 |  |  |  |  |
Spring Training
By Erik K. Smith
In the spring of 1993 I moved to Los Angeles to pursue
a dream of working in the film industry. Like many who
choose to live in one of the world’s largest cities, I was
overwhelmed by how crowded yet lonely it felt to a kid who
had grown up on Boston’s North Shore. While I set about
trying to sell movie scripts I had written and to find a job
I also became a long term tourist in Southern California.
One of the places I visited was the Nixon Library. While
there I read something he said about adopting sports teams in
a strange new city to help one feel more connected. I bought
a ticket to a Los Angeles Dodgers game.
Again I was awed when I experienced what Vin Sculley
calls “Blue Heaven on Earth” with eyes that had only seen
Fenway Park. That first game, against arch-rivals, the San
Francisco Giants, was one of the fireworks nights when fans
are allowed onto the field. I was hooked; I was a Dodgers
fan.
President Nixon’s advice served me well. Being able
to talk baseball with the locals provided me with countless
opportunities to make friends. One of the best of those
friends, animator Robb Pratt, went along with me and some
other friends to see a Dodger Stadium Opening Day in 1995.
Robb and I made it a tradition, and we went to Opening Day
six years in a row.
I never did have any luck selling scripts, but I did
manage to work as a production coordinator at Walt Disney
Feature Animation for a little over five years. I didn’t
survive the layoffs of the late 90s, though, and a general
recession in Hollywood made finding work tough. One of the
places I looked for work included the Dodgers website, and I
saw that they were looking for ushers. I was hired minutes
into my interview; having Disney on my resume was like a
stamp of approval. I spent the Summer and Fall of 2000
getting paid to watch baseball games in the second oldest
National League stadium.
In 2001 I moved home to Massachusetts. My nephew
Benjamin had just been born, and I had grown tired of the
endless fruitless job search. Robb and I kept in touch,
promising to see ballgames together at Fenway and wherever
else we could when fortune allowed. I had been an usher at
his wedding, in the same chapel where Bob Hope had married
his wife Dolores, and I was thrilled that he had started his
own family with a daughter and later a son. Back home I
helped my brother Karl teach his sons to learn to be Red Sox
fans. We taught Ben to say Nomar, one of his very first
words. When Karl took Ben to his first game at Fenway, Mr.
Garciaparra obliged with a home run hit out to the bleachers
where they were sitting.
Robb sent me an email last November, asking if I might
want to join him in Vero Beach, Florida to see some Spring
Training games at Dodgertown. He wanted to see this
legendary spot before the team moves its Spring Training to
Glendale, Arizona to be closer to its fans. I think I typed
a dozen exclamation points after YES in all caps.
As the temperatures dropped below freezing I kept warm inside
with the thoughts of casual baseball games in the Sunshine
State with my pal Robbo. He did an incredible job organizing
the trip, with tickets to games at Holman Stadium, City of
Palms Park, and Legends Field. Karl got me a plane ticket
with his frequent flyer miles, and my friends lent me some
spending money.
Our first game was at Holman Stadium, part of storied
Dodgertown. We got there an hour and a half before the game
and were instantly transfixed with the place. All that
separate the fans from the players were four foot chain link
fences. One of the first of the Dodgers I saw was Derek
Lowe. The last time I’d seen him up close he was on a
Duckboat winding its way through cold wet Boston streets and
then the Charles River during the Red Sox Victory Parade.
To a baseball fan there is nothing like the sound of a bat
smacking a ball. Watching batting practice from 20 feet away
means hearing and feeling that joyous sound repeatedly.
It was autograph day so once again I was able to walk
onto the ballfield, this time before the game. I was wearing
the same blue hat with LA stitched into it that I had bought
at my first Dodger game. The player with the biggest crowd
around him was Nomar Garciaparra. We got lots of photos and
then settled into our seats a few rows behind home plate.
