The Easter Story

The Easter story

Not THAT Easter story. But an Easter story nonetheless.

It was early April in 2001 and I was very much enjoying my time working in the front office of the Minnesota Twins Baseball Club. We in the operations department were on the fence about whether or not we should have an appearance by the Easter Bunny at the game the upcoming Sunday.

As I recall it, we didn't come to a decision at the weekly meeting that Monday, but come Thursday afternoon we had decided to go ahead with the plan. Given the fact that we were less than 72 hours away from the event, we needed two main ingredients:  A costume and a patsy. Er....I mean, costume wearer. There wasn't a whole lot of discussion about who would be in the "starring role". Having worn an actual original Chewbacca costume the previous August on a day when it when the temperature outside was over 100 degrees, my fate was already predetermined. (That's a whole DIFFERENT post right there. See my blog entitled "Wookie of the Year). So one of my co-workers and I took the short trip from the Metrodome, down Chicago Avenue to a costume shop and inquired about what costumes they might have left for rental at this late date. Bunny costumes are in short supply on the Thursday before Easter. I checked the aisles of the costume shop. The pickens were mighty slim, to say the least. I finally found a bunny costume that would fit and went my merry way back to my offices at the Metrodome.

Some 72 hours later it was Easter Sunday morning and I was in my office "getting my rabbit on".  The shoe covers are best when used with white shoes sized 10 (size 43 for those of you across the pond) or smaller. I, unfortunately, wear a size 12 (45 for you Brits). So it became necessary to secure the shoe covers with safety pins.  The costume, as you may be able to see from the photos posted on my facebook page today, is kinda........"form-fitting."

Complete with a pink tail the size of a softball, I readied myself for the adventure ahead of me. Just prior to putting on the head I took a look at it.  The bunny's got kind of a maniacal look on his face, like something out of a Wes Craven film. I asked for assistance from the Mountain Dew Funatics, known for assisting T.C. Bear in the distribution of t-shirts and goodwill during home games. I secured the head to my body and noticed that there was a small switch on the top of the head. This turned out to be a toggle switch which operated a mini fan in the top of the bunny's head.  I could hear it pretty clearly in the quiet of the locker room. "Can you guys hear that buzzing noise?", I asked my assistants. Their reaction was, "What noise?" This told me that my worry about the hum of the small-scale rotors was for naught.

I took a deep breath and headed down the ramp where the Vikings usually enter stadium and onto the field. We were expecting about 20,000 fans that day, which would've been a good showing considering our recent winning percentage and the fact that we hadn't qualified for the postseason since we'd won a world championship in 1991. 

I went down the left field line and met up with the one and only T.C. Bear. I followed him toward the stands where we signed many autographs. As I walked toward the home plate area I passed the Twins dugout. Now, somehow the word had leaked as to who was occupying the crazed-looking rabbit suit. I heard a player who will remain nameless (Jacque Jones) call out to me with the phrase, "Nice tail, Rod!"  For a moment, I figured that I already looked like a friend of Pennywise the Clown as it was, so stepping over to the dugout and choking-out our starting left fielder might be of a surprise to no one. But I thought that the viewing of such a traumatic experience for some of our younger fans would be long-lasting and cause many parents to answer questions they weren't prepared to answer from children already jacked-up from the consumption of a plethora of Easter confectionaries.

I knew that I would be throwing out the first pitch in a matter of minutes. But here's what's going through my mind. I'm wearing what can only be described as fuzzy oven mitts on my hands. They have no fingers. So throwing the first pitch could've proved to be a problem. I was already locked into throwing from the pitching rubber, some 60 feet, 6 inches away from home plate. No way I'm tossing from the turf at the front of the mound. i knew this would be the only time I would have this opportunity in my life.

Now, given the fingerless hand covers which I am wearing, I estimate that only one of three things will happen when I throw the Rawlings official Major League Baseball in just a few minutes. I will either grip the ball too tightly and throw it into the ground. I could grip it too lightly and have it slip out of my "paw" on the windup. Or I could get it just right and throw a strike on the corner to my catcher.

I was handed a ball by the pre-game coordinator and followed a 10-year old young man out to the mound who would be throwing a first pitch of his own. After he threw his pitch I hear the p.a. announcer say, "Okay, Easter! Your turn!" So I stepped up and looked in towards home plate, through the mouth of the maniacal rabbit at my catcher................T.C. Bear.

I went into the windup and threw a strike on the corner and here comes T.C.! We meet at the midway point and we hug each other enthusiastically. Over the buzzing in my head and the mild clapping from the crowd the bear yells at me. "You look so ridiculous!"  "Yes, I know!", I replied.

