Spring Training Heaven

After my first March pilgrimage to Florida in 2005, I came back and wrote a long paean called "Spring Training Heaven" -- how my idea of heaven was something along the lines of Groundhog Day, only set in Kissimmee. I remember how surprised I was when I later read in Alyson Footer's columns how the players find Spring Training tedious and can't wait for it to end. For them, a March without end, stuck in the armpit of Orlando, might be how Sartre would have written No Exit if only he'd been American. Anyway, embarrassing or not, since I never posted it with my 2005 Game Diary, I'm reproducing it here.

Spring Training Heaven

Sometimes I have this fantasy about my own personal version of heaven: You die and go to Spring Training. Get up every morning and head out to watch warm-ups, batting practice, pitching, coaching. Grab some lunch and then head over to Osceola County Stadium for the game. You sit in Section 103, Row 2. Row 1 is the Astros bullpen: It's just a bench with a water cooler on it, and an assortment of hunky guys in red Astros Spring Training jerseys. Today's starter - maybe Pettitte, or Clemens, or Oswalt - is warming up a few feet away. Or maybe it's some minor leaguer, trying out for the fifth spot - Ezekiel or Wandy or some new kid you've never seen before.

The relief pitchers are sitting right in front of you, spitting sunflower seeds. There are some -- Franco, Gallo, Harville -- who you don't know whether to love or hate, because you know that sometime in the next few months you'll be groaning when they blow a great start by Clemens or Oswalt. Then there are Wheeler, Qualls, Lidge (be still my heart). Some minor leaguers you've never heard of, and maybe some older guys, non-roster invitees, veterans who used to be better than they are now.

You can eavesdrop on the relievers from Section 103. They rag on the other team. Maybe they'll talk about what they did last night, or where they plan to go after this afternoon's game. They won't be talking about The Future, because in this version of heaven, Spring Training just goes on and on forever. There's no regular season, no post-season, and, best of all, no off-season. Just March, with its sunny afternoons, an occasional cloudburst to cool things off. No rainouts. No delays.

After a while the Good Guys come in, lugging their bags full of bats, gloves, gear. Since it's Heaven, it's always going to be your old favorites - Bagwell, Biggio, Berkman, Ausmus. Plus some new favorites who have done well - Willie Taveras, who made everyone forget about Carlos Beltran in his rookie year. Then for variety, a mix of your really old-time favorites, visiting from the past - Jimmy Wynn and Joe Morgan and Rusty Staub. Maybe Norm Miller and Bob Aspromonte and Roger Metzger. And, of course, a mix of really new guys, up from Corpus or Round Rock, rotating through week by week. They get to stay and play for a day or a week or more, depending on how well they're hitting.

Every day in Spring Training Heaven is a home game. Since it's Heaven, the Astros get to play all the other major league teams, not just the Grapefruit League teams. Most of the games are against teams you like to see - teams with ex-Astro players you remember fondly. The Phillies with Billy Wagner closing (but in Spring Training he pitches in the 7th inning). Or teams you love to hate - especially the Mets.

Even though it's Heaven, the Good Guys don't win every game. That would be boring. The games don't count anyway, so you don't care whether they win all the time, as long as you get to see some good stuff. Of course, the Astros always beat the Mets. They almost always beat the Cards and the Braves.

In Spring Training they still sing Take Me Out to the Ballgame at the 7th inning stretch. They never sing God Bless America. There are no security guards at the stadium, no terrorist threats.

Even though it's Heaven, the food still isn't kosher. But they don't care if you bring your own food into the stadium. A large lemonade is free with every ticket and every ticket is free too. You don't even have to pay for parking.

The players come out for batting practice, throw the ball around the field for a while, stand around and yak with each other. Some of them bring their kids, who wear miniature uniforms with daddy's name on the back. In Spring Training Heaven, none of the players bring their wives. (Hey, it's my version of Heaven, not theirs!) Before the game starts, you shoot a lot of close-ups of the Good Guys, and all the pictures come out great. You don't even need to crop them or muck around with color and contrast.

Brad Lidge is sitting on the bench right in front of you in the Houston bullpen. Little kids come up and ask him politely for his autograph, and he's nice to them. They also ask Wheeler and Qualls and the bat boy. In Spring Training Heaven, there are no adult autograph seekers, with their boxes of memorabilia to sell on eBay.

