Spring Training

 

During the dark, frozen New England winter months my feet are cold, finger tips perpetually chapped, and as the sun sets days seem to draw to a close at 4 PM. As a counterpoint, I regularly have a conversation with myself in which I repeat this mantra, “but I enjoy the change of seasons, but I enjoy the change of seasons”. 

It’s true, I do enjoy the change. But as the first snowflake of the season flutters down to terra firma, my winter mantra switches to, “OK, been there, done that, on to spring!” Mother Nature of course pays no heed. So I trudge along for the next frosty months through whatever wintry mix she has on tap. By mid-February however, a month still famous for unleashing more than enough winter ‘events’ before and after crocuses pop up, it’s heart-warming news when Red Sox pitchers and catchers report to Fort Myers, FL for the start of spring training. Where I live, spring baseball is the light at the end of winter’s long, dark, frigid tunnel and a harbinger of sunnier, warmer ensuing months. It’s also another reason why baseball is The National Pastime.

It should then come as no surprise that the thought of baseball triggers all sorts of fond memories: going to the stadium as a kid with dad or mom, playing sandlot ball, seeing your team’s slugger hit one out of the park, even munching on Cracker Jack’s sticky mix, etc., etc. To drive this point home, my last Photo-blog post (A Thanksgiving Baseball Story) elicited a slew of comments many of which included writers’ baseball reminisces. I’ll share a few edited snippets from these feel-good stories. Enjoy.

From Marc, my best high school friend - 

What a beautiful Thanksgiving story.  It inspired me to look for my old mitt signed by Wally Moon of the St. Louis Cardinals.  It was the only lefty glove my Uncle Al from Brooklyn could find. I treasured it throughout my Little League days playing for Murray’s Stationary in Oceanside. I might have given it to one of my kids even though they are all right handed. While unpacking in my new residence I found a near brand new Mazuno glove (that's right, Korean made on the label).  I must have bought it years later to play catch with my son Dave. Now Dave's 7 yr old boy Walter enjoys the game. Last summer I played outfield to field balls hit by Walter with Dave pitching from the mound.  It gave me an immense sense of warmth as I could recall my father pitching to me as a kid.

I can't remember the last time I went to a game.  My girls came to enjoy baseball as a result of my stories following the Dodgers as a kid. Lisa went to see the Cards a few times when attending Wash U. Lindsey has seen the Giants at their new stadium in San Fran. 

Thank you Dave for taking me down memory lane. I have a fantasy some of us could gather for a spring training game watching the Dodgers play the Giants in Scottsdale/Phoenix

My very best

Marc

From my West Coast cousin Anne -

I went to all my brother Alan’s Little League games and probably most practices too. I loved baseball right from the start. But sadly it never occurred to my dad, or even to me, to learn how to throw or hit a ball. Such a shame. But this was way before Title IX and enlightenment.

Baseball has always been special to me because of the connection with my dad and Alan. When I was in those horrible teenage years, baseball was the “safe” place where we could always connect and talk. And that happened with both my kids too. Baseball has always been that place of connection for my family. Aren’t sports great! Thanks for sparking the memories!

Best,

Anne

From my friend Nolan - 

As a lifelong Brooklyn Dodger fan I cannot understand how you could even put on a hated NY Yankee (Phil Rizzuto) glove. Mine was a Duke Snider autographed glove and I cleaned and oiled it several times a year for many years. My uncle had a catch with me one year and he was showing off about how fast he could throw and the webbing broke. I hated him after that day. I repaired it and used it for many years after that (Little League, Pony League and my try out for the Martin Van Buren High School team). It survived in our garage until Hynda and I moved to our condo in DC ten years ago. There were certain things I was not allowed to take - the smelly old glove being one.

BTW, my father was an usher at the Polo Grounds and Yankee Stadium. He used to take me to the games when the Giants played the Dodgers. 

Nolan

Lastly, from my friend Steve - 

Loved the blog! I guess I've lost my old baseball glove but certainly appreciate how great you felt when you got yours back. BTW, growing up in Waterbury CT (the dividing line geographically between the Red Sox and the Yankees) and having lots of NY family, I was a big Yankees fan in the 50s and 60s. In fact the only Major League game I attended as a kid was at Yankee Stadium in 1961. Yes, I got to see one of my idols, Roger Maris, hit TWO home-runs that day in his quest for the all time record.