Now that's where the story would end....not so fast, Sparky.

I signed plenty of autographs and took dozens of pictures with people, kids and adults alike.  But I knew that one more major appearance awaited "Easter". The 7th inning stretch.

I met up with T.C. in the top of the 7th and we made our way to the top of section 125, just below the press box, for the singing of "The Baseball National Anthem", Take Me Out To The Ballgame. A song written by a man named Jack Newirth, even though Newirth had never actually seen a baseball game at the time he wrote it.  Also, the song as most people know it, is actually the chorus to a much longer song about a young woman named Katie Casey and a suitor who'd like to take her to see a show. But Katie likes baseball and..... the rest you can look up. But I digress.

T.C. and I begin moving to the song as the organist played for the crowd. We each swayed from side to side, but with only one problem. I can't see the video board and thus I can't see that we are moving in opposite directions on every other downbeat. I discovered this after seeing the video a few days later. A smiling bear and his maniacal-looking rabbit buddy. Both of us showing a mutual lack of rhythm. When my wife Bryn saw the video she thought it to be one of the funniest things she'd ever seen in her entire life. It nearly brought her to tears laughing each time we'd fire it. 2023 marked the first year without her here to view it with me and for that I am sad. It really IS pretty darn funny though.

Now THAT'S an Easter story.  Not THE Easter story, but MY Easter story.


I'm just sayin'.

Daylight Saving Time

Today's topic is daylight savings time.  I bring this up primarily because of an incident which occurred in March of 2007.

I was working at the ticket counter at the airport for AirTran Airways on the shift that begins at 4 a.m. (For those of you who haven't ever thought about it, there are people who START their work day at 4:00 am.  Who do you think has to check you in for the flight that leaves at 6:00?).  The morning had gone much like any other.  People showing up at the counter half asleep.  Some wearing pajama pants, NOT all of them in their teen years, unfortunately.  Others carrying pillows fresh from their own beds, all containing hair follicles and dried spittle and who knows what else.  Why you would take such a thing on the on the plane with you is beyond me. So you can acquire other peoples' hair follicles and dried spittle? But I digress. I carry a pillow from home on the road with me, but I pack it in my checked baggage.  Some passengers don't quite remember where they're going to.  When I ask, some reply "Minneapolis." Then they give me a puzzled look when I inform them that they are IN Minneapolis.  We see it all, really.

So, I'd checked in the last passengers for the 6:05 flight and the counter was rather quiet.  Up to the counter comes a man and woman who seem surprised that the area is relatively clear of crowds.  

"Good morning", I say as they approach.  The husband says, "We're here for the flight to Atlanta at 6:05".  "Okay, let me see about rebooking you on a later flight", I respond. "A later flight?", says the husband in his best upspeak."  "Yes, that flight left about 7 minutes ago", I tell him. "It's 6:12.  Daylight saving time started today."

He stares at me, then looks quickly at his wife and then back at myself.  "Well, how come the airline didn't call me at the hotel to remind me?", is the question he posed to me.  "Probably because we didn't know your hotel or room number or maybe we just assumed that you had paid attention to the news or weather channels in the past week as they reminded everyone in the country that this was going to happen", was my reply.  I had never thought he would try to blame someone else for his lack of planning.

At this very moment was when his wife looked up at the terminal ceiling for the answer to the question in her OWN head, which was something on the line of, "Is this nice man going to think that we are BOTH idiots?"  She immediately turned her back to him and addressed me over her right shoulder.

"You're going to Ft. Lauderdale, right?" "Yes", she said quietly in a very apologetic tone.  "Okay, let's see what we can do", I said.  I logged in to the information screen and found that the next flight left at 10:15 and it had room on it, as did the connection flight to Lauderdale.  I will admit that I was hoping like anything that they wouldn't be able to get out until the 3 p.m. flight, or the noon flight at the earliest.  So I rebooked them on standby for the next flight, processed their bags and printed their temporary boarding passes.  I did not speak to the husband during the process of the transaction.  He seemed to have realized the utter stupidity of the statements he had made only moments earlier, so he thought that silence was probably his best option.

No doubt in HIS head was milling the thought that he knew that HE WILL NEVER, EVER LIVE THIS DOWN!

As the tardy couple walked away and toward the security checkpoint I had a warm feeling in my heart knowing that for this event to play out in front of me I had awaken at 2:30 a.m.  On this day it was worth it.

So go to school kids.  When it's time to "spring ahead", or "fall back", act like you're in a Nike ad and Just Do It.

