Author Archives: apeville

A Short Essay On Pence

11 Friday Mar 2016

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It was a very hot desert afternoon but I walked straight to Scottsdale Stadium from my rental room several blocks away in honor of Hunter Pence.  I didn’t have a scooter, but feet are the next best thing. I was also hoping by committing this act of unity he would be in the lineup.  He wasn’t.

See exhibit A:

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Read it a couple of times, his name still won’t be there.

I grabbed my frosty beverage (lemonade) and quickly found my primo seat in 208. The view was perfect and it was in the shade. To my left was a fairly rabid fan who spent much of the game bidding online for signed Duffy items. I liked him. Everything he said was right.

To my left was a sweet couple from Georgia who had no dog in the fight but were very happy to be there.  The belle noted she was cheering for the ‘blue team’ because she liked that color very, very much. When her boyfriend suggested this was unwise she countered with: This is America.  Diversity and stuff.  

I don’t know what that meant but I grew to like them both quickly as well.  Just as I got my score card adjusted they announced the lineup….. including the name PENCE.

PENCE!?  It was even better that they lied on the lineup. I love a switch surprise.

Seeing him take the field is akin to coming back from Buck Toms Summer Camp and realizing your best pal you made HAD JUST MOVED TO YOUR TOWN AND WAS NOW ATTENDING YOUR JUNIOR HIGH SCHOOL.

Pence comforts.  Pence inspires. Pence makes us relax knowing he’s there for us with all his goofy, talent soaked equilibrium.  And he was. And he is. And he will be.

At first I panicked a little when he bobbled a ball and whiffed out on his first at bat. Was he  just setting us up?

At his next at bat, with Posey on second, he approached the plate like a starving caveman at a kale buffet. He was ready.  He watched 3 sliders turn into balls and waited for his pitch. The count was 3-1 after letting the one good slider get by. And then it came.  Fastball. Even faster leaving his bat for the left field berm. Perhaps beyond it. Perhaps it never landed. I know I haven’t.

That, my friends, is why the Hunter Pence bobblehead is the only bobblehead I own.

 

 

Cactus Vs. Grapefruit

11 Friday Mar 2016

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Now that I have ventured into both spring training realms, I must now decide which of these two sites wins.

Being a Giants fan I’m going to go ahead and admit bias and give the whole thing to the Cactus League.  There, that was easy.  Even so, it was still close.

Let’s look at the Pros and Cons.

Grapefruit Pros:

Many of the parks are more charming and have that ‘old style’ feel.  Florida Auto Exchange  in Dunedin, in particular, let’s you live with the players in the dugout. The Astros let you actually throw in the bullpen and will put you in for the last inning, but only if you are left handed and don’t mind wearing jersey #123.

Seafood.

Ocean.

BBQ.

You are close to Tarpon Springs where the Greek eats are unsurpassable.

It’s closer to Knoxville .*

Camp Childers goes there. 

Incredible disc golf courses abound.

Dali Museum in St. Pete.

The Phillie Phanatic can only be found in the Grapefruit League.  All other mascots are posers.

Grapefruit Cons:

The drives are long.  If you want to see the Mets one day and then the Blue Jays the next, you are in for a four hour drive. That’s a lot of Radiolab podcasts.

Orlando. I just don’t like this place. It’s wrong.  The fact that Braves play inside of Disneyworld is beyond comprehension. I like the Braves and their fans but I can’t stomach parking next to 12 tour busses of people about to buy things they probably don’t need.

If it’s above 90 degrees, your winterized body will suffer.

Orlando.  It bears repeating.

There are lots of Yankees fans everywhere. I have noticed them particularly in abundance at Yankees games. But they also take over the Blue Jays stadium, too.

Cactus Pros:

No humidity. (Extra points for this.)

Easy drives between stadiums.

Huevos Rancheros.

The Giants stadium is a perfect mix of old and new.  Not too fancy, not too shabby.

Lots of great AirBnB options.

Desert Botanical Gardens.

You might meet Bill Buckner.

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Cactus Cons:

Some spring training stadiums (I’m looking at you Rockies/Dbacks/Cubs) are nicer than some regular stadiums. This feels wrong, like Orlando feels wrong.

If games sell out, it’s way expensive to get tickets.

You have to admit how congenial Dodgers fans are. Until they start losing. Or winning.

It’s very far from Knoxville.*

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So there you have it.  Cactus League takes the win. But Nate Silver knew that before I even conceived of this detailed analysis.

*If you are not from Knoxville, please ignore this statement or move to Knoxville.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Does Baseball Start?

