The Mayor at the Mayor's Cup

Mayor Koch at Shea, April 1989

I think Ed Koch was my first celebrity sighting. It was 1989 and my father, uncle, cousin and I had driven up to Shea Stadium for the Mayor's Cup game between the Mets and Yankees to end spring training. Our seats were in the upper deck, but we arrived early enough to walk around the loge section. As we made our way along the left-field line, I heard people cheering and then noticed a small cluster of men in suits in the orange seats.

When one turned toward the cheers and raised his hands in acknowledgment, I realized it was the mayor. Though we were from the Jersey Shore, all our network television broadcasts originated in New York City, so the nightly newscasts covered the Big Apple, and Koch was a familiar face to me. I had my Kodak Disc camera with me and managed to press the shutter at the precise moment when he raised his hands to the fans. I suppose it was my first perfectly timed photograph, too.

It looks pleasant enough for an April Sunday morning, but I think it turned blustery that day, the wind whipping around the upper deck and sending us all home with pink, wind-burned faces. I have no idea where the mayor sat or how long he stayed, but his two-handed wave to the fans has stayed with me all these years.

Waino's woes

It's a shame Adam Wainwright will likely miss the 2011 season and need to have Tommy John surgery. This photo is from Spring Training 2008, when I flew into Orlando one March morning and drove straight to the Braves' spring ballpark. After this game, I motored east to Titusville to watch the space shuttle launch -- which it is coincidentally going to do today. Then I continued on to Vero Beach and Port St. Lucie over the next two days.

As for Waino, a top-five finish in the Cy Young Award voting this year would have triggered his 2013 option (his second-place finish last year triggered his 2012 option). He'll be 30 next spring and should have most of next season to pitch for his '13 contract, though it seems now that there would be little he could do to convince the Cards to pick up the final option at $12 million.

Here's to a full recovery and a return early in 2012.

Alas, Dodgertown

Just felt like posting a shot from my first Spring Training trip, three years ago to Florida. I went specifically to see Dodgertown before the Dodgers left their longtime spring home for Arizona. I understand their need to move their spring base out west, closer to their Los Angeles home, but it's still sad to look through the photos and know that it's not like that anymore. It was a great day, a great way to spend a morning and afternoon as a baseball fan.

Photo Flashback: 1989 Exhibition Finale

Lineups lined up

I missed Friday and was never married to the "Photo Friday" moniker anyway, so I'm going with "Photo Flashback" for this one.

While thumbing through an old photo album the other day, I came across several shots from various trips to Shea Stadium and Cooperstown. They were all taken with my meager Kodak Disk camera, so they images aren't great. The players look like specs on the film, so you'll pretty much have to take my word that they are indeed from April 1989.

It was a Sunday, the final day of the exhibition season. The Mets and Yankees had agreed to resume playing Spring Training games against one other in '89, culminating with two in New York during the final weekend. On Saturday, April 1, 1989, they played in the Bronx. On Sunday the 2nd, they were at Shea. And so was I, along with my father, his brother and my cousin, the only Yankee fan in the bunch.

The Yankees won, 4-0, their fourth win in six exhibition games against the Mets. But it was the Amazin's who would have the better season, finishing 87-75, though six games behind the NL East-winning Cubs. The Yankees went 74-87, trailing the champion Blue Jays by 14 1/2.

What follows are the photos I found worthy of scanning from that day (you can see them individually on my Flickr account). In the second one, you may notice two hands in the air, reaching just above the foul line in the center of the photo. That's Mayor Ed Koch, who was on hand for the game. Oh, and those pregame shots with players in the infield? Not batting practice -- infield practice. When's the last time you saw that at a big-league ballpark?

Photo Friday: Vintage Spring Training

In some ways, I'm still not caught up from vacation, because I hadn't intended to skip two slide-show Fridays. The plan was to have this one in the bag for two weeks ago, then resume with the weekly collections the following week. Clearly, didn't happen.

At least it's still spring training, though these images fit more toward the beginning of camp. Back in February, I bought the March 3, 1958, issue of Sports Illustrated and the April 5, 1948 issue of LIFE magazine on eBay because they had photo spreads -- and covers -- dedicated to spring training. They're fun images to look at, especially because, until recently, Al Lang Field in St. Petersburg was still used (by the Rays) and Vero Beach was still the Dodgers' home. Now, both are retired, at least as spring facilities. More images can be found at the Google LIFE photo archive, LIFE.com and SI on Getty, plus 39 covers at SI.com.