I'm just sayin'.                                                                  

Spring Training

I'm currently watching a spring training game on MLB Network. If MLB Network had existed when I was growing up I may have NEVER left my bedroom for long periods of time. I think they do an amazing job there and their programming is great for a baseball junkie like myself. Outside of any show where the term "analytics" is used or any reference to "the Shredder" comes up, I would lock in the channel and "rip the know off". Yes kids, there were knobs on televisions at one time. 

But today's topic is spring training.

When I was growing up nearly all baseball teams trained in Florida. Now, there were only 24 teams at the time, but the vast majority of teams were based in the Sunshine State. I always knew that my team, the New York Mets, were going to be playing their home games in St. Petersburg. They shared their stadium and complex with the St. Louis Cardinals at that time.

During the month of March there was not much heard from Florida. I would check the daily boxscore in the New York Daily News, which looked like a full roster list on some days, given how many players made it into the game that day.  Once a week or so we would get the games on AM radio (Some of you youngsters, born post-1985, may not know what AM radio is. Google it. Or you could listen the song by Everclear of the same name) and hear the names of the players who would make the trip north to start the season.  On a rare Saturday there would be an actual telecast from Florida on WOR Channel 9. Oh happy day! Those were special Saturdays.

Spring training games always seemed to have a recreational feel to them.  Game programs cost 50 cents and would double as a portable fan on warmer days.  Coaches seated NEXT to the dugout, not in it.  Autographs being signed by players during the game.  Pitchers jogging on the warning track DURING the game. Fans wearing enough tanning lotion to make them resemble Butterball turkeys fresh from the oven and ready for cranberry sauce with  stuffing on the side. Players with numbers on their backs higher than 80.(Something you see a lot more of these days). Sometimes two players in the dugout wearing the SAME number.  And there always seemed to be that one vendor who could be heard throughout the park, usually selling cold beer.

I didn't attend my first spring game until 1980.  It was in Bradenton, at the spring home of the Pittsburgh Pirates. My grandmother lived about a half mile away from what was then known as McKechnie Field so I simply left my car at her place and walked there.  I remember during our yearly vacations from Connecticut in the '70s passing the park and hoping that I might see a game played there someday. Spring break for me at that time happened after teams had broken camp and the regular season had begun. And now that wish was going to come true. The stadium is right on 9th street. So close to the street that when you drive past it during a game you need to to be leery of the occasional foul ball struck over the 3rd base stands as it could cause a traffic hazard.

When I moved to Florida in the early '80s to attend college I would get hold of the spring training schedule when it was released which was much later than it is today. I would adjust my work schedule to allow me to catch a couple of games a week during the month of March. I topped myself once in the fact that I saw able to see two games on the same day in two different cities- Bradenton and St. Petersburg. Ah, the beauty of spring training.

The Baltimore Orioles currently play their spring home games at Ed Smith Stadium in Sarasota. Prior to that the Cincinnati Reds called this their spring home before moving out to Arizona. This is only important to me because during the late '80s I played adult league softball on that very site when it was known as the Ed Smith softball complex. I must have the ghosts of two or three stellar defensive plays haunting that stadium to this day.

Spring training in Arizona is very popular now, as it still is in Florida.  About half of all major league teams train in Arizona.  Complexes are much more sophisticated these days. Some teams even share complexes. Practice fields are located in close proximity to the stadium.  Unlike the Pirates, where their Pirate City complex is on the far east side of Bradenton and not near the stadium.  Game tickets cost a lot more now than they did years ago.  The players are both friendlier AND more arrogant than they used to be. But most things about spring training remain the same.  The ball is still the same size.  The bases are still 90 feet apart.  It still takes 9 innings to decide a winner, although you have an occasional tie. It's still 3 strikes and you're out.  60 feet 6 inches from home plate to the pitcher's mound and some games are still broadcast on AM radio (see paragraph 3).

Spring training reminds us that we somehow made it through yet another winter, hope for our teams spring eternal, and that we are at the dawning of yet another spring and summer of this great game. It may actually be more important this season. In 2020 a cardboard cutout of myself saw roughly 30 Mets games at Citi Field. This was because of something we all anticipated- a pandemic. In 2021 I saw 10 live games in 5  different ballparks. In the off-season we endured a 99-day lockout which will delay the opening of the season by a week. But here we are. Every team is tied for first place. Every team is also tied for last place. 

Rules changes, new faces on new teams. A new nickname for one team. But the game is back and baseball fanatics such as yours truly are in high anticipation of what lies ahead. 

But what's the BEST thing about spring training?

It makes me feel like a 10-year old.  And when one is in their 50s, (or now 60s), that's a cool feeling.

I'm just sayin'.