10 Thursday Mar 2016

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When Pitchers and Catchers report?  Nah, too standard.

When Eleanor Roosevelt throws out the first pitch of the regular season?  Nah, she’s not even technically alive.

The first Grapefruit League game when the Phillies play the overlooked Central Florida Firecats?  Um, maybe.

For me, it starts at a different time every year.  Sometimes, when I least expect it. Often it has to do with Giant’s broadcaster ace Jon Miller. Something about his voices says BASEBALL and SPRING at the same time.

When my plane touched down in Phoenix I knew it would be happening soon, but it hadn’t happened yet.  Baseball was running late, like an Uber driver with a questionable profile photo.  We were already one week into spring training and Baseball had yet to really start for me.

Though the first ticket I bought was for the Giants/Reds matchup, I got in early enough to squeeze in a Cubs/Dodgers match down in Mesa at way-too-nice-but-I-like-it-anyway Sloan Park.

Sloan Park was completely full and Clayton Kershaw was pitching for the Dodgers. The sun was out, people were lighter, the wind was blowing a bit, and there beer was for sale.  The women selling the beer were enthusiastic though dressed  conservatively so not to offend anyone.

I found some garlic hummus and got situated in the berm.  Garlic hummus?  Yes, these miracles continue to find me.

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Everyone around me was smiling, sun kissed and happy. If these people came to the park with any pain, I saw no trace of it. I laid back in the grass and looked at the blue sky, then said a silent I Am So Sorry for everyone living below 40 degrees fahrenheit.

After the rather terse singing of the anthem we all perked up as the announcer excitedly let us know the Cubs were taking the field. Cue The Who’s Baba O’Riley, one of the greatest non-national anthems every conceived.  Out run the Cubs! They look thrilled to be there despite what the goat has told them! Hats are waved, whooping Begins!

OUT HERE IN THE FIELDS…..

It was all too perfect, even if it only lasted for a second.  I got instant chill bumps and felt like a human helium balloon about to lift off.  And maybe it was the desert pollen, but something was messing with my ducts a wee bit.

And so it begins.

 

 

 

 

 

My People! My People!

08 Tuesday Mar 2016

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And so it is done. I finally pushed the ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO PURCHASE BUTTON? that sent me to Arizona for the Cactus League Spring Training games.

Being a Giants fan in Tennessee yields few opportunities to wax baseball with the locals. There are three obsessive fans that I know of in town, and I am one of them.  So, sure, I talk to myself about Giants baseball when nobody with a like mind is around.  It gets the job done and scares the lady at the Kroger checkout line at the same time.

The Giants training camp is in somewhat pleasant Scottsdale and that is where I am currently situated. Arizona in March is enough reason to come but the glorious bonus is that I get to mingle with other self-talkers from all over the country. I got so excited that I scoped out the last leg of my flight to see if there were any others from my tribe of self-talkers. There were, but they appeared to be just random order paranoids so I let them be.  Somebody arguing with a Dell computer is best left alone.

When I got off the plane (I refuse to use the term deplane, because Fantasy Island) there was a whole family of Giants fans in full regalia…hats, hoodies, shirts, key chains, and more.  I looked at them. They looked at me. The instant recognition/acceptance was palpable and reassuring.  But what should I say?

MY PEOPLE! MY PEOPLE!  That’s what I said.

That unsolicited utterance left all but the young boy with the Posey jersey slightly unsettled.

DAD! THAT’S US! HE’S ONE OF US! That’s what he said.

We are forever linked in the Great Link.

Then after an awkward silence, we gave the knowledgeable, if not slightly superior, almost invisible nod to each other and each scuttled on to our next destination.

As I settled in around Scottsdale I noticed many others from the Orange and Black Invasion, a term used by the locals that can be delivered with gratitude or derision, depending on who’s listening.

I never knew what to say before- the knowledgeable nod never seemed quite sufficient. So I tried my new catch phrase on all of them, except delivered with only one go round:  MY PEOPLE! 

Two MY PEOPLE! callouts just seems excessive at Walgreens.

My waitress at U.S. Egg (don’t laugh, it’s a superb and almost affordable breakfast option) was wearing a Diamond Backs shirt.  Oh, what the heck, let’s broaden the family a little bit, after all, it’s all baseball:  MY PEOPLE!

Should I just include all baseball fans?  If so, where does it stop?

I actually opted out at the afore mentioned Walgreens for the Giants fan that was berating the clerk for short changing him on his newspaper when in fact the geezer had forgotten to take his change out of the change shoot. But then, I still felt he was worth a nod, for I have been that dumbass, too, on more than one occasion. My people, indeed.