I'll dig up something for next week and then hopefully will have fresh batches of photos throughout the season. I might not get to a game a week, but I definitely have the archives to come up with something to post each Friday, as long as I stay on top of things. I don't expect I'll choose to do any more that aren't my own shots. This was a one-off look back at what spring training used to be.

Photo Friday: Cactus League action

Fontenot flop

The vacation got off to a glorious start. Our flight arrived in Phoenix half an hour early and we got our rental car and headed over to HoHoKam Park in Mesa (with a pit stop at In-n-Out Burger in Tempe).

Moments after Randy Wells made the first pitch of the spring for the Cubs, it hit me and I turned to Casey and said, "We're at a ballgame!" Baseball is back. Thank God.

It was a great day for the Cubs, which made for a wonderful afternoon. We spent the first four innings in our seats on the first-base side, then got up to grab a beer, roam the ballpark and take in the atmosphere.

Upon reaching the left-field corner, Casey's eyes lit up at a sign advertising a group of former players signing autographs. "Rollie Fingers!" she said. "I have to see that mustache in person!"

Rollie was there, sitting next to fellow Hall of Famer Ferguson Jenkins. Joining them beneath the tent were Bert Campaneris, George Foster, Lee Smith and Pete LaCock. For a $30 donation -- as it was called -- I bought an autographed postcard of Jenkins' Hall of Fame plaque and an 8x10 color glossy photo of Fingers delivering a pitch in Oakland's glorious yellow jerseys of the '70s.

Sadly, this game is the only baseball stop on our Arizona/Utah vacation. From here, it's north to higher elevations and colder climes, to the desert and the national parks. I may have another update or two over the next week, but if not, this will have to stand for the time being.

Excitement over Halladay

MLB.com's Todd Zolecki tweeted a photo from Clearwater this morning of Roy Halladay in his first bullpen session.

I bet a lot of Phillies fans are as excited about it as Charlie Manuel is in the background ...

The cliche is here

At last, Spring Training is here.

With Notre Dame's recent struggles, my interest in college basketball has waned sooner than usual, to the point where I decided to plan our March vacation to Arizona during the Big East Tournament rather than the first week of the NCAA tourney. And so I find that today's first day of camp for several teams is more pleasant than I anticipated.

There's not much else to say, because so much of what I love is cliched and probably mentioned in every story about Spring Training's commencement. But I think what I enjoy most is the images, both the photos sent from on-site (particularly the images of stretching, non-star players or equipment, like the one I took at Dodgertown a few years ago) and the sights and sounds during the scattered broadcasts each March.

And the first one, Braves vs. Mets, is only two weeks from yesterday.

Starting a new Tradition (or Starting anew at Tradition)

If teams are supposed to bring at least four starters to road games in the spring, how do you tell with the Orioles?

That's a question I asked my new friends as we watched the Mets and Orioles from the second row behind home plate at Tradition Field in Port St. Lucie. The lineup on this day featured holdover veterans Aubrey Huff and Jay Gibbons, and then ... probable center fielder Adam Jones (who had been acquired from the Mariners in the Erik Bedard trade) and eventual Opening Day starter Jeremy Guthrie. All-Stars Brian Roberts and Nick Markakis didn't make the trip, though the two New Jersey guys I'd met this morning and the Frenchman who had joined us walking around the complex thought that third baseman Mike Costanzo was Markakis, and shouted at him during batting practice based on that assumption.


I'd been at the ballpark since 7:30 a.m., taking a shot at catching some of the players as they arrived for work. I saw some -- Carlos Delgado in his Mazerati pulling into the fenced-in players' lot, Johan Santana and Aaron Heilman through the screen over the fence as they walked from their cars into the clubhouse -- but only Heilman acknowledged us, saying he had to get inside. There were only five of us, yet still no willing signers.

Port St. Lucie was the best stop of the trip. It might've been the familiarity of the club or the relative friendliness of being with my own fans. At Dodgertown, I could've easily had Jason Schmidt's autograph, but I didn't have much of a desire. But in St. Lucie, I went to bed at 10 p.m. just so that I could get up at 6 o'clock to be at the complex by 7:30. I was, literally, the first fan there.

After a walk around the main field, I returned to a spot near the players' lot and met Jamie and Michael, the two brothers from central Jersey. We became fast friends and spent the day talking baseball. When I mentioned that I had to go buy a ticket to sit in the seats because I'd bought a berm-only ticket, they handed me one of their two spare complimentary seats two rows away from the Mets' on-deck circle. I even ended up in the aisle seat.

