentious dinner of passive aggression, ingrained behavior patterns, and tiresome arguments.


The Stadium & Fans:

Home plate to center field, Tradition Field

For their 25th year as the Spring Training home of the Mets, they had to dust off the two year-old signs for Tradition Field, as the previous marketing arrangement with Digital Domain had expired last year. The old signs seemed to not be too far in storage and were out and shiny for the start of the game.

There weren't many updates of note since the remodeling last year that hooked up the picnic berm in the outfield with the rest of the park. They added a championship pennant wall near the outfield entrance, with all the victories of the parent club as well as the minor league affiliates that call the stadium home for the rest of the year.

As it was a weekend game late in spring against a local opponent, the stadium was more filled than in previous years, about 3/4ths full up. Most of the assembled were Mets fans, but given the proximity of the Marlins, there was a good deal of the opposition in attendance as well.


At the Game with Oogie:

Sliders

I  was once again with my family at this game, and sundry cousins and their children and their foreign exchange students were sitting with us in our block of seats over two rows. That most of them were Marlins fans eventually became a point of contention. All around us were big families of Mets fans clearly down for the season.


The Game:

First pitch, Marlins vs. Metropolitans

For the most part, this was an early pitcher's duel that turned into a game of musical chairs later.

The visiting Marlins managed to scare up a one-out double in the first and nothing else, while the Mets squandered a leadoff walk and single with a double-play and a ground out. The Marlins squeezed out one single in each of the next two innings, but the Mets went meekly down in order.

In the top of the fourth, a lead-off routine ground ball to third turned into something more, as Justin Turner caught his cleat on the lip of the grass and splayed himself out making the throw to first, leading to an E5 and his removal from the game. This seemed inevitably followed by a triple to right, bringing home a run and leaving a runner at third with no outs. A ground out to short brought the runner home, and was followed by a walk. But further damage was averted by two quick outs, leaving Miami up 2-0.

The Mets answered in the bottom of the inning with a one-out single followed by a ground-rule double to deep center. A ground-out to second brought the runner from third home, and a walk made it first and second with two outs. But a weak chop to short ended the inning 2-1 Marlins.

The Marlins went in order in the fifth and sixth, and the Mets only managed a lonely single in the fifth and leadoff walk in the sixth (erased on another double play). The seventh was another scoring frame, as the Marlins got a leadoff double to left that was moved over to third on a ground-out and brought home on a two-out single. The Mets also got a leadoff double to left that got moved home on two successive ground-outs, making the distance between the teams the same as last inning and the score 3-2 Marlins.

The Marlins tacked on an insurance run in the eighth with a one-out monster blast out of the park to left. A single and walk followed, but they got nothing more from it. The insurance run wasn't needed, and the Mets went in order for the rest of the game. One last slightly positive note for the Mets was getting out of trouble in the top of the ninth, with back-to-back walks that were erased on a caught stealing and a double play.

Nevertheless, the Marlins win this one, 4-2.


The Scorecard:

Marlins vs. Metropolitans, 03/16/13. Marlins win, 4-2.

I again delved into the madness of scoring a Spring Training game, and picked up the $6 program at the concession booth outside the stadium. It is a still a little cramped for the amount of switching going on in March games, lacks pitching lines, and has a curiously labeled "B" column that I can only assume is for RBIs.

The game was not of much interest from a scoring perspective. There were a few double plays and an injury to note down, but otherwise straightforward. Around the seventh inning, changes started coming fast and hard, and the announcers once again did a very poor job of keeping us abreast of them. Sometimes they announced batters as pinch hitters, sometime as the position they were taking over... If they just would keep the lineups on the scoreboard during the game, 90% of this would be resolved.

But we persevere.

One item of note was two at-bats in the ninth. I wasn't tracking balls and strikes, but the second Marlins batter in the ninth had a truly epic at bat. By the time I was really taking note of it, the at-bat was six or seven pitches in. On a three-two count, he fouled off at least ten pitches. He eventually won the battle and drew the walk. In the Mets half of the inning, there was another lengthy at-bat, but not nearly as long as the first. It probably went about ten to twelve pitches and ended in an out. Let's go Mets.


The Accommodations:
I was once again on the futon in the second bedroom of my parents' condo at the over 55 community. I added incrementally to the damage to my lower back.

On Small Pockets

West Palm Beach Airport

Sunday, March 17, 2013

Hoboken, NJ


Outside of the Game:
And so it goes. After sleeping in as long as possible on an awkward futon, I awoke and packed up to go. My mother claimed herself sick again, so it would just be my father and myself going out for breakfast this morning.

Foregoing a brunch for a diner breakfast being sans madre, we checked out a number of local places before settling on a diner slightly more out of the way, but on our route to the airport. We availed ourselves of some unhealthy consumables, and then went off to the airport.

The god of irony was looking down on me this day, as I had been complaining that the one thing I hated about the pants I wore that day was they had such small pockets. It is likely that at exactly that time, when I was trying to cram my cell phone in the same pocket with my wallet, that my cell phone actually squirted back out of my pocket and into my father's car. I did not notice this state of events until I got to the airport, and then I had no way of contacting my father to check, as said cell phone and the number for his cell phone were both in his car. (Or at least I supposed later. This turned out to be the case.)

I killed the requisite time at the airport, and one gate change later, it was time to board the flight home. The flight back was as quick as the flight down, landing so early that we needed to wait for a gate to open for us. I had to use all the change in my pocket to call my car service to confirm my arrival. Luckily, a follow-up was not needed, and I was whisked home for a glamorous evening of laundry and unpacking.


The Accommodations:
Sweet Home Hoboken

Click here to see all the photos from this trip.

2013 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