After a morning of this vocal high five wire act- I realized, perhaps due to vacation mind, just about everybody seemed like My People for some reason.

When the majestic Mingus music blared over the speakers at the Starbucks it was a minor miracle. A minor miracle is still a miracle, though, and I realized some of MY PEOPLE were making playlists decisions in Corporate America.  Perhaps, a major miracle, that.

I grabbed my tea and exited the Moby Dick inspired caffeine house on a good note. The more I walked around outside in the crisp Arizona air I noticed just about everybody was shining in the desert sun once my shades were removed.

Spotting a Dodgers fan at the trolley stop quickly snapped me back to reality.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pre-Post Season Non Blues

27 Sunday Sep 2015

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Meaningless Baseball Photo

OK, so the Giants ain’t going to the post season.  And let’s be in denial here, if Hunter Pence hadn’t been sidelined with an injury and were still playing today, The Giants would have won the World Series already and I’d be online shopping for #4! pencils and such.

With the Giants out of the big race and looking on the positive side of things, I see a near future with more dog walking, raking or paying someone else to rake, and grilling out.  October is good for a plethora of possible outcomes.

El Guape wants to know if you know what plethora means.

One of the great self-help memes is that when things go south, one should pretend to be grateful for something.  Relief will surely find you even it is not in your immediate bullpen.

But the truth is, I’m just happy there is baseball.  Giants win. Great.  Giants lose. Not great for 3 minutes, then life is normal again. Rinse, watch, repeat. Maybe it’s due to getting older, but I no longer carry around defeats like a brick-filled K-mart backpack. I set the backpack aside, find something liquid and a side of tzatziki, and watch another meaningless game.

So imagine the thrill of turning on a ‘meaningless game’ last night and seeing a rookie hit three homers, including a gram slam. And seeing Zito’s last hurrah. And seeing Hudson’s last Oakland visit as well. And having a great time without measuring it against some nearly impossible post-season standard.  Just enjoying the game for what it is.

All the games mean something, by the way.  For example, they mean there is a baseball game. That’s enough for me.

Bow Down For Bronze….. and plaster.

06 Thursday Aug 2015

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If you ever find yourself in Milwaukee, and you probably won’t, you might as well go pay homage the Bud Selig statue at Miller Park.

Look, I’ll lay it out fresh right here and now, I have never much cared for statues. They always seem either too large, too dated, or like a second but not final draft.  Kind of like this essay here.

And I feel the same way about statues as I do about headstones, park names and street names: you should probably die first before you get one. Otherwise, what if they fire the coach a few years after they name a street after him? That kind of awkwardness would be so difficult to process. I can’t think of any examples of this, but I’m certain this has happened somewhere.

That brings me to the former commish of baseball, Bud Selig. He has a towering statue in the front of Miller Park the looks just over your head, staring above you with his 70’s glasses so he can’t actually see you, just like you were a report on steroid use.  So, yeah, a statue of an administrator is another thing I would shy away from as well.

But yet, I had to go see him and pay my respects to his bronze likeness- for talking to the unions, for holding a grudge against both Pete Rose and A-Rod, and mostly for the wild card in the post season.  I do it on behalf of the Giants.  The Royals.  The Pirates. The concession stand workers in Oakland.

But yeah, i went to Milwaukee, saw a great game where a new pitcher named Jungman (Carl Jung meets Henny Yougman) pitched the best game of his career. Where the weather, the top-down convertible stadium, the seats, the vibe all came together in just the right way.

How can you be relaxed and excited at the same time? Baseball, that’s how.

But my real hero was the stiff in the last row.  And in bronze out front.  And live in the radio booth.  I saw all three, and I could have stood a fourth Bob Uecker.

And this, ladies and gents, is why I am a confused hypocrite.

Isn’t One Christmas Enough?

05 Wednesday Aug 2015

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Minor League organizations will try anything to get the crowds in. Sometimes going to such lengths as staging a competitive baseball match, for example.

Other times they are less willing to gamble on radical ideas like the one above, so they trot out the ole’ trusty prime promotions such as Star Wars Night, Revenge of the Jedi Afternoon, Jar-Jar Binks Bobblehead Evening, and so forth.

Lately the classic bobblehead giveaways have been augmented by more cutting edge fare: garden gnomes, oven mitts, and of course the stunning snow globe.  The snow globes go ball in glove with the ‘Christmas in July’ concept, of which I was a recent witness when the Tennessee Snow Smokies took on the Chattanooga Be On the Lookout for Santas.  You think I’m lying?  Call George Middlebrooks at home and ask him.  Wait until the baby is asleep, please.