After two hours of nothing -- no players came over from the lot, though as I said, we saw Delgado, Santana, Heilman, Jose Reyes, David Wright, Brian Schneider and a few others, even if we were unsure of exactly who they were -- we walked through the practice fields with three fans from France who had made the trip and happily joined us around the grounds. Jamie and Michael saw two minor leaguers they'd gotten to know from going to games at Binghamton and Trenton -- Tim McNab and Mike Nickeas -- and we caught the big leaguers warming up for batting practice on Field 7, the one reconfigured with CitiField's dimensions. The outfielders were learning the angles just as we were usured out at 10:30, when the gates closed.

Though the Mets may have been the most unaccomodating of the three teams I saw -- no way to get autographs as the players arrive, only a short hour or 90 minutes to roam the fields, and a way-to-early forced exit at 10:30, then limited access near the dugout -- I enjoyed the brief glimpses in Port St. Lucie the most. But based on what others said about charging for workouts, I suspect the Braves are more uninviting. I arrived too late at the Disney complex to wander around, but I was told in PSL that Atlanta (or Disney) charges fans to enter the workouts. And though the Dodgers and Mets collected $5 for parking, that's $5 if it's one person in the car, but also if it's four.

Once we entered Tradition Field at 11 a.m., we spent about 90 minutes during Orioles batting practice waiting for Mets autographs and got nothing. They never emerged from the dugout, having completed all BP and warmups on the back field. That annoyed me. I haven't tried for any autographs in years, but I printed out some photos I've taken and felt an urge to meet a few guys for the first time in a long time.

My photos from behind the plate on this day are stellar, in my mind. It was a great afternoon for shooting, which made up for the lack of autographs. The Mets starters -- save pitcher Oliver Perez -- played through the sixth inning, and following Perez, we got Wagner, Heilman, Joe Smith and Duaner Sanchez. After the game, I went with Jamie and Michael to see Omar Minaya, but didn't think until much later that I should've mentioned my plan for the Home Run Apple to Fred Wilpon.

Jamie, Michael and I met up with the three French kids and the father/son pair from Islen once more before I headed north to my cousin Donna's house, another long drive through Floridian desolation with the iPod shuffling and the Prius coasting.

Port St. Lucie -- as remote and lonesome as it is, relative to the well-known Florida hotspots -- was the perfect end to this initial foray into spring training tourism. I'm eager to go back, though not as eager as I am for the course of this season, which is bound to be interesting. I don't know that I'd want to make it an annual trip (there are too many places I'd like to see to spend vacation time and money going to Florida every March), but I'd certainly be up for a somewhat regular return.

Won't you take me to ... Dodgertown

Down on the mid-Florida Atlantic coast -- the Treasure Coast -- sits Vero Beach, home to Dodgers Spring Training for 61 years ... until this year. Now that the deadlines have been met in Goodyear, Ariz., the Dodgers will train in the Cactus League beginning next year, ending a six-decade tradition that had come to mean Spring Training. Just those words, "Dodgertown" and "Vero Beach," meant that it was March, that the baseball season was just around the corner.

Coming off I-95, I went a few hundred yards on a local four-lane before turning left into what looked like any other old-growth Florida neighborhood or subdivision. Only when I came to the next traffic light in this area, a sign welcoming me to Dodgertown stood on the corner. I turned into the first parking area, which put me down the hill from the fence behind Holman Stadium's left-field berm, and walked back out to the main road -- such as it was -- and joined the rest of the late-arriving morning stream of fans. We were late for the morning workouts, but early for the game. Holman's gates weren't open yet, but the Dodgers were taking batting practice on a back field and minor leaguers were enduring pitchers fielding practice on another nearby diamond.

Dodgertown was quaint, a visit back to old-school Spring Training. Walking the grounds was like exploring a resort, the streets and paths having theme names and the recognizable figures passing the everyday visitors. The path from Holman and the main complex to the back fields and minor league headquarters -- Vin Scully Way -- was divided by rope, giving the players a clear road between the fields and stadium, yet allowing the fans easy up-close access as they passed. I headed that way to explore the grounds, watching the minor leaguers hustle, then hearing the clip-clop of their cleats on the asphalt as they left the field. Joe Torre sat in a golf cart on one field, the fans up against the backstop to get pictures of LA's new manager. From where we stood, we could hear the conversation clearly.

"We leave for Orlando tonight," Torre said. "And then tomorrow we'll fly to Phoenix before heading to China."

