Minnesota North Stars

Some 30 years ago this month the Minnesota North Stars played their final home game. That game was played on April 13, 1993 at the Metropolitan Sports Center in Bloomington, Minnesota. The locals knew it as the Met Center. The Chicago Blackhawks were the opponents that night. It had been months since we North Star fans had known for certain that the team would be moving to Dallas following the end of the season. They dropped a 3-2 decision that night and then closed out the season with a loss in Detroit two nights later by a 5-3 score.

It is hard to believe that so many years have passed. I recall vividly that season, especially the second half of the year.  It was an incredibly sad time for North Stars fans to go to the arena knowing that our emotional investment was soon going to be equivalent of a bag of broken Koho hockey sticks and a pop-up toaster. it was on a Saturday night March 13th against the Montreal Canadiens, an original franchise in the National Hockey League, where, late in the game, the North Stars were trying to  tie the game against the powerful team from the Eastern Conference. Montreal would go on to win the Stanley Cup in a few months. It was a totally spontaneous moment and just before a face-off, coming-out of a tv timeout, at the far end from myself to the right of the opposing goalie the crowd rose as one and applauded for a good 2-3 solid minutes.  It was as though all of us had come to the true realization that the end of the 25-year old franchise was not only inevitable but only a few short weeks away.  As sad as it was, it gave me chills at the time.  I saw people standing and openly sobbing.  I didn't feel as though I deserved to shed a tear as I had only been in Minnesota for 5 years.  These are people who had been there since the NHL expanded in 1967 and the team ended up merging with the Cleveland Barons in 1979 order to save the franchise from going away altogether a few years earlier.

The first hockey jersey I ever owned was a Minnesota North Stars road green jersey. Hockey purists refer to jerseys as "sweaters". This was circa 1974.  My mother bought it for me at Bob's Sports in my hometown of Stamford, Connecticut.  Now, I know that my mom knew that I was a Ranger fan, so when I asked her why she'd purchased the jersey with the big gold N on the front, she said, "They were out of Ranger jerseys and I liked this one".  How did she know I was going to end up cheering for them some 15 years later?  My mom had ESP. I, on the other hand, have ESPN.

The team owner in 1993, a former shopping mall developer,  who's name I will not even mention in this blog because it does not bear repeating, had totally duped us in his carpetbagging behavior.  He came to town from Calgary where he was one of the original owners of the Flames, following THEIR move to Calgary from Atlanta. He quickly made friends by basically buying us off. He did things like offer season ticket holders, like myself, three tickets for the price of two. An amazing value for the locals in "The State of Hockey". He also brought us things like cheerleaders.  Yes, cheerleaders, known as the Electric Stars. I'm sure that his focus group (located between his ears and his pants as it turned out) thought that what we needed more of at Met Center was women in spandex shorts and pom poms.  Now don't get me wrong. I enjoy that stuff, in the element in which it was intended; NFL sidelines and my local Hooter's Restaurant. But, I said many times, that if we had to endure cheerleaders they needed to be able to skate between periods, like the Gopher cheerleaders at University of Minnesota hockey games. He even gave away two round-trip tickets to various destinations during each home game provided by locally-owned Sun Country Airlines.

He reported that the reason he needed to move the franchise was that the market was too saturated with the Twins, Vikings, Timberwolves and the University of Minnesota Gopher hockey program. This from a person who once said, "Only an idiot could lose money on hockey in Minnesota." I guess he was that idiot. 

But the bottom line was that while he wanted to make a deal locally, he was eventually forced to leave town with the team because his wife, one Kelly Green, (Kelly Green. How cute of a name is that?) found out that his other focus group (located in his pants) was a little too "touchy-feely" around the office. This wasn't going to fly with her and she basically told her husband to get out of the house or leave Minnesota altogether. Others will tell you that the local sports commission is to blame. I have to put some responsibility in the hands of commissioner Gary Bettman. Bettman gets booed here in the cities WHENEVER he shows up, like when he was here for the Winter Classic on New Years Day evening last January 1st. Either way, they are equally to blame, in my opinion.

The final North Stars home game was probably the saddest sporting event I have ever attended. There was a lot of security on duty that night, mostly to deter fans from unbolting seats and walking out with them. But fans here are far to docile for that kind of behavior. Heck, we had a celebration after the 1991 playoffs to show our gratitude for them reaching the finals against Pittsburgh, losing in six games.

I now totally understand how it feels when a team moves away. I feel for the fans of the Montreal Expos, Hartford Whalers, Seattle Supersonics, and other teams which have moved. The NHL tried to appease us by sending us "neutral site" games played at the Target Center in downtown Minneapolis as well as a minor league team known as the Minnesota Moose. Because the IHL figured that we would watch virtually ANYTHING on ice where there were sticks and a puck. On some nights at the St. Paul Civic Center and later the Target Center, "anything" was exactly what we saw.