Dodger owner Walter O’Malley had built Dodgertown on the site
of a World War II airfield nearly 60 years ago. He wanted
fans to be able to mingle with players up close in this
relaxed setting. The dugouts are just open air benches. The
streets are named for Dodger legends like Sandy Koufax, Roy
Campanella, Vin Sculley, and Jackie Robinson.
We drove out to Winter Park to check out the facility that
used to house the Red Sox. Again we watched batting practice
up close; this time the Cleveland Indians.
Then we made the trek to Fort Meyers. It would be the
first Red Sox game Robb and I attended together. Right away
we were struck with the differences between City of Palms
Park and Holman Stadium. The fences surrounding the practice
fields were 15 feet high and covered with green plastic to
prevent watching. The dugouts were like bunkers, upon which
police officers stood and menaced the crowd. We had Standing
Room tickets which meant we were pushed up against a cement
wall.
It was still baseball in warm sunshine in March, and
we had a blast. I struck up a conversation with a guy
standing next to me who turned out to be from Salem,
Connecticut. He thought I was joking when I said I was from
Salem, Massachusetts. I was talking with him about
Dodgertown and how mellow it was in comparison. He and his
buddy decided they’d go there when the Dodgers hosted the Sox
and we promised to look for each other.
The Sox lost to the Phillies, but that couldn’t ruin
the fun we had. After the game we checked out the tributes
to Ted Williams. There was a statue of the Splendid Splinter
giving his hat to a little boy and a couple of big bronze
tablets featuring his storied statistics and his speech at
his induction to the Hall of Fame.
Robb insisted we go see the Yankees, ignoring my
protests. I was predisposed to disliking the place, and it
didn’t let me down. I made sure my outsider status was
obvious to all by wearing my Red Sox cap and a Dodger tee
shirt. Truthfully I was happy to experience the place, but I
played well my part as a true New Englander. I chuckled at
the little park featuring monuments to various Yankees, all
of whom were touted as the greatest who ever played. I took
pride in the fact that I had booed a couple of them during
their playing days when they made appearances at Fenway.
At Holman and City of Palms they featured Florida and
either California or Massachusetts flags that flanked Old
Glory. At Legends field the home state flag was absent; in
its place was a flag with that dreadful, Tiffany designed, NY
logo. This huge stadium featured a big Diamond Vision screen
and lots of sky boxes for those not wanting to mingle with
the common folk. I’ve been to lots of different Minor League
stadiums that this one dwarfed in comparison. There was a
trophy presentation to some kids from the farm system before
the game, and when Joe Torre walked out onto the field I had
to fight my urge to boo. Even though there were a lot of
Atlanta Braves fans in attendance, I hadn’t seen one single
other Red Sox hat in the crowd. I truly was a stranger in a
strange land. Again I laughed as the players were introduced
and came out of their dugout one by one to play catch with
each other. It was all so slick and choreographed that it
felt like an entirely different sport from the one we’d
witnessed in Vero Beach.
Security was tighter even than at City of Palms. Fans
were not allowed to fill empty seats closer to the field. We
were strolling around the concourse, just checking out the
place, when a security guard accosted us and told us to get
away from a fence looking down on some landscaping
equipment. Perhaps Mr. Steinbrenner spent some of those
millions on a super secret turf growing technique.
Our whole week was leading up to what we figured would
be the most memorable game of our Spring Training
experience. It was the Red Sox at Dodgertown, and we learned
that Daisuke Matsusaka would be pitching! This time we got
there at 9:30 for a 1:15 game. I kept hearing kids and
adults saying “Where is Nomar?” Minutes after we got there
we bumped into our friend from Salem, Connecticut, who had
tickets on the lawn, or Berm as it’s called. We promised to
try and find each other out there. While wandering around
and soaking up the atmosphere there were several times when I
got about four feet from former Red Sox and current Dodger
Manager Grady Little and had to restrain myself from asking
him why he’d left Pedro in for so long in that devastating
end to the 2003 season.
For at least half an hour I stood ten feet from Tommy
Lasorda, who was sitting in a golf cart with his name
emblazoned across the front and autographing baseballs for
the fans. He talked about this year’s team and invited kids
to sit with him in the cart while he signed their stuff.