Game Time. In Spring Training Heaven, someone different sings the Star Spangled Banner every day. But no one ever sings it in hip hop or rock beats, or forgets the words, or (being a non-native speaker of English) memorizes the words incorrectly. No one sings it out of tune, or misses '"free" by a mile and makes you grind your teeth. After the national anthem, all the players finger-comb their hair, as if it really matters how their hair looks when they plunk their caps on.

Sitting in Section 103, you have a great view and can eavesdrop on the relievers. But you can't see into the Astros dugout, and the view of the right-handed batters isn't as good. And, of course, being on the third-base side, you're farther away from Bagwell on first. So every third game you get tickets across the stadium, in Section 117, right behind the opposing team's bullpen. You have to put up with their fans, who tend to congregate on that side of the field. But as long as the Good Guys are winning, they are pretty subdued. Anyway, you have to let them have their fun, especially when one of their players is so exceptional that you want to cheer for him. Like Dontrelle pitching a shutout for the Marlins, hitting a double when he's up to bat, galloping around the bases like a giant colt -- then diving into home plate (pitching hand first!) to score on a single. Crazy fool! It's just Spring Training! But you've got to appreciate his chutzpah; you aren't his manager. Maybe since it's Heaven, Ausmus tags him out on a perfect throw from Taveras in center field. There is a limit to appreciation, after all.

From Section 117, you've got a great view of Bagwell and Biggio, playing back, yakking between batters. Bagwell looks so serious at the plate, but on first base, he's chatty with the ump, the opposing team's first base coach, the rare runner who makes it to first base, and of course, with Biggio between batters. Bagwell and Biggio start every game at first and second base, stay in for three at-bats, then come out to let the new kids play an inning or two.

On the first base side, you also have a great view of the right-handed batters. You get a lot of great shots of your favorite players up to bat. Every day you take ten more pictures of Bagwell at the plate in his crazy batting stance, crouched with his feet 3 feet apart. He goes through his batting ritual, adjusts the wrist straps on his batting gloves, windmills the bat a couple of times before pulling it up over his right shoulder. He still drops his bat down a bit before he swings (his pre-2005 swing), then raises it back up and lets it fly, hitting a long fly ball over the left field wall. In Spring Training Heaven, Bagwell's shoulder might give him a twinge now and then, but he isn't in excruciating pain all the time. He can throw a bullet to home plate and he can hit home runs in every game. He never strikes out looking.

In Spring Training Heaven Biggio is always the leadoff hitter. He still gets hit by a lot of pitches, but he never gets hurt. In honor of his rightful place at second base, he gets a lot of doubles. But he doesn't stay there long; he steals third whenever he has the chance. And of course, Bagwell hits him around.

In Spring Training Heaven Ausmus changes his batting stance every fourth week; this week he is experimenting with a high kick.

In Spring Training Heaven the Good Guys win 75% of the games. But you don't really care, since the games don't count. Every game is played for the pleasure. The players don't even get paid. (Who needs money when you're dead anyway?) They are there as a reward for a career of games well played, if not a life well lived. A few (on the other teams, of course) are there as their Eternal Punishment - Spring Training Hell for players who cheated or used steroids or were jerks off the field. They get to play every game, but make lots of fielding errors; they strike out looking or embarrass themselves swinging wildly at Lidge's slider. Then there are some, all ex-Astros, who are in Spring Training purgatory. Carlos Beltran is one of them. He hits lots of homers and makes great catches playing center field for the Mets for eternity. But it's all for naught: The Mets lose every single game.

Over on the Other Side, in the so-called real world, life goes on. Every year the off-season grows longer and colder. The fans go stir crazy, watching reruns of their favorite games on the mlb.tv archives. Some get desperate and have to take up watching football games to pass the time. Their day jobs are boring; they spend their lives surrounded by people who don't know the difference between Burke and Berkman. Here in Spring Training Heaven, it's March, the sun is shining, the beer is cold, and the dress code is always casual. The singer hits the high note on "free" perfectly. The players are just about to take the field. Come on, admit it: Real life is boring. Spring Training is heaven.

Susan Lilly
Spring Training, March 2005, Kissimmee, Florida