Heading back down the path, I looked over a group of fans lining the fence in the left-field corner, where Jason Schmidt was signing autographs. He signed for a long time, getting to everyone, which isn't too surprising -- it's not like he had any throwing to do this spring. Blake DeWitt also stopped on his return trip down Vin Scully Way. The fans went to get his signature too, perhaps unsure of who he was, but not wanting to take a chance to miss getting a signature from the next Dodgers Rookie of the Year or All-Star.

Holman Stadium's simplicity is striking. A '40s ballyard hosting one of the most valuable and recognizable franchises in the game. It was more than watching a big-league team on a minor league field -- it was watching it on a small-college field, a JUCO diamond in a small corner of the county. The only thing that made the players look out of place was their size -- giants on the diamond in some cases.

After a complete traverse of the concourse, from one foul pole to the other and back to the center, I grabbed some grub and settled into my seat -- five rows off the field at about the third-base coach's box. I was so close, I could just about see the smoke coming out of Larry Bowa's ears as he stood there, forced to wear a batting helmet.

In my lap was the day's giveway, a blue beach towel. I unfolded it to find that it was a Dodger Stadium towel, with a coupon attached. A man to my left noticed me looking at the coupon's fine print.

"You can get a free soda -- if you go to L.A.," he said as I read the details of the Carl's Jr. promotion of a free 32 oz. soda with any meal purchase.

"I can," I replied, "and if I do it before Oct. 31, 2007."

Just before the game began, the occupants of the four seats to my right, between me and the aisle, settled in -- a pair of older couples, the woman in the seat next to me with her cane. So that's when I decided I'd stay seated for the first five frames, then ask them to move so that I could get out and spend the rest of the game perambulating around the park. They were who you'd expect to see watching the Dodgers in Florida in March -- the retirees with time on their hands and savings to spend.

The main drawback to Holman was that smoking was allowed on the concourse beyond certain sections down either line, and I often found myself weaving around cancer clients taking up space. This lax rule allowed them to continue to watch the game, instead of forcing them down the steps to a more open area, near where the main merchandise tent stood and the restrooms were located. The restrooms were unusual for a ballpark, too, free-standing cinder-block-and-cement structures with the faint hint of a county park relief station (but in a good way).

I added to my collection of tiny plastic team helmets by getting soft-serve mint chocolate chip and headed toward the left-field berm. I got there and sat down at field level a few feet from the warning track, only a chain-link fence between me and left field. Shortly after I settled in, Juan Pierre, Andre Ethier and Delwyn Young arrived to run some sprints near the track before calling it a day and crossing the outfield to get back to the Dodgers' clubhouse. The berm had emptied out a bit from earlier in the game, and so I sat alone, with no one invading my space. Those around me were quiet enough so that when Pierre, Ethier and Young ran past, I could hear their grunts. When they walked back to the foul line for another set, I could hear their conversation. In between, it was nothing but the crack of the bat, the slap of the ball in the left fielder's mitt, and the echo of the public-address announcer calling another batter to the plate.

Baseball in the mouse's house

At one time, the acres of land southwest of Orlando, Florida, were undeveloped or consisted mainly of orange groves. But ever since Walt Disney established his World, the area has continued to grow. There are the theme parks -- internationally based, water-based, animal-based and movie-based -- a Downtown, a suburb (Celebration) and a whole Wide World of Sports.

After exiting the highway, you follow the signs -- in a cartoonish Disney font -- to your destination, turning this way and that, circling around it seems, disorienting yourself. Though I took the exit before 1 p.m., it wasn't until 1:05 that I stepped out of my car and made my way across the parking lot to Champion Stadium, named, I realized once inside, for the apparel company, and not any kind of run of success by its spring tennant, the Atlanta Braves.

The ballpark sits among a collection of other attractions situated, in true Disney fashion, as a sort of Main Street microcosm. It's nothing more than a wide concourse, an open-air mall of sorts, but with the paths intersecting outside the gates behind home plate and the nearby stores and restaurants having full-on facades, it still has the feeling of theme-park-as-neighborhood.

By the time I emerged from the tunnel and saw the field, Brian McCann was batting for the Braves in the bottom of the first inning. He singled in the first two runs in what became a 3-1 Atlanta victory. A healthy crowd -- sprinkled liberally with fans in Cardinals red supporting the visiting team -- sat in the sun, and though I walked out to my section of metal bleachers along the right-field line and found my seat in the back row, I never made my way across the legs of the half-dozen people already there. I stood the whole game, exploring the various angles of the ballpark. It's a Disneyfied setup -- the cartoonish font returns to mark the sections, and there are hardly any permanent Braves logos to be seen, because once April comes, this ballpark is home to the Double-A affiliate of the Tampa Bay Rays, the Orlando Rays.

