I am writing from a hotel located in Port St. Lucie (otherwise known as the spring training home of the New York Mets). My brother and I attended the game between the St. Louis Cardinals and the Mets.
Readers of this blog know that I have been a Mets fan since the beginning and that the pragmatic and grown-up part of my personality sometimes goes right out the window when I discuss my team. That little boy - the kid who rooted for one of the worst teams in major league history - the Mets of Casey Stengel, (the young) Ed Kranepool, Al Moran, and Carl Willey, Choo Choo Coleman - had always dreamed of going to spring training. Seeing the facilities. Watching a game. soaking up the Florida sunshine. Warm breezes. Informal, laid-back atmosphere. And...maybe even...meeting the players?Spring training. A feeling of rebirth. Optimism running rampant - even when teams are clearly without much talent (and will shortly be selling their one - or two- decent players to a contending team - sometimes as early as June.) Still...one never knows. The tall, skinny young pitcher who had a losing record down in the minors could suddenly blossom - the shortstop could have a career year. The left fielder could overcome his inability to hit the curve ball....in March 1969 who could have predicted that the Mets - perennial losers - would truly become "Amazing" - and - against all odds - win the World's Championship?
Spring training. After Monday's events, it was especially important to be able to escape to Port St. Lucie and the Mets' spring training. My brother and myself (plus my daughter and her mom) had come down to Florida for the unveiling of my mother's stone. (There was also a brief ceremony to honor the memory of my father, as his ashes are buried in the same cemetery.) Participating in the morning service, I was once again hit hard with the stark and unhappy reality of a life's end. My parents are no longer here to cheer my accomplishments - or provide support when I fail. There is no above me now who can shield me from certain truths, try to protect me from unhappiness, keep me safe when safety is necessary. Of course, in reality I am a grown man, responsible for myself - and have been responsible for myself for a long time. But it's the idea...the idea that my parents were still around and available to fulfill this role if I needed them...well, it was comforting to hold onto that thought. A symbol of the past when I had someone who loved me unconditionally. It is very disconcerting to have to let it go.
As we left for Port St. Lucie - there was a very different feeling. We were going up to see the Mets. (There's that ten-year-old little boy again.) It was going to be perfect day...a "spring training" kind of a day...
In my favorite scene from the terrific movie "Five Hundred Days Of Summer", the protagonist is going to a party hosted by old girlfriend. He is still very much in love with her and is hoping for a reconciliation. And so - utilizing a split screen - we watch his expectations of how the evening will progress as the actual events unfold. His expectations, of course, are that she would be excited to see him, show him how she feels, and they would have a wonderful time at the party together. The reality is that she gives him a rather tepid welcome, pays little attention to him - and he suddenly realizes that she is wearing an engagement ring. Whereupon he bolts from the party and goes on a lengthy bender.
Maybe it's time for me to join him on that bender?
For years my impression of a Florida spring training were forged by a movie I watched when I was nine. It was called "Safe At Home". The mighty New Yankees - the Yankees of Mantle and Maris, Ford and Berra - trained in Fort Laudedale that year. A young boy tell his friends that he knows the Yankee players personally. Naturally his statement is challenged and he runs away to the Yankees' spring training facility to try to prove he is right. (Ultimately the kid has to confessed he lied. Not to worry though - the entire Yankee team shows up later to bail him out. Ahh...Hollywood!) In the meantime I have always remembered those images of spring training...blue skies, warm tropical
climate, dozens of simple ball fields filled with players batting, throwing, running. And players that were accessible. Fans able to watch from a short distance. Sometimes even engaging the players in conversation. Running into them around town (dinner at a nearby restaurant...drinks at the hotel bar...staying at the same a local hotel/motel.) Maybe even getting...autographs! (And wouldn't that little boy inside me love that?!)
As my daughter used to say when I wanted to do some activity she'd enjoyed when she was younger, "Dad - that was then, this is now."
More soon on my visit to spring training...and the day that was supposed to take my mind off more weighty matters.
Till then...be safe!
Stevenn
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