A "grown-up" to me means someone who has reached that point in his/her life where decisions are carefully made based upon years of prior experience and such experiences are analyzed, reviewed, utilized, and recycled in an insightful and intelligent manner. Lessons are learned, mistakes reviewed and hopefully corrected (or at least more fully understood). In addition, a "grown-up" is able to defer his/her own needs when necessary. Put the needs of others first when appropriate. Treat others with due respect. And respect the opinions of others (or at least their right to voice them). Respond to stressful situations in a mature, sensitive, and careful manner. Live an organized life with a valid set of priorities. Hmmm. And successfully distinguish between reality - and fantasy?
On Monday my family and I participated in the final graveside ceremonies that marked the official end of mourning for our parents (each parent having passed away in 2012). Everyone I know mentioned the term "closure". (I prefer to think of it as - another! - "wake-up call".) I would not call it "closure" - I am going to miss my parents and mourn their passing forever - but at least there are certain necessary (and unpleasant) tasks that have been completed. To a certain extent this is now the time to start over. So - eager to experience the yearly ritual of baseball spring training that makes it an important American symbol of rebirth, my brother and I drove the next day Port St. Lucie, the spring training home of the New York Mets. I was excited. The ten-year-old boy within me expected a warm breeze, a relaxed atmosphere...and a pervasive feeling that anything and everything was possible...
We drove right to Tradition Field. And...everything went wrong. We were in South Florida, right? You wouldn't know from the weather...cold with a blustery, chilling wind...like going to a game in Queens in April. Even with a heavy jacket I was cold. Spring training?
We'd planned to arrive around one pm - shortly before game time. Much to our amazement, there were huge lines waiting for tickets to the game. While I was impressed - all these people on line to watch what amounted to a practice game? - I was also more than a little annoyed. The lines moved slowly - evidently - unlike my former employers. who believed an employee could be effective juggling ten tasks at once - stadium management did not encourage multi-tasking. seats were selected - and paid for - in a very methodical manner. (While we waited on lune for an hour.)
We finally entered the stadium. Not what I expected...the stadium felt like any other major league park I'd ever been in - just smaller. Where were all the practice fields filled with layers not in the starting lineup, working on their skills, shagging fly balls, working on their curveballs? Off in the distance, away from Tradition Field...and off-limits to the fans. There would be no interaction with players, no leisurely appreciation of their skills. We walked to our seats, the game was in the third inning, Mets winning two to one. The Cardinals at bat. ! First pitch we experienced: a Cardinal took a hard swing and connected. The ball crashed into the pitching elbow of one of the Mets promising young pitchers, Jeremy Hefner. Ouch! Hefner came out of the game. Welcome to spring training.
The Mets are not a very good team. Spending little money to improve during the off-season and banking long-term success on the ability of some young players to reach their potential, they fielded a team of non-entities and strangers. First baseman Ike Davis, utiltymen Jordany Valdespin and Justin Turner - these were the only players I knew. But it was just a pre-season game, right? The perfect time to kick back, relax, enjoy the beautiful game of baseball. A pre-season game. The Cardinals scored several runs; someone hit a grand slam home run. And the Mets fans present unleashed a stream of boos and a tirade of curse words. (I learned a few new ones that day.) There were children present. Families on vacation. But the venom continued for the rest of the time we were there. Mets fans relentlessly expressing their disgust. Spring training? It's a spring training game! Did someone say priorities?
The Cardinal fans - who actually outnumbered the Mets fans two to one (a potentially sad omen for the coming season) were no better....taking ever opportunity to denigrate and verbally abuse the Mets.
The Cardinals ended up winning the game 11-4. Suddenly I realized...the Cardinals had defeated the Mets by that very same score in the Mets first-ever game back in 1962. An omen? Someone on the Cardinals hit another home run and otherwise cuffed around the Mets pitchers pretty good. Lucas Duda, a young outfield who disappointed last season, enjoyed a good game - a home run and a few RBIs...the rest of the offense did nothing. The bulk of the fans...Cardinal fans...were pretty happy. Everyone else was miserable. And my brother and I practically froze in the harsh and biting Florida wind.
To be fair, Tradition Field would probably be a very pleasant place to watch a game...all the seats were fairly close to the field and it was easy to enjoy the nuances of the game and appreciate the athleticism of the players. But freezing in the wind, forced to listen to the fans' vocal displeasure....it was difficult to concentrate on the game.
I asked an usher if there would be an opportunity to meet some players after the game. He laughed. "Meet the players?" he asked. "Meet the players? Not likely. They'll get into their expensive cars and blow out of here as fast as they can." I was hoping to get an autograph or two (for my daughter of course). The usher saw my expression. "Come early to tomorrow's game" he advised. "Some players sign autographs and talk to the fans during batting practice." Only tomorrow my brother and I will be on our way to Orlando to meet my fiance and my family. Oh well.
After Duda's homer in the 7th inning my brother and I decided to leave. We stopped at the Mets store downstairs. The prices were exorbitant. Tee shirts for forty-five dollars? I bought a Mets "Pez" dispenser for my daughter for five dollars.
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At the motel the guy behind the desk wore a Mets jersey and hat. He wasn't a fan. "The Mets pay my salary" he said. "That is, the motel does most of its business during the spring training season." I asked him if any players stay in the motel or the surrounding hotels. He laughed. Just like the usher. "The players hang out at their homes. Or perhaps in a secluded spot in a restaurant, surrounded by their entourage. It would be rare to just see a player at a bar. Or alone in a restaurant. And autographs - forget about it." He suddenly stared at me. "Don't you know the players are like rock stars now?" He looked around to see if anyone else in the motel at heard. He whispered"But you didn't hear that from me."
It'd been a tough two days. My brother went to sleep - I ventured out into the Port St. Lucie nightlife to look for Mets (despite the desk clerk's observation). He was right, no one who even looked like he could be a professional athlete. Just middle-aged men with pot bellies or older people. Some families as well. I was looking for my daughter - I'd brought a scorecard Tradition Field just in case - and also for that ten-year-old boy.
We would both be disappointed.
Spring training. In the morning my brother and I departed for Orlando. I was really looking forward to it.
When opening day comes I will - as always - be rooting for my team. However I won't get too carried away. People are dying after all.
I need a real spring training because it's tough as hell being a grown-up.
See you all next time. Be safe!
Stevenn
1 comment:
Caught part of EIGHT MEN OUT the other night, the story about the 1908 World Series scandal regarding the Chicago White Sox players. They related to their fans more than the "rock stars" today. "Say it ain't so, Joe".
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