The best part of the experience, of this first moment at a Spring Training exhibition game, is watching a Major League game -- even with a healthy dose of prospects and scrubs taking the place of the starts we'll see come the regular season -- in a minor league park. The little details that aren't noticed from any Major League loge or mezzanine section are enhanced here: Adam Wainwright's lanky height, Albert Pujols' chin resting on his front shoulder in his batting stance, Mark Teixeira's distinctive swing, Phil Niekro's chalk-line-white hair.

Among other things, I noticed that the Cardinals are wearing their red caps with their road gray uniforms, a change from recent (regular) seasons, when they'd wear a navy blue cap with red "STL" logo. And in a fun example of lawn art, the outfield grass had a silhouette of Mickey Mouse's head mowed into it.

As it is with players' performance or rookies' emergence, Spring Training can provide a hint of what's to come when the season begins in earnest. Maybe the Cards are doing away with the blue road caps (a shame, if it's true). And maybe Pujols' elbow injury won't take away from his game that much, after all, because he's still hitting the ball this spring the way we'd expect him to.

As I leave the ballpark and make my way across the sea of cars, I'm glad I made the Disney complex my first stop, because it's the most anticeptic, generic, corporatized ballpark of the three I'll see on this trip. I chose it over the Astros' camp in Kissimmee, and I probably would've enjoyed that a little more for the atmosphere (and gotten to see Blue Jays ace Roy Halladay take on the Astros' No. 1, Roy Oswalt), but Orlando proved to be a good choice because of the stars who played in this game -- not just Pujols, McCann and Teixeira, but Troy Glaus, Jeff Francoeur, probable Cards Opening Day pitcher Wainwright and Braves pitching prospect Jair Jurrjens. Plus, I found out his first name is pronounced "J-air," the sound of simply putting a "J" in front of the word "air."

I follow the line of cars snaking its way out of the labyrinth of the Disney complex -- parking here is free, something unique for me on this three-camp tour, but I hear later that the Braves charge fans to watch workouts, so in the end, it's not as great a deal when you're paying for each person individually, rather than by the carfull -- and hit the overpriced toll road east to Titusville. I've got a little space detour before I continue the baseball portion of this trip.

A rebirth

Ahhhh ... There it is. Spring Training comes and brings with it the sense of a new beginning, the excitement of a new love, the fresh, invigorating smell of a new car.

Or something like that.

The images of fresh white uniforms, bright Florida sunshine and players, new and old, in new places brings the warmth of southern climes to the cold, brisk days of a New Jersey winter.

After an offseason of steroids and George Mitchell's term paper, it's a relief to have real baseball again -- even if it's just workouts and pitchers' fielding practice. It all has me a bit reinspired -- and with a plan. I've neglected this blog through three months of a Hot Stove season that saw several blockbuster trades, mediocre free agents getting ginormous deals and my favorite team landing the best pitcher in the game.

And I was inspired to write about none of it. That's not why I started this blog. And while 230 (now 231) posts in nearly (approximately) four years isn't bad -- it's a pace of roughly 57 per year, more than one a week -- I feel it's not quite what it could be. So starting now, I'm rededicating myself to it. If I can't reach 282 posts by this time next year -- that is, if I can't average one post a week for the next 52 weeks -- maybe it's time to retire it, to abandon this effort. If this 2008 season, with its anniversaries and goodbyes, can't bring back the fire to combine my twin loves of baseball and writing, then perhaps I shouldn't put the pressure on myself.

My plan at this point is to preview each division over the next six weeks, plus I've got a three-day trip to Florida's Treasure Coast in March to see the Braves, Dodgers and Mets play exhibition games. I've got tickets for the final game at Shea Stadium and plans to find my way back to Opening Day once again. There's an All-Star Game (and a FanFest to go with it) coming to New York in July, and another season of minor league ball ready to go throughout New Jersey, plus a new team a little more than an hour away in eastern Pennsylvania. If I can't be jump-started by all of that, then it's time to stop pretending.

So despite the house projects, tax preparation and work this weekend, I expect to take a look at the AL West (like ESPN The Magazine, I'll mix things up and go West to East, since everyone else goes East to West; plus, it allows me to finish up with my Mets). Detroit Central will follow by next weekend, with the East after that. By that schedule, I'll finish each division before the A's and Red Sox "kick off" the season with two games in Japan March 25 and 26, then have another week for some overall look-ahead before the campaign begins in earnest on March 31.

And then we'll see how it goes from there.