Warmly,

Steve   

Circling back to the present, on the calendar winter has officially only just begun. That means spring training is only ~60 days away. I can’t wait. 

Play ball!

                   

images - David Greenfield

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Visit my web site anytime to view other blog-posts, Galleries of photos, and Photo-essays.

Then kindly share on social media. Thank you.

A Thanksgiving Baseball Story

 

All things considered, it’s merely a blip on the radar screen of what to be thankful for. Nevertheless, I was very grateful for someone’s thoughtful act of kindness. 

It reunited me with a cherished keepsake.

Here’s how it played out.

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“Have you seen my _________ ?” I’ve posed this query to my wife on many occasions. You can fill in the blank with any number of items - keys, phone, wallet, etc. I seem to use that exasperating question more and more these days. Her go-to response: “when was the last time you had it?”, it being any of the aforementioned possessions or others currently MIA. This time it was a very old, well worn genuine leather Phil Rizzuto* autograph baseball glove which has been with me for over 60 years. It’s seen action starting with after school pickup games at the Parade Grounds Park in Brooklyn, summer vacations at a New Jersey bungalow colony, fraternity intramurals, and my Little League play for Blossom Heath Florists in Oceanside, NY.

These days I love slipping it on to ‘have a catch’ with two of my grandsons who are Big Time into baseball. 

 

Matan

Isaac

But where is that prized mitt now? Taking my wife’s cue, I remember last using it for a catch at Waltham’s Lazazzero’s Park when my two nearby grandkids had a Veteran’s Day sleepover two weeks prior. OK, I now know when I last had possession, but after almost turning my house upside down and shaking it, alas, no glove fell to the floor. I was at a loss, and quite upset. You might say, it’s only a glove, get over it, get another. Yeah, but this one with all its imperfections and battle scars, had special memories attached. It hurt to lose it.

At any rate, on Thanksgiving Day, filled with thoughts of all I was thankful for, my wife and I headed out for dinner at my daughter’s home. Our son and his family were already gathered. Suddenly I had a hunch for solving the mystery of the lost glove - is it possible the glove was inadvertently left at Lazazzero’s? It was a highly unlikely long shot, but still worth taking a small detour before our gathering.

Moments later after checking out the field and stands where the glove might be and even scouring the adjacent basketball court where I played a few games of 5-3-1 with my granddaughter, I walked back to the car empty handed and dejected. Nothing.

Suddenly, I noticed it perched on a nearby fence post! Some good soul believing the owner would come back, cared enough to rescue it. As expected, the glove was in rough shape - dirty, weather-beaten, and suffering nasty lacerations and missing parts probably the result of being used as a chew toy by some neighborhood mutt. It was in need of surgery and the ICU - but I had it back!

The webbing was detached, the leather dry & stiff from exposure to a soaking rain, and the strap was chewed/ripped off

Once home I quickly assembled my instruments and supplies - a leather remnant, rawhide, surgical scissors, upholstery needles, conditioner, and ‘leather scalpel’. Surgery was scheduled for the morning.

When all was set and painstakingly done, the glove emerged anew to resume its encore as Papa's prized mitt.

Looking back, I'm reminded of a friend's expression of thankfulness at this holiday time. Most important among her riches was having her husband back home. He had just been released from the hospital after days of intensive care when doctors worked to save his life from the ravages of a life-threatening systemic infection. He left severely weakened and battered, a shell of who he had been, but his wife was so happy to have him back, in any shape.

With family gathered around marking Thanksgiving 2022, I was truly thankful for all I had. In a small but appreciative way I was also grateful for what a thoughtful, caring soul did to help me get a cherished keepsake back home, regardless of the shape it was in.

I also couldn't wait to have the next catch.

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* Phil Rizzuto, 'The Scooter', spent his entire baseball career playing shortstop for the New York Yankees (1941 - 1956). During that span the team captured ten American League titles and seven World Championships. Many of those victories were against my Brooklyn Dodgers, which makes me wonder why my dad brought a Yankee shortstop autograph glove home for me. After his playing career, Rizzuto had a forty year career as a radio and TV sports announcer for the Yankees. He was known for his idiosyncratic, conversational broadcast style, and for his trademark expression, 'Holy Cow!'

images - David Greenfield

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Visit my web site anytime to view other blog-posts, Galleries of photos, and Photo-essays.

Then kindly share on social media. Thank you.