January 2000 Archives

As January comes to a close, it ends the same way it began. January 1, Trina and I went shopping for bunk beds for Tiffany and Whitney. We picked one out and scheduled to have it delivered on the 5th. The store missed the delivery date and the saga began. For the subsequent four weeks, Trina went back and forth with the store setting up appointments and trying to take delivery. We did receive a bed for a couple of minutes around the middle of the month. Unfortunately, it was of such poor quality that we had to immediately send it back. So today, a month since we started this adventure, Trina was again at the bed store. I could tell by the way she threw me out of bed this morning that she was in no mood to fool around. I felt the safest place for me today would be at work. I once took a karate class with Trina. We once had a Basset Hound that decided to tick Trina off by running away for a few days. Upon his return, Trina had him neutered. From that time forward, I made sure Trina knew where I was going and when I would return. So I left the bed salesman to fend for himself. When I got home, she had in her possession a new bed and a very bad attitude. I guess now would not be the most opportune time to talk about spring training tickets. It is best tread lightly when Mt. Trina is on the verge of eruption.

It is Super Sunday on so many levels. Nearly everyone on the planet knows that Super Bowl XXXIV is being held today in Atlanta. The kick-off is scheduled for 4:14 PM MST so if I am to see the beginning of the pre-game show I better set my alarm clock for 6:00 AM. I always look forward to the Super Bowl. It signals the time when pitchers and catchers begin packing before spring training starts. For the Diamondbacks, there are only 17 days until report day. I always use this day to get my mitt out and begin oiling it for the upcoming season. The ritual is always the same. Squirt, rub, rub, rub look at the television. Oh look, it is the official chef of the NFL giving his Super Bowl recipe for gumbo. The countdown to the game is only 6 hours. Squirt, rub, rub, rub look at the television. Chris Berman is interviewing the mother's brother of the second cousin of the third string punter for the Titans. He knew from birth that he was destined to play in the Super Bowl. The tradition continues until my mitt is prefectly formed. The smell of fresh leather permiates the room. After such a long process, I am ready for a nap. According to the countdown, only two more hourse until game time. If you add three hours to that, football season only has five more hours to go.

After an emotion filled day yesterday, I am spent today. I could't do anything if I wanted to. But that didn't seem to be an excuse for Trina. She had me up early for my annual event of preparing the taxes. Exactly one day after my W2 arrives in the mail, I am required to have the taxes done. This year I have an incentive. Trina and I have an agreement. If I get them done and ready to be filed before the first of February, I can have a personalized Arizona Diamondbacks jersey. Well, she should have said that before. I will guarantee the IRS will have them before the clock strikes midnight. My hands fly through the forms, my mind a steel trap. Income items listed, columns totalled. Deductions identified, figures looked up in the tax tables. Ten hours later, I look up and see that it is no longer daylight but the taxes are finished. Now, I wonder which jersey I should get?

I came home from work, relatively relaxed knowing that the work week was now behind me. I always look forward to the weekends and being able to lounge around. I was surprised when Trina met me at the door, a pained look on her face. It's time she said. What? Not now, not yet! I sure hadn't planned it like this. My mind began to race. Did we have everything? Were the kids taken care of, how are you feeling? I ran around gathering everything up just as we had planned. I then got Trina into the car and we squealed out of the subdivision. I had the route all planned out in order to make the best time. I even had my excuses laid out in case the police pulled us over for speeding. Things were going like clock work. We made it in record time, even Mario Andretti would have been proud of my driving prowess. I helped Trina out of the car and we went into the registration area. I left her in good hands. I was so nervous. I don't know why, I had been through this before but still my heart was racing. Maybe a trip to the gift shop would calm me down. I wandered up and down the aisles but my mind was not on shopping. I kept thinking about Trina and what she was going through right now. I went back to check on her when I was greeted at the door by one of the attendants. He shook my hand and congratulated me. I thanked him and went in to see Trina. There she was, tired but relieved. There in her arms was the most precious thing I had seen this year. She gently handed it to me and lovingly said, "Congratulations, you now have two fully paid season tickets to the Arizona Diamondbacks." As I held the receipt in my hands, I could have just cried.