Counting down to pitchers and catchers

I know I've got a lot to catch up on. I still haven't finished the attendance comparison between the Nationals and Orioles and I have yet to go through my preseason predictions for each division to hold myself accountable for my rights and wrongs. That will come. For now, a few thoughts on the end of the season. And yes, the Yankees are still the last AL team to lose to an NL team in a game that "counts."

I hate Fox. I always will. They can give us crappy pregame blather, start the games at 8:30 and refuse to move up weekend games any earlier than 8 p.m. (after the pregame) and then they can take their horrendous ratings and deal with them. Fox has dumbed down baseball and it hasn't worked to draw in the viewers. Don't insult us with Scooter and over-the-top graphics and shameless promos of your own TV shows through the use of pointing out which stars who have no interest in the game were given prime seats and told to be in them in the fourth inning for the on-air shot and then allowed to go back to their hotels. It's bad enough that the network killed off the true game of the week and forces us to watch our own hometown teams on Saturday afternoons when we'd otherwise be able to do so when, sometimes, I'd just rather see Oakland and Anaheim rather than the Yankees and Blue Jays.


Bobby Valentine has a point, and I think it would drum up a lot of worldwide interest to see the champions of the two major international leagues face off in a true world series. I'd certainly watch, and I'd probably have more interest in seeing the White Sox and Marines than I did in seeing the White Sox and Astros in Games 3 and 4. A game between the Marines and White Sox that had more meaning than the untelevised exhibitions played by the Yankees and Mets on their respective trips to open the season in Japan recently would be more interesting than seeing the Mets and Cubs or Yankees and Devil Rays play games that count in the standings under the Tokyo Dome. Bob Klapisch is for it too, and he correctly posits that Bud Selig won't make an effort to at least explore the possibility. And yet, they think everyone wants to see a World Classic. It might be interesting, and I'll probably tune in, but if you were to give me the choice between an international competition every four years and a face-off between the champions of two nations every fall, I'd take the annual showdown.


Speaking of Selig, was there anything more revolting than seeing Jerry Reinsdorf fauning over his "Buddy" (Reinsdorf's term, not mine) after taking the World Series trophy during the awards presentation? Reinsdorf spewed some drivel about "the game" or whatever, and Selig stood there extending his lower lip over his upper, hands clasped behind his back, rocking on his no-doubt tassled loafers. (Speaking of the way this guy dresses, does he ever wear a suit, or does he always go with the khakis and contrasting sportcoat? No commissioner of the four major sports -- and I'm even including Gary Bettman here -- would present the championship trophy in anything other than a fine tailored suit, or at least something that looks like one.)

The owners put one of their own, Selig, into the commissioner's office the way George Bush nominates his cronies for political appointments. It's amazing how Bush runs the country so similarly to the way Selig runs baseball. Both chiefs come from the rich elite, protect their own, care more about the bottom line for themselves and their friends than the health and safety of the masses, and try their best to rule as a monarchy instead of a democracy. Between Fox and Selig, watching the All-Star Game and World Series can be as grating as it is enjoyable.


The free agents have begun to file. It's sad to see Mike Piazza on his way out of New York, but it's for the best. He was good, and maybe he'll do one of those one-day contracts, so popular in the NFL, to retire as a Met in a year or two.

Some random and not-so-thought-out predictions for free agent and other movements we'll see between now and late February:

Paul Konerko:Angels
Billy Wagner: Phillies (though I'd love to see him in blue and orange)
A.J. Burnett: Orioles (imagine him with Leo Mazzone?)
Jim Thome: Trade to White Sox
Ramon Hernandez: Mets
Manny Ramirez: Trade to Mets (something just tells me this one's going to happen this time)
B.J. Ryan: Mets or Phillies, depending on where Wagner ends up (I think he wants to close, not take closer money from the Yankees to set up Rivera)

Maybe I'll throw out more later.

Juicy

I've wanted to stay away from commenting on this whole steroids issue. I'm not trying to ignore it and think that it will go away, because it clearly won't. But I felt I didn't have much to say that wasn't already being thrown about, and that's still probably the case. But on the heels of last week's congressional hearing, it's taken a new turn.

First, there was the delicious sight of Bud Selig squirming and Donald Fehr sounding simply sleazy and heartless. "Progressive punishment?" God. The best thing that came out of the D.C. grandstanding was the exposure of the true wording of baseball's supposedly "tougher" steroid policy.

As for the players, it was shameful on both sides of the photographers' pit. The politicians fawned over the players and acted like they'd invited their athletic heroes into their homes and were amazed by their mere presence. For the athletes' part, they backtracked on everything they've said and done in the past few weeks or years. Jose Canseco backed off everything he's ever said or written about steroids and even Curt Schilling -- perhaps the biggest politician in the MLB players' association -- backtracked from what he's been saying for months about steroids.