Like a stern but loving grandfather he told them to look at
him while he was talking and reminded them to say please and
thank you. A man with an Angels cap was told “The only
Angels are up in Heaven, and they’re all ex-Dodgers.”
As I had seen at City of Palms, I noticed lots of tee
shirts and hats with New England institutions like Cambridge
Fire, Boston Police, and a motorcycle dealership in Warwick,
Rhode Island. This time the game was sold out, and the
atmosphere was a lot different from the game we’d seen with
the Washington Nationals. It reminded me of going to Anaheim
whenever the Sox came to California; there were more fans of
the visitors than the home team.
Things were going well for Boston, with several home
runs. One of them hit a palm tree right near where we were
sitting, and the fan that retrieved the ball gave it to a
little boy who had been frightened by all the scrambling. As
fans wearing New York hats walked by they were roundly
booed. My first game with my two favorite teams was cut
short by a monsoon, though. A few drops turned into a
downpour. We tried to tough it out under some trees, but the
sky opened up and drenched everyone. As we ran for the
parking lot and thunder clapped, we heard a collective scream
that reminded Robb and me of the movie “Titanic.”
Back at our hotel we bumped into lots of fans who’d
been there at the game. Many of them were New Englanders
like me who had also been hoping to see a few more innings
than the weather had allowed. I could hardly believe that it
was the first time my Southern California native friend Robb
had experienced rain during a baseball game. I regaled him
for the umpteenth time with my stories of doing tarp duty at
a rare rainout at Dodger Stadium back in September 2000.
They don’t have a regular crew for that; they don’t need it.
When the Usher Captain of my level called for volunteers he
laughed at my eagerness.
The rainout couldn’t dampen our spirits, though. We
stayed up most of the night talking about various games we’d
seen and baseball stories we’d heard, and then we got up and
returned the rental car to Orlando to fly back to our
separate corners of this great nation.
By Erik K. Smith
In the spring of 1993 I moved to Los Angeles to pursue
a dream of working in the film industry. Like many who
choose to live in one of the world’s largest cities, I was
overwhelmed by how crowded yet lonely it felt to a kid who
had grown up on Boston’s North Shore. While I set about
trying to sell movie scripts I had written and to find a job
I also became a long term tourist in Southern California.
One of the places I visited was the Nixon Library. While
there I read something he said about adopting sports teams in
a strange new city to help one feel more connected. I bought
a ticket to a Los Angeles Dodgers game.
Again I was awed when I experienced what Vin Sculley
calls “Blue Heaven on Earth” with eyes that had only seen
Fenway Park. That first game, against arch-rivals, the San
Francisco Giants, was one of the fireworks nights when fans
are allowed onto the field. I was hooked; I was a Dodgers
fan.
President Nixon’s advice served me well. Being able
to talk baseball with the locals provided me with countless
opportunities to make friends. One of the best of those
friends, animator Robb Pratt, went along with me and some
other friends to see a Dodger Stadium Opening Day in 1995.
Robb and I made it a tradition, and we went to Opening Day
six years in a row.
I never did have any luck selling scripts, but I did
manage to work as a production coordinator at Walt Disney
Feature Animation for a little over five years. I didn’t
survive the layoffs of the late 90s, though, and a general
recession in Hollywood made finding work tough. One of the
places I looked for work included the Dodgers website, and I
saw that they were looking for ushers. I was hired minutes
into my interview; having Disney on my resume was like a
stamp of approval. I spent the Summer and Fall of 2000
getting paid to watch baseball games in the second oldest
National League stadium.
In 2001 I moved home to Massachusetts. My nephew
Benjamin had just been born, and I had grown tired of the
endless fruitless job search. Robb and I kept in touch,
promising to see ballgames together at Fenway and wherever
else we could when fortune allowed. I had been an usher at
his wedding, in the same chapel where Bob Hope had married
his wife Dolores, and I was thrilled that he had started his
own family with a daughter and later a son. Back home I
helped my brother Karl teach his sons to learn to be Red Sox
fans. We taught Ben to say Nomar, one of his very first
words. When Karl took Ben to his first game at Fenway, Mr.
