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.