But the saddest sights were Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa. As Tom Verducci said, here's a guy who felt free and comfortable talking in English since the 1998 home run chase, and now he doesn't even open his mouth in his own defense? I have yet to see a news clip since that shows Sosa saying anything. He looks like a mentally challenged hulk sitting there in his suit while his gray-haired lawyer serves as his mouthpiece. And, of course, everyone's already pointed out his use of the word "illegal" when saying he'd never used "illegal drugs."

As for McGwire, a player I once enjoyed to watch and marvel over, it was clearly a sad scene -- this once Paul Bunyan-esque slugger now appearing smaller, his face markedly clearer, dressed up (it seemed) in grandpa's reading glasses. All he had to do was come out and say it, say he never used steroids, and he'd be validated. But he didn't, probably because he couldn't, and now everyone -- Buster Olney, Jayson Stark, the news articles have jumped on the player everyone praised six summers ago.

Except one. Interestingly, Ben McGrath's "Talk of the Town" piece in The New Yorker is the one column I've seen that's portrayed McGwire in a positive light. But as Verducci said, hasn't McGwire learned the importance of history, of learning from the past? Clearly, we won't be learning from him.

* * *
Now what to make of Barry Bonds? Which is the act? His brash bravado during his press conference when he arrived in spring training? Or his quiet, humble, whimpering sob story yesterday? If not somewhere in between, I am going with history here and leaning toward the former. Will Bonds miss the entire season? Doubtful. Is he really done? Probably not. He's frustrated. True, he has been beaten down by allegations and accusations, but much of it he's brought upon himself. He berates the media, the sportswriters for bringing him to this point, but he had a choice in how he dealt with the reporters who, for the most part, were simply doing their jobs. He hasn't been cordial with any of them, or with many fans.

Blaming the writers for his woes, for his family's "pain," is weak. It's part of your job, your privileged career, that you have to live with. With McGwire's Hall of Fame resume clearly tarnished, in the minds of many, what will we make of Bonds'? Eddie Murray was known to be surly with the press, but he had little trouble getting to Cooperstown. Bonds shouldn't either, just because -- steroids or not -- his numbers are so eye-popping.

I, for one, won't be counting the days until Bonds is back on the field. I'll monitor his rehab, if only because of the fantasy baseball implications. But if he's hit his last home run, or if he comes back but still falls short of Hank Aaron's respectable 755, baseball will be better off. If not, if he gets healthy and passes Babe Ruth this year and Aaron in 2006, it will be a fitting mark on Selig's tenure -- perhaps his lasting impression. Baseball's greatest record, its home run crown, will be shrouded in a fog of suspicion, forever.

Embedded baseball writing

Tom Verducci's outstanding first-person account of his five days spent as a player with the Toronto Blue Jays is a fascinating look into a major-league clubhouse. Spring training is definitely the time to do it. Had he managed to gain access for five days during the season in April (which, of course, wouldn't happen because those games count), his days would've been filled with milling around hotels, malls and playing video games.

Reading the article, which was essentially a journal of his week in Dunedin, in the magazine, took me back to 2001, when I covered the Lakewood BlueClaws. The Phillies and the BlueClaws gave me permission to join the club on a road trip for a feature article in the newspaper. Ideally, I would've gone on a slightly longer trip, one that took us to two cities in the South Atlantic League, but my duties in the office required me to choose a four-day, down-and-back trek to Greensboro, N.C. So on the last game of a homestand, I arrived at the ballpark with my computer, as usual, but also with a duffel bag for the trip. We left after the game, arriving at the Greensboro hotel sometime in the late morning. I quickly fell into the routine. Like Verducci with the Blue Jays, I found the BlueClaws players to be very accommodating. They were a bit more relaxed around me after that trip, talking more freely and openly after games and for stories. Interviews were no longer like pulling teeth, answers did not have to be coaxed out of them.

The night before we arrived, rain had soaked the field at 80-year-old War Memorial Stadium. It's so old that the war it refers to is World War I. The field has horrible drainage, so despite a hot, sunny August day, that night's game was postponed because the field was too soggy. With idle time, many of the players (as well as myself, the broadcaster, Neil Solondz, and the strength coach, who I spent most of my time with) navigated the overpass and the four-lane highway to get to a Best Buy visible from the hotel parking lot. On the way back, Neil, hitting coach Jeff Manto and I played a round of miniature golf.