That’s right, Christmas in July. Because why have it in a season with no baseball?  Not everybody can afford to go the Honduras winter league to get that synced up double dose of America’s greatest game and most profitable holiday.

The Smokies promo team wasn’t messing around, either. There was a barbershop quartet belting out Deck The Halls and Rudolph as folks waited in a long line, their lips wet with anticipatory drool over the thought of being one of the first 1,000 to get a FREE SNOW GLOBE. Or two. Or six. Then leave without going to the game. Then putting the arched art keepsakes on E-bay.

I will say this- the barbershop quartet did an outstanding and refreshingly original take on the National Anthem.

There were other signs of the season around the park, a couple of girls getting their elf decor on, people buying more than they needed, eating more than their bodies demanded, and such. But, otherwise, it was just a great evening for baseball. Wonderfully close minor league affordable seats, good company, quality play, and salty sustenance. Also on display, lots of outstanding pitching, especially from the Lookout for Santas. The Smokies came back in the ninth to try and tie but but that sled had done sailed.  And then we all returned to our respective poles. Some of us with globes, and others who simply wished for one.

I’ll Have a Double

17 Sunday May 2015

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If you mention to any random baseball fan that you caught a foul ball at MLB game, expect the following response from 599 out of 600 people:

I have been going to games all my LIFE and I have NEVER caught a foul ball.

You might remind 32 of those 600 that sitting behind the net will tend to continue said results. For the rest, just standard issue pity will do. If someone tells you that they got one in Batting Practice or that a player coming off the field threw them one, remind them they have not had the full monty yet. They are still in the minors. AA, at best.

So it happens, I caught my first one (on a bounce, but it still counts) at a Braves/Reds game last year.  Thank you, Andrelton Simmons.  I should probably thank the pitcher, actually.  Anybody remember his name?

And that was it. I was satisfied. I put the ball in my office where it sits among some jazz CD’s waiting for someone to come in and stare in awe. But yeah, I’m done. Cross it off the list.

But one baseball season later there I was happily sitting in row X, 117, enjoying Angel Pagan of the Giants taking yet another intense at bat- and before I knew it a foul ball was headed directly…to the guy in the next seat across the aisle. And he dropped it. And I grabbed it. Actually, I snagged it with a focused speed that I didn’t really believe I possessed.

And it was good. My first Rob Manfred signed ball. Thank you, 10th commissioner of Baseball. The jumbotron watchers cheered in delight. I also believe I heard them commence with the obligatory unison SIGH when the guy dropped it. The first thing I knew was that I heard some loud pre-teen Reds fan behind me say:

HEY- why don’t you toss that thing back here?

So, I did, resulting in a chaotic mass elementary school scramble for the ball that resulted in $30+ of popcorn and soda (when above the Mason-Dixon line, you can call it that) being destroyed and spilled all over the dang place. It was worth giving up the ball just for that. The kid being forced by his mom to come thank me was nice, but it was the snack disaster that was the true thrill.

A moment later, an official looking woman, far removed from elementary school, came down to make sure I wasn’t injured by a line drive that smacked a faster hand than mine causing a hard ball to be dropped and basically roll into my own hand. Sure, lady, I’m fine. I should recover nicely. Would I like a certificate? REALLY? Heck yes, lay it on me!

Never making eye contact with the dude that stopped the ball on my behalf, I enjoyed the next inning and the Giants lead- and sure enough, the incredibly thoughtful certificate was delivered.

By the 5th inning, my wife stood up and declared she needed some ice cream. I think the real reason was she couldn’t stand seeing pitcher Tim Lincecum blow the lead.

She returned with said ice cream, a pretzel with GLORIOUS DARK MUSTARD, a curious smile, ……and….. her own foul ball and certificate.

That’s right, Jay Bruce of the Reds knocked one back into the area near the LAND OF DARK MUSTARD AND ALL THAT IS GOOD and it basically rolled up to her. She was shocked, but alert, and snatched it from the ground all the while not dropping the tray of sugar and salty sustenance.

So there we sat with our certificates, smiles, salt and sugar sustenance, waiting for other people to join the exclusive club, perhaps thinking:

Yep, folks, life behind the net is safer, but think of what you might miss.

I’m not yet 100% sure about that, but I do know a double foul ball fiesta helps a lot when the Giants lose to the Reds.  And dark mustard helps most things as well.