Garciaparra obliged with a home run hit out to the bleachers
where they were sitting.
Robb sent me an email last November, asking if I might
want to join him in Vero Beach, Florida to see some Spring
Training games at Dodgertown. He wanted to see this
legendary spot before the team moves its Spring Training to
Glendale, Arizona to be closer to its fans. I think I typed
a dozen exclamation points after YES in all caps.
As the temperatures dropped below freezing I kept warm inside
with the thoughts of casual baseball games in the Sunshine
State with my pal Robbo. He did an incredible job organizing
the trip, with tickets to games at Holman Stadium, City of
Palms Park, and Legends Field. Karl got me a plane ticket
with his frequent flyer miles, and my friends lent me some
spending money.
Our first game was at Holman Stadium, part of storied
Dodgertown. We got there an hour and a half before the game
and were instantly transfixed with the place. All that
separate the fans from the players were four foot chain link
fences. One of the first of the Dodgers I saw was Derek
Lowe. The last time I’d seen him up close he was on a
Duckboat winding its way through cold wet Boston streets and
then the Charles River during the Red Sox Victory Parade.
To a baseball fan there is nothing like the sound of a bat
smacking a ball. Watching batting practice from 20 feet away
means hearing and feeling that joyous sound repeatedly.
It was autograph day so once again I was able to walk
onto the ballfield, this time before the game. I was wearing
the same blue hat with LA stitched into it that I had bought
at my first Dodger game. The player with the biggest crowd
around him was Nomar Garciaparra. We got lots of photos and
then settled into our seats a few rows behind home plate.
Dodger owner Walter O’Malley had built Dodgertown on the site
of a World War II airfield nearly 60 years ago. He wanted
fans to be able to mingle with players up close in this
relaxed setting. The dugouts are just open air benches. The
streets are named for Dodger legends like Sandy Koufax, Roy
Campanella, Vin Sculley, and Jackie Robinson.
We drove out to Winter Park to check out the facility that
used to house the Red Sox. Again we watched batting practice
up close; this time the Cleveland Indians.
Then we made the trek to Fort Meyers. It would be the
first Red Sox game Robb and I attended together. Right away
we were struck with the differences between City of Palms
Park and Holman Stadium. The fences surrounding the practice
fields were 15 feet high and covered with green plastic to
prevent watching. The dugouts were like bunkers, upon which
police officers stood and menaced the crowd. We had Standing
Room tickets which meant we were pushed up against a cement
wall.
It was still baseball in warm sunshine in March, and
we had a blast. I struck up a conversation with a guy
standing next to me who turned out to be from Salem,
Connecticut. He thought I was joking when I said I was from
Salem, Massachusetts. I was talking with him about
Dodgertown and how mellow it was in comparison. He and his
buddy decided they’d go there when the Dodgers hosted the Sox
and we promised to look for each other.
The Sox lost to the Phillies, but that couldn’t ruin
the fun we had. After the game we checked out the tributes
to Ted Williams. There was a statue of the Splendid Splinter
giving his hat to a little boy and a couple of big bronze
tablets featuring his storied statistics and his speech at
his induction to the Hall of Fame.
Robb insisted we go see the Yankees, ignoring my
protests. I was predisposed to disliking the place, and it
didn’t let me down. I made sure my outsider status was
obvious to all by wearing my Red Sox cap and a Dodger tee
shirt. Truthfully I was happy to experience the place, but I
played well my part as a true New Englander. I chuckled at
the little park featuring monuments to various Yankees, all
of whom were touted as the greatest who ever played. I took
pride in the fact that I had booed a couple of them during
their playing days when they made appearances at Fenway.