I don't wish any populous the experience of losing a franchise but there always seem to be a few which are on the brink of just that. The Houston Aeros moved to Des Moines a few seasons ago. The owner was once again more interested in money than the fans who supported the team for many years. The Houston Rockets of the NBA wanted to raise the rent by an amazing 500%. So to them I say that "I feel your pain." The last NHL team to relocate was when the Thrashers, Atlanta's second failed attempt at hockey, moved to Winnipeg to become the second version of the Jets in 2011. The original Winnipeg Jets moved to Phoenix in 1996 after turning down an opportunity to move to, you guessed it, Minneapolis.

I rather enjoy wearing my North Stars jersey that I wore at Met Center, as well as the "copy" which has the same look but not the same feel as my original. The Wild even have a version of their jersey known as the Reverse Retro, which had a limited run two years ago and a reverse version of that was worn this season at select games. It has the Wild logo with the North Star colors. 

I've been a season-ticket holder since Day 1 of the Wild franchise, but I STILL don't like the name of the franchise. 

The playoffs start next week. Let's hope we can at least get out of the first round before the players get back on the golf course. 

Thanks, Norm. You colossal douchebag. 

....I'm just sayin'.

P.S. NORM. STILL. SUCKS!

Jackie Robinson and me

Jackie Robinson passed away 50 years ago today in the northern portion of my hometown of Stamford, Connecticut. 

Robinson means so much to minorities like myself in general in this country that it is virtually impossible to measure the impact he has made. His appearance with the Dodgers predates Brown vs. Board of Education and Rosa Parks.  From the days when we were labeled "colored" or Negroes, or "black' or "African American" (pick your term) Robinson has to be considered the person most responsible for acceptance into a society which purposely excluded a group of people simply based on the color of the skin that person was born with.  A hard concept for young people to grasp today, to be sure.  His mark on American society cannot be measured on any normal scale. 

In April of 2013 a motion picture was released called "42".  When I picked up a DVD copy of it I saw someone on a social media post say that it was "okay" and that "you won't learn anything that you didn't already know".  Well, that may be true for some people, but I bet that many people, especially those who may have been  under the age of 25, may actually have learned something that they hadn't known previously.  Such as seeing a restroom door with the words "WHITE ONLY" painted on it.  Or a stadium entrance marked "COLORED" over the walkway.

My Jackie Robinson experience is vivid.  I can still see it in my mind's eye, as if it happened yesterday.

It was September of 1972. I was born and raised in Stamford, Connecticut and Jackie and wife Rachel Robinson lived in the northern part of town. Not far from where I would someday attend high school.  It was probably around 7:30 p.m. and my dear mother and I were waiting for my older sister to emerge from the A&P grocery store in the nearby town of Riverside.  While we waited, and as the sun was quickly setting, we watched a grey-haired man with a cane emerge from the store and make his way to his parked car.  He was roughly 30 feet in front of our 1971 Oldsmobile Ninety-Eight when he slowly stepped off the curb.

I recall thinking that I should know who the man was but was drawing a blank as most 10 year-olds like myself at the time are wont to do.

"Do you know who that man is?", my mother asked.  I didn't think she knew and that was the reason for the question. "No... I don't" I replied. "That's Jackie Robinson", she told me.  I immediately sat up straighter in my seat.  I didn't feel compelled to jump out of the car as I respected his privacy and I would've been far too nervous to utter a word to him if I had done so. What would I have said, anyway?  I was but 10 years old and not very educated on the legacy which he had bestowed upon this country. I just watched him make his way in front of me, in mild awe that he was so close. The years had worn him down and was already blind in one eye along with having been diagnosed with diabetes. He moved like someone who was closer to 83 years of age not the 53 years he'd lived to that point. Maybe I thought that I may have another opportunity to meet him in the future, as he did live in my hometown.  

He made his final public appearance a few weeks later on October 15, 1972 when he threw out the first pitch before game 3 of the World Series in Cincinnati. He passed away just 9 days later in my hometown, four days before my 11th birthday.

I didn't meet him. I didn't speak to him. But my memory of that evening in September 1972 is one of the best memories of my life because of the people involved in it. My mother, who was totally in a class by herself and Jackie Robinson, who, given his contribution not only to baseball but to this great country, opened his own school of classes to so many people- myself included. It was a seminal moment which linked, quite possibly, the two most important people of my entire existence.

Life is a string of moments. Most of them are mundane, common and without any real significance over the long term. But every once in awhile you find yourself involved in one which stays with you for the remainder of your days on this earth. May you all have as some of these moments as I have. Thanks for letting me share this one with you.

I'm just sayin'.

Going Home Again (Part 2)

In my last post, I wrote about  my upcoming weekend trip to Target Field to see the New York Mets play the Minnesota Twins.

