Standing in line under the stands at Roger Dean Stadium in Jupiter, Florida last week, I felt hungry for a hot dog. While waiting my turn at the counter, I turned around to talk with the woman behind me who turned out to be a native of Woburn, Massachusetts, Dottie Craft. She is both a reader of this column and , like me, an old-time baseball fan.
When Dottie was a girl, she told me, her mother used to put her on the train for Boston and her father would pick her up at North Station. Then father and daughter would go to Braves Field on ladies’ day. It’s one of the sweet memories of her early life that a baseball game in Florida’s Grapefruit League brings back.
Also in line were the Smiths from Connecticut, Gene and Ellen. “She’s the fan,” Gene said of his wife. As his cap indicated, he is a navy veteran of World War II, having served on the USS Rochester.
Somehow the name of John Rocker came up in our conversation. He’s the mou-thy Atlanta Braves relief pitcher whose punishment for outrageous remarks about New Yorkers had just been reduced. Ellen Smith told me: “I guess he should be banned. We’re telling our kids you can’t do drugs, then they let him go. That’s not right.”
After getting the hot dog, I returned to the stands for the start of the game between the host St. Louis Cardinals and the visiting Los Angeles Dodgers. Of course, both teams are visiting Florida as they prepare for the official season to start back home. The games in March don’t count in the official standings but they give the veterans a chance to get ready and the rookies an opportunity to show their stuff.
For me, this game was filled with beauty and atmosphere. It was the baseball of my dreams: temperatures around 75, a warm sun shielded at times by friendly clouds, fans amiable and ready to chat, and players wearing classic uniforms. The Cardinals, in particular, looked handsome in their pressed clean white jerseys and pants, featuring red letters along with hats and shoes of the same color.
Even before he came to bat, Mark McGwire, greater than Babe Ruth in a single season, was the center of fans’ attention. When at the plate, however, the slugger did not deliver on this day. Three times, he failed to put his bat on the ball solidly. Clearly, his timing has not yet approached mid-season form. Still, to see the mighty Mac take his swings excited awe, as always.
As the game proceeds I make it my business to engage nearby fans in conversation. Meyer Foss, 86 years old, recalls his boyhood when he used to pass the hat for his double A hometown team, the Wilkes-Barre Barons in Pennsylvania.
Another fan, a New Yorker sitting in the row in front of me, is much distracted by a disastrous day on Wall Street. “The Dow is down 300 points,” he breezily informs us all.
The left fielder is not having a much of a day either. We have just heard him call “I got it” for a fly ball that misses his glove and bounces off his chest.
Another fan is overheard to report: “I called his grandfather and told him that his grandson was a Republican – he didn’t handle it very well.”
Between innings, I amble over to the next section of the boxes where the professional scouts are sitting. Among them is Tommy Lasorda, Mr. Los Angeles Dodgers, since 1997, a member of the Baseball Hall of Fame. He was Dodger manager for twenty years and steered the team to two World Series victories. Now he brings his experience to evaluating talent.
In a brief interview, I ask Tommy Lasorda how he feels about the game as he gets older. “You keep on loving it more and more every day,” says the man who clearly seems to be enjoying himself that afternoon. “But I miss managing very much,” he adds rueful-ly.
Meanwhile play continues much like a regular season game except that substitutions of players are frequent. The starters are removed after a few innings to give unproven players a chance. I relish the lack of a designated hitter in this game between National League teams since I have always felt that the DH spoils the purity of the game.
Nothing very exciting happens in this game; even a clutch hit by a Cardinal rookie to drive in the winning hit in the last of the eighth inning stirs only scattered applause. But the afternoon continues balmy and the conversation goes on and we fans find quiet enjoyment in the proceedings.
Six thousand fans exit at game’s end having spent the kind of afternoon worth remembering.
Richard Griffin