At Holman and City of Palms they featured Florida and
either California or Massachusetts flags that flanked Old
Glory. At Legends field the home state flag was absent; in
its place was a flag with that dreadful, Tiffany designed, NY
logo. This huge stadium featured a big Diamond Vision screen
and lots of sky boxes for those not wanting to mingle with
the common folk. I’ve been to lots of different Minor League
stadiums that this one dwarfed in comparison. There was a
trophy presentation to some kids from the farm system before
the game, and when Joe Torre walked out onto the field I had
to fight my urge to boo. Even though there were a lot of
Atlanta Braves fans in attendance, I hadn’t seen one single
other Red Sox hat in the crowd. I truly was a stranger in a
strange land. Again I laughed as the players were introduced
and came out of their dugout one by one to play catch with
each other. It was all so slick and choreographed that it
felt like an entirely different sport from the one we’d
witnessed in Vero Beach.
Security was tighter even than at City of Palms. Fans
were not allowed to fill empty seats closer to the field. We
were strolling around the concourse, just checking out the
place, when a security guard accosted us and told us to get
away from a fence looking down on some landscaping
equipment. Perhaps Mr. Steinbrenner spent some of those
millions on a super secret turf growing technique.
Our whole week was leading up to what we figured would
be the most memorable game of our Spring Training
experience. It was the Red Sox at Dodgertown, and we learned
that Daisuke Matsusaka would be pitching! This time we got
there at 9:30 for a 1:15 game. I kept hearing kids and
adults saying “Where is Nomar?” Minutes after we got there
we bumped into our friend from Salem, Connecticut, who had
tickets on the lawn, or Berm as it’s called. We promised to
try and find each other out there. While wandering around
and soaking up the atmosphere there were several times when I
got about four feet from former Red Sox and current Dodger
Manager Grady Little and had to restrain myself from asking
him why he’d left Pedro in for so long in that devastating
end to the 2003 season.
For at least half an hour I stood ten feet from Tommy
Lasorda, who was sitting in a golf cart with his name
emblazoned across the front and autographing baseballs for
the fans. He talked about this year’s team and invited kids
to sit with him in the cart while he signed their stuff.
Like a stern but loving grandfather he told them to look at
him while he was talking and reminded them to say please and
thank you. A man with an Angels cap was told “The only
Angels are up in Heaven, and they’re all ex-Dodgers.”
As I had seen at City of Palms, I noticed lots of tee
shirts and hats with New England institutions like Cambridge
Fire, Boston Police, and a motorcycle dealership in Warwick,
Rhode Island. This time the game was sold out, and the
atmosphere was a lot different from the game we’d seen with
the Washington Nationals. It reminded me of going to Anaheim
whenever the Sox came to California; there were more fans of
the visitors than the home team.
Things were going well for Boston, with several home
runs. One of them hit a palm tree right near where we were
sitting, and the fan that retrieved the ball gave it to a
little boy who had been frightened by all the scrambling. As
fans wearing New York hats walked by they were roundly
booed. My first game with my two favorite teams was cut
short by a monsoon, though. A few drops turned into a
downpour. We tried to tough it out under some trees, but the
sky opened up and drenched everyone. As we ran for the
parking lot and thunder clapped, we heard a collective scream
that reminded Robb and me of the movie “Titanic.”
Back at our hotel we bumped into lots of fans who’d
been there at the game. Many of them were New Englanders
like me who had also been hoping to see a few more innings
than the weather had allowed. I could hardly believe that it
was the first time my Southern California native friend Robb
had experienced rain during a baseball game. I regaled him
for the umpteenth time with my stories of doing tarp duty at
a rare rainout at Dodger Stadium back in September 2000.
They don’t have a regular crew for that; they don’t need it.
When the Usher Captain of my level called for volunteers he
laughed at my eagerness.
The rainout couldn’t dampen our spirits, though. We
stayed up most of the night talking about various games we’d
seen and baseball stories we’d heard, and then we got up and
returned the rental car to Orlando to fly back to our
separate corners of this great nation.
| Red Sox Victory Parade 2007 |
