Boyhood Fantasy

So it was mostly a sick week -- Wifey got a terrible head cold and ended up giving it to me, so I can never say after 31 years of marriage, she never gives me anything. That joke actually went over well at Dr. Mary Cross's office -- I visited after three days of coughing -- she gave me antibiotics that I know were probably not needed, as well as some cough medicine with codeine, which was.  Still, I had committed to a road trip Thursday, and I rallied myself -- I needed to fetch D1 at 530 am.

It's funny that I even call it a road trip -- we were just going to Northern Palm Beach County -- but over the past few years I have become THAT guy -- the one who rarely travels north of Miami, and when he does, gets all grumpy about it.  I used to handle cases all over South Florida, and aging Mom lived in Delray, requiring frequent visits, but now that she's gone, and I rarely travel for cases, I tend to stay closer to home.  I lease a car now for 10K miles per year, and that's enough.  Wifey drives barely 5K miles per year.

When we see friends from the northern counties, it's usually at a Miami event -- like our beloved Canes games.  I do go to Gulfstream and, on occasion, Anthony's Runway 84, but in my mind those are honorary Miami addresses.

So I was off, and the early trip reminded me of how traffic used to be in Miami.  I made it from Pinecrest to D1's in Midtown in about 20 minutes -- during the day it's much closer to an hour.  I need to do more of my daily routine before 6 am...

Off we went -- up I-95, headed to the Miami Marlins Spring Training Camp in Jupiter. They're a client of D1's, and she got permission for me to hang around.  After a stop at a Starbucks in a strip center that looks like every other one in Palm Beach County, we passed the elderly security guard with the heavy Boston accent, and parked across from Mattingly's spot.  The amazingly nice Asst. GM, Brian, came out, gave me a security pass, and insisted on showing me around.  I begged off -- I was just the driver, but Brian was from Indiana, and classically Midwestern nice.  He told me the new owner, Jeter, insisted that minor leaguers RUN from place to place -- the Majors guys had earned the right to walk -- and I noticed the military feel of the camp.

D1 went off for three and a half hours of meetings -- they're going to use her quite a bit it turns out -- but I was free to revert, in my mind, to a joyful 9 year old.

Although I love football because of the Canes, baseball was my first love. I played Little League since I was 7, and tried out for and made my high school team, as a decent fielding, decent hitting, and amazingly SLOW first baseman. Also, when I was 8, the hometown Mets had a miracle year, and won the Series. I remember being let out of third grade early that October of 1969, and racing home on my bike in time to see the clinching of the game -- Cleon Jones caught the final pop out and went down on one knee. It was religious for my 8 year old self.

So I sat on the aluminum bleachers, watching the major leaguers work out -- batting practice, fielding practice, bunting practice. I imagined one of the coaches called me over, said they needed help, and my life took a turn at that moment -- playing first base solidly, and eating better thanks to the team's dietitian.

The hours flew by. It was chilly.  Some of the younger players ran by, and greeted me as "Sir" - probably thinking I was some owner representative.  I smiled and gave a hearty "good morning" in response.

Also, the guard had me go inside -- a reporter was looking for me. No -- really. Our doctor Mary Cross's husband Glenn is a MLB reporter -- he was inside -- Mary had told him I was coming. We warmly introduced ourselves -- he's a sweet guy. He went to LSU but lived for many years in Houston -- the Astros won the ring last year -- he reminded me that his team and the Mets came into the league the same time, but the Stros had never won until then.

Classic baseball. Two middle aged Americans immediately had something in common to talk about.  The beauty of the game...

I told Glenn I would get him and Mary Canes tickets and have them to one of Norman's tailgates this year -- they had been to a Dolphins game but never Miami. We also agreed not to make fun of whichever team loses in Dallas in September -- our schools open up against each other.  And he told me the Fish would be just fine in a year or two -- Jeter was bringing the new discipline -- and we had the best manager, Mattingly, in baseball.  I hope he's right.

D1 was chatting with a tall muscular fellow -- I recognized his California accent right away. Sure enough -- he was a top pitcher. Then we chatted with Pittsburgh Ty -- D1's supervisor -- the man who retained her. Also a great guy -- lives in Little Havana -- still loves his Pirates and Steelers, though he's a thorough Fish man now.

We left, and drove an exit south, stopping in a strip center that looked identical to the one with the Starbucks. D1's like me -- total Miami person. She thought Jupiter reminded her of Jacksonville, which she visited during college at UF. She had a point -- though there weren't the southern accents.

I dropped her and drove South through Wynwood. The contrast with Jupiter was stark. Color everywhere. Funky looking people. A guy in a huge Lincoln SUV cut me off. I was home.

I stopped by the office and shared my experiences with Stu and Vince. Stu grew up a Phillies fan -- Vince, from the OC, is all Dodgers. Again -- the commonality of the game.  We agreed to go to some Fish games this season -- when the Phils and Dodgers are in town.

So it was a banner day for this aging guy, who realized he still loves baseball.  If only I could have beat out more of those infield throws...