There are four words that send chills down the spine of a typical baseball degenerate: “Pitchers and catchers report.” As the waning moments of winter melt away (sounds almost poetic), baseball fans begin to rise from their 4-month cowhide hibernation. They rub their eyes only to be blinded by the incoming light of March; and, almost as if waking from a hangover (not so poetic), trying to piece together the most recent events and realizing that a Giants-Rangers World Series did indeed occur. A brief look outside reveals the early arrival of spring. Then, after the compulsory 3-second acknowledgement of an outside world, baseball fans will turn on the television to take in the Braves and Astros playing a split-squad game, the beginning of an arduous undertaking that will begin with minor league hopefuls getting a shot at playing their way onto a Major League roster and will end in October with Joe Buck’s final clipped sentence. It’s a marathon that puts the efforts of humpback whales and Abebe Bikila to shame.
Baseball games today have become increasingly more expensive, so much so that even the Sultan of Brunei is having second thoughts (as of this writing, he has not been overthrown yet). Even an arm and a leg will only get you a keychain at the ballpark souvenir stand. Spring training affords fans the chance to afford baseball.
Florida and Arizona. For 11 months out of the year, these two states pretty much only corner the market on the geriatric demographics (the early bird and Matlock set). However, every March, the post JJ Walker age bracket heads for the Sunshine State quicker than a flotilla carrying the next hard-throwing Cuban right-hander; and the iPod generation shuffles (sponsorship money needed, folks) its way to Arizona quicker than you can say “SB 1970.”
Spring training. The expression almost implies a large group going through an orientation to be an mattress salesman. The only difference between the two is that only a small number of the baseball hopefuls that walk onto the diamond in March make it as far as AAA Best Buy. The ballparks are smaller (as of late, so are the players) and the intrigue may be more than a bleacher’s distance away, but the sunshine, the crack of the bat, the green fields, and the extra lbs on the starting right-fielder are all on display. Of course, attending a spring training game is more about the atmosphere than the actual play on the field. When no one on the starting infield is wearing a number below 60, it should become patently obvious that the season has yet to begin. That is, unless, the team between the chalked lines is the Pittsburgh Pirates, in which case these misfits are given lower numbers come April.
Nothing gets the blood going more than peanuts, Cracker Jack, and the $100 million ace tossing two scoreless innings, then zooming off before the schlemiel from Pawtucket with a hyphen and apostrophe in his last name leads off the top of the third. Split-squad games are also a fixture in spring baseball. (To LA Dodger fans, the split-squad is also a term of endearment for the McCourts’ marriage.) When else do fans get to see a potent double-play combination featuring a guy who could one day make it to Cooperstown and the prospect who may one day resort to hawking toaster ovens?
Spring games also give fans a chance to get autographs from their favorite players, and then turn around and sell said signature on eBay. Unfortunately for me, 16 years later, and no one will take my offer of a Trenidad Hubbard signed baseball, Quilvio Veras inscribed card (he insisted), or Raul Mondesi-autographed restraining order (hey, he was big at one point). The small confines of spring training stadiums allow for interaction between Joe Schmo and Hong-Chih Kuo alike. The question is, what do you talk about with a guy earning more than the GDP of Estonia? “So ARod … seen any good 
movies lately?” (It should probably be apparent who’s bringing his popcorn). Maybe Mark Texeira could talk to you about his love of Broadway theater (he probably could ironically sing “If I were a rich man” if you asked nicely). No doubt Coco Crisp could recommend a good breakfast cereal (look inside the box, there might be $5.75 million dollars in there). These fan-player interactions could not possibly be as awkward as my interpersonal ones, could they?
March has arrived. The fans are out to get a ticket or two. It’s the time of growth, rebirth … rebuilding? A shortstop from Horse Head, Virginia, the pitcher from Bread Loaf, Vermont, and the outfielder from Burnt Corn, Alabama all in the same lineup with Albert Pujols. But, like those lasting, lukewarm ballpark hot dogs, they will hopefully be out of your system by opening day. Play ball!
Danny Lee has been involved in sports media for over seven years … While at UCLA, he turned his grade school doodles into a position with the Daily Bruin, and continues his diatribes to this day. You can read his contributions to Larry Brown Sports every Wednesday.