I'd ride the bus to the ballpark with the players and was under even more deadline pressure to file my game stories. Once the final out was made, I'd already have a lede written up because then I had to hustle down to the cramped visitors' clubhouse down the right-field line, get the comments I needed, and zip back up to the press box to file my story before the bus left to return to the hotel.

One morning, I joined the workout group on a trip to a local gym and found myself riding a stationary bike in a line with Manto (who was the acting manager for the trip, with skipper Greg Legg having used these four days for his vacation that the Phillies allow each minor-league instructor to take during the season), the bus driver and several Greensboro residents.

The trip home was much like the ride down, leaving after the game and driving through the night, arriving back at the ballpark at 7:30 in the morning. Everyone then went home for a few hours' sleep before returning for that night's game.

I'll have to dig through my old disks to see if I have the original story to post here. If I do, it's probably the unedited version.

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I also came across my scorebook from the 2002 BlueClaws season, when they hosted the South Atlantic League All-Star Game. Curious, I opened it up to see who played in that low-Class A midsummer classic. I remembered several names, but was surprised to be reminded of another.

The hometown BlueClaws featured Ryan Howard, now one of the Phillies' top prospects and the guy who hit 48 home runs at three levels last year. Also starting for the Northern Division was second baseman Jeff Keppinger, then with Pittsburgh's Hickory affiliate but now in the Mets' organization, and Jose Bautista, now the Pirates' starting second baseman. He played third back then for Hickory.

The Southern Division started Dodgers farmhand Victor Diaz at third; in two weeks he could find himself the Mets' starting right fielder if Mike Cameron isn't ready. The Mets featured three starters and four all-stars overall that year. Outfielder Angel Pagan was set to start in center and lead off, but was promoted days before the game. Catcher Justin Huber did get the start, but was traded last summer to the Royals. In left field was Jeff Duncan, who's since reached the big club.

But the name I'd forgotten was one I became aware of only a week or so before the game, when the all-star teams were announced. I hadn't pegged him as a prospect until then and I remember wondering just how long it might take this guy to get to the big leagues. He didn't start the game, but after two at bats by starting DH Scott Thorman of Macon, David Wright pinch-hit. He went 0-for-2 in the game, but 25 months later he made his major-league debut with the Mets.

Other SAL All-Stars of 2002 who have reached the majors include Willy Taveras of the Astros and Chris Young of the Rangers, who allowed the only hit in the game to the South (yes, it was a no-hitter until the eighth) but was credited with the win when the North scored three runs in the bottom of the inning.

It's a little surprising that, just two seasons later, I'm able to name so many players from low Class A who have already reached the majors. The first player from the SAL in 2001-02 who got to the bigs, I believe, was Houston reliever Mike Gallo. Now the all-stars are getting there. A few more should make it in the next year or two, but after that, if they're not there already, the dream is pretty much over.

Hair today, gone tomorrow: New changes for the New Mets

In addition to all the big changes around the Mets during the offseason, Willie Randolph (himself one of the changes) ushered in a new one on the first day of workouts in Port St. Lucie.

Taking a cue from his former employer over in the Bronx, Randolph dictated that there will be no facial hair (see last note), other than mustaches, on the Mets.

Call them the New Razor Mets.

At least Mike Piazza won't have to make any more decisions on how to wear his face.


This just won't cut it ...


Neither will the ridiculous fu-manchu ...


And, mercifully, no chance of the man-gina returning.

The Mets have also changed spring training (and, we can only assume, batting practice) jerseys. I've expressed my displeasure with their black jerseys in the past, and these just look ridiculous.


The NHL season may be cancelled, but the team sweaters were recycled.

The black swatch on the shoulders makes them look like hockey sweaters.

As ridiculously garrish as they were, I prefer the orange ones they wore the past two seasons.


Though shades of the Houston Astros c. 1982, I liked the orange-and-blue.

*****
The college baseball season has begun in earnest, in my mind, because the top northern schools have made their first trips south to open their seasons.

Notre Dame charged out of the gate with an 18-3 win in Orlando. Their nine hit batsmen were one short of an NCAA record.

New Jersey's top team, Rutgers, also opened with a victory in the college debut of former Little League World Series star Todd Frazier (see third story in link for a picture of little Toddy). The infielder, who was drafted by the Rockies last summer, went 3-for-4 and homered in his second at bat. I'm not sure yet if his move to third base was because of the incumbent at RU or more for Frazier's benefit, but it will be interesting to see how well he develops and how high he climbs when it comes time to call his name again on draft day.