On Friday evening I got to Target Field where the gametime temperature was 34 degrees.  This really isn't baseball weather.  But apparently the Mets didn't seem to mind as they proceeded to score 5 runs in their first at bat.  They scored ANOTHER 5 runs in the second frame and led 10-2 after two innings of play.  So maybe they were just used to the cold.

But prior to the start of the game I made my way through the gates and up to my seating level.  I was warmly greeted by two former co-workers not long after reaching the club seating level.  I started to get the feeling that this may not be as bad of an experience as I had first thought.

 I saw a number of people who have remained with the team as ushers and whom I supervised over a decade ago.  It was so great to see these people.  They all greeted me warmly and told me that I still looked the same as I did then.

I had people come by and visit me after they had heard that I was in the ballpark, some contacting me via text.

It was a great experience both days.  The Mets won twice over the local nine and a great many Mets fans stopped to chat about our team as they wore the orange and blue, just like I was.

I had a great tour on Saturday of the ballpark that I helped push for when I toiled at 501 Chicago Avenue.  Target Field is an amazing place.  It is incredibly well thought-out as far as functionality  and aesthetics. A beautiful place to be sure.  Target Field is the 16th stadium of the 30 current ballparks that I have visited.

The third game of the series was postponed today due to inclement weather, aka winter hasn't ended yet.  The rescheduled date is Monday August 19th.  I look forward to this trip as much as I did this one.  But I will certainly feel more at ease the next time and know that I really COULD go back home again.

I realized today that the biggest thing that worried me about returning to the home of the Twins is that I had been forgotten.  I couldn't quite place my finger on it, but I believe that to be the actual truth more than anything else.

My weekend was a great one and I am very thankful to everyone who made it so

Thomas Wolfe wasn't exactly right.

At least not this time.

I'm just sayin'

Going Home Again (Part 1)

Those of you who know me know that I love baseball.

Those of you who know me ALSO know that I love the New York Mets.

Tomorrow, the New York travel to Minneapolis to play the Minnesota Twins in the first game of a three-game series.

I'm excited.  And a little scared too.

I used to be in the employ of the Minnesota Twins.  I started out as an usher in 1989 when they played at the Metrodome.  I was an usher and later an usher's supervisor through the 1995 season.  It was a great deal of fun and I got PAID to do something that I would've done for free.  ThenI got a break.  I had the opportunity to take a position in the front office of the ballclub.  I had hoped to have a different position in the organization but the fact that I got one at all was waaaay cool.

On February 26 1996 I became a full-time employee.  I had a great time at it.  I envisioned that this would be the last organization I would ever work for.  I thought that I would be there for 31 years or so and then I would consider retirement.  During some seasons I spent more time at the ballpark than I did at my own home.

But that didn't happen.  I left the organization on January 10, 2002.  Other than the day that my mother passed away, it was the worst day of my entire life.

I watched no baseball during the 2002 season.  I avoided baseball to any extent.  I didn't watch SportsCenter on ESPN for 9 solid months. I watched a lot of NASCAR and Wild hockey.  I couldn't even think about the games.  I swore that I wouldn't go back to any Twins games.  I was there during the 1991 season which ended in a World Championship. To be on the field as that series ended was an incredible experience.  By the time I reached front office status the team had turned into a laughingstock and the bloom was quickly off the rose.  We drew some very small crowds and those crowds saw some pretty bad baseball.  But by century's end things were starting to look up.

The 2002 season found the Twins in the postseason for the first time in a decade.  I succumbed to the temptation and bought a ticket to game one of the American League Championship Series against Anaheim.  It was a last-minute decision and I enjoyed the game as much as I could.  But after that I decided that I wouldn't darken the gate at 501 Chicago Avenue until the team of my youth, the New York Mets, came to town.

That was a different ballpark and a different address.  Each year, when the following season's schedule is released I would take a fast glance at the Mets' schedule to see if they wold be playing in Minneapolis the next year.  Keep in mind that seeing Mets road games is fairly easy, given my occupation in working for an airline.  I saw Mets games in four different cities in 2011.

So when I discovered that the Metropolitans would be playing less than 15 miles from my home I got excited.  I made a posting on facebook so that some of my friends would know that I would see them in about 7 months.  I have not seen some of these people since my last game in September 2001.  I have missed a great many of them, front office personnel, ticket takers and ushers whom I enjoyed working with a great deal.

But this weekend I will get to close the circle.  I look forward to it with great anticipation and mild anxiety.  It's gonna be cold, as the brain wizards at Major League Baseball have obviously forgotten that the Twins play in an outdoor stadium now, and they play in South Manitoba.  So games in April make little to no sense.

But no matter what happens it will be a memorable experience.  I will have gloves on and probably a heavy coat and ear muffs.  But I will be at a baseball game.  The Mets will be on the field and I, the biggest Met fan in Minnesota, will be in attendance.

Thomas Wolfe said "you can't go home again".  But tomorrow that changes for a few days.

But the curse will continue.

I'm just sayin'

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 saving 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'.