Just back from playing two games at Red Sox Fantasy Camp and the great Ernie Banks of the Cubs famous quote "Let's play two" is not for folks like me with an AARP card.
Sitting in my room with legs I can barely feel waiting for dinner with my Worldcom COO (who happens to be nearby on holiday) and her husband. My room mate Art, whose knees betrayed him some years ago stretches out and similarly bangs on his laptop. He is a pretty fair hurler for a 60 year old who still has a pretty decent "hook" (that's baseball lingo for curveball). We both are wondering what the morrow will bring and whether we'll be able to get out of bed for another twin bill.
But let me rewind the tape and tell you how we got to this point from last night.
All the campers were put through various drills that I recounted yesterday and all the coaches met in secret Monday night at 6 to pick their teams, pack their lineups with 30 year old studs and repeat campers (there are 2-25 or so), have a few cold ones and make lots of jock jokes.
At 8pm, 120 of us packed a room for 70 max to hear the names picked for the ten teams. I ended up on Troell's Trolls with nutty "Oil Can Boyd" as the assistant coach. Ralph Troell is a long time minor league coach for the Sox.
After the draft, I sat next to "The Can" at the bar and brought him a few drinks. He is non stop booze hound and a funny SOB. The rule at Fantasy Camp is that whenever you see a coach or celeb at the bar and he does not have a full glass, you pop for a pop. Oil Can was appreciative and in the deep Southern drawl of his said he looked forward to me being on his team and that he was going to take us all to get laid before game one to make us relaxed and confident. And no, that did not happen. Drat!!!!!!!!!!
Next to me at the bar as a 61 year old former Seton Hall hurler, about 6'5" who was pounding 'em down pretty good and he said he also was on Troell's Trolls. This guy has no knees, might lose his high tech job this week and may also have prostate cancer. I have no problems compared to Ron.
The rest of the guys are mostly from new England but one is from Texas, another two from DC, and others are from other parts of the Country. Most came from New England but a few just fell in love with the Sox at an early age because some player was from there or they loved Yaz or Teddy Ballgame or the Rocket(pre-"juice") or Fenway Park, which is truly "America's Most Beloved Ballpark". We have young guys and older guys and many were high school jocks or played ball and almost everyone has a bum knee or shoulder or finger or something that drives them to Vicadin, Alleve, Advil, Jack Daniels, Bud Light or Grey Goose for relief!
Did not get much sleep in anticipation of the big opening games (I have a bit of adrenalin left in the arteries) and Art and I were downstairs at 6:30 AM in the dark waiting for the bus to take us to the complex. Art said my snoring was not so bad but sounded like a full symphony. I will let that one go without explanation. He slept okay last night so I did not feel so guilty.
Got to the complex and was getting dressed and in walked big John Lester one of baseball's young superstars who won game 4 of the 2007 World Series and was 16-6 17 for the Sox last year and tossed a no hitter against the KC Royals. A huge dude who was off to the weight and training rooms at the complex.
Team meeting came at 8:30 and the content is not printable for this blog except to say that many campers were again fined for all kinds of chicken shit stuff like not buying drinks, dogging it Monday, mouthing off, or swearing too loudly (one must swear discreetly and genteely) at camp.
We took group and team photos and then we went off on the bus a few miles back down the road to the City of Palms Park to play game one. As if I'm not thinking about enough stuff, we are starting off play at the place the Sox actually play their spring games at. Nine thousand seats, a big electronic scoreboard, emerald green grass and Georgia red clay-like infield. To me the field is so big only Manny(Ramirez) or Big Papi(David Ortiz) could jack one out.
We were visitors so were up first. I hit clean up (don't get excited, we hit alphabetically in this game). What a feeling when the PA announcer said, "Now batting, number 60, Hal Dash." My knees became like jello and I faced a mountain man of a hurler half my age. I worked the count okay but grounded out. Still a cool feeling. Hit the ball okay and walked and scored and also struck out and we lost 4-2. Good game but we gave them 3 unearned runs (I fielded flawlessly at first base) and we should have won. Still a cool morning.
Too late to eat a full and liesurely lunch when we got back to the complex, so I stood in line to have the newest Sox Hall of Famer Jim Rice autograph a bat and baseball card. By the way, big thanks to Steve Aronson who owns a baseball card store in the Valley for getting me all the cards of all the former players and coaches who are here. Hey, Steve, want any autographs or any other stuff? And don't say, you want a Hooters chick! Me first.
Rice was his usual borderline I am bored with dealing with people shit, but he's a big stah (as they say in Beantown) and what the heck? I congratulated him on the HOF and a great career (382 homers and a .298 average and other stats earlier in the blog) and he managed a demure "thanks." I also had him add "HOF 2009" to my two items and he did so grudgingly. Too much to write I think.
Then it was off to the trainer's room. These guy are fantastic young hotshots who know more about body mechanics than Houdini. Like ballplayers, they start out with minor league clubs and work their way up the ladder to the big leagues. These guys were with the AA Portland minor league team and after fifteen minutes of working on my hamstrings, quads and calf muscles (didn't know I had any) I felt like I could at least survive Game 2.
The afternoon games are pitched by coaches so the campers don't wear out their arms any faster than they already do. So former All Star John Valentin pitched for us against his own team and Oil Can pitched for them against us. We won in extra innings, 7-5 and although I hit the ball well my legs were sore and a grounded out twice and struck out on a Boyd curveball. Ted Williams once said that hitting a baseball is the toughest thing to do in all of sports and boy is he right.
More ice and the trainer's room after Game 2 and I got big ice packs on both legs and my right arm. I chatted with Valentin about how Dan Duquette and the Sox screwed him out of a contract deal as they were bringing up Nomar Garciaparra and the business of baseball can be as ugly as big time corporate America. In fact, baseball IS big time corporate America.
Came back hobbling but caught up with the office and my emails and did most of this blog before dinner with my p.r. trade group (W0rldcom COO and her husband) down here for two months escaping the misery of Rochester, NY in winter.
When the Guthins got here I took them down to the bar before dinner hoping to introduce them to some Sox stars as Tibor Guthin has been a fan for 60 years and Daisy ("hello to Gail") is a new member of Red Sox Nation.
Bil Lee entertained them and talked about pitching for Rochester (minor league) team there and the Spaceman had to talk about his 3 wifes and how Canadian women.........(this is a family blog!). Tibor loves Butch Hobson and lo and behold Butch was having dinner, so I did a brief intro that made Tibor's night.
But the coolest part of the bar scene was me introducing Daisy to Oil Can Boyd another product of Meridian, Mississippi. It was like a high school reunion only filtered through the segregated South of the 50s and 60s. Amazing to hear them share stories about how streets divided black from white but also the folks and places they knew and loved in this bastion of the Old South. A mini history lesson for sure, but lots of hugs and smiles all around. Oil Can has 8 brothers and 8 sisters! They also talked of local juke joints, Friday night football games (segregated seating) , etc. An American history lesson. Wow!
So that is the day and more games tomorrow and a big BBQ and beer bash at night at the Sox park. I would rather the beer and BBQ comes first but up at 5:45 to hit the trainer's table and gear up for another day with the other loonies that comprise Red Sox Nation.
Good night from Ft. Myers.
#60
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