This column has been written for over a week. All the details were accurate. All that was lacking was confirmation from the team. Unfortunately, that did not come. Finally on January 28, the Arizona Diamondbacks announced the signing of Brian Anderson to a three year deal. BA will be paid $11 Million in salary. The contract is laden with incentive clauses which could give Brian an extra $1.25 Million if he reaches certain milestones. The three-year contract all but insures that Anderson will be a major part of the Diamondbacks starting rotation for the forseeable future. Anderson seemed pleased with the terms of the contract saying he and his wife felt that Arizona is where he would like to play. With the loss of Andy Benes to the St. Louis Cardinals, Anderson will be among the starting rotation that includes Randy Johnson, Todd Stottlemyre, Omar Daal, and Armando Reynoso. This contract means that all of the Diamondbacks starters are under contract through at least 2001.

Since my childhood, I have always had a love of the game of baseball. Growing up in a small town in Idaho, I would spend each summer shagging balls for the local Pioneer League team, the Idaho Falls Angels. For every five foul balls I retrieved I got a snow cone, what a deal. I would watch baseball on television and envy all those who were in attendance. When we moved to Arizona, I attended as many spring training games as I could. It was great, but I was still left wanting more as the teams departed to their respective cities and I was left watching the Phoenix Firebirds. Finally the Diamondbacks came to town and I had something to look forward to. I have religiously followed the team and been there every step of the way as this franchise has grown. I am getting very antsy now that spring training is less than a month away. I am scanning spring training schedules getting a list of games I want to attend. I'm still not sure when I am going to get any work done as it seems I will be gone nearly every afternoon to a game somewhere in the valley.

There are times when a father has to do the right thing instead of the fun thing. Last week, Ashley and Mallorie came home with Pinewood Derby cars. Dakota was extremely impressed and wanted a car of his own. For five days straight, all I heard was, "Dad, I want a car." Now I can usually withstand Dakota's inquisitive nature, but this time he was relentless. So off we went to the store to buy a block of wood and start carving. The more I worked on it, the more work there was to do. Before I knew it, I had put in several late nights sanding wood, painting, polishing wheels and axles. When it was done, I stood back and admired my work. This was probably the only Arizona Diamondbacks '32 coupe in existence. With its teal body, purple exhaust pipes, and copper mag wheels, it looked pretty cool. To top it off, I had snake decals with Snake Eyes scrolled across the back. Tonight was the big night of the race. As we brought Snake Eyes out, everyone's mouth dropped open. As the night went on, we raced car after car. Each time we were victorious. I was beginning to think that we would match the Diamondbacks 1999 win record. It was a glorious night until the unthinkable happened. The starter dropped our car on the way to the starting line for the final race. A headlight and one wheel broke. Dakota stood there in shock. His two-year-old eyes filled with tears. I consoled him and told him we would race even with the broken parts. In the final race, Snake Eyes rolled down the track on three wheels neck and neck with its competitor. At the end, it edged into the lead as it crossed the finish line and rolled into victory lane. Like Todd Stottlemyre, the Snake Eyes car overcame injury to head into the play-offs. This time, instead of losing on a Todd Pratt home run, the Diamondbacks were victorious. I brought it home and set it on my desk, a remembrance of the time I spent with Dakota racing small wooden cars in a church gymnasium. It doesn't get much better than that.

It has been an interesting day to say the least. In Scottsdale, the Phoenix Open golf tournament is being held and several of us from work decided to go. The tournament doesn't actually start until Thursday but today was the celebrity Skins game. Playing were former Toronto Blue Jays infielder and Phoenix Suns basketball coach Danny Ainge, legendary rocker Alice Cooper, and the Diamondbacks Randy Johnson and Matt Williams. With three baseball players and a guy that tears heads off of chickens, how could I resist going. Besides, this would be the perfect opportunity to try and get a picture of Matt Williams without his hat. Matt is about the only Diamondback player who would need no touch up to transform into a Chia head. I'm figuring it would save me countless hours of airbrushing if I could just get him to take his hat off. My friend Mike Lee brought a digital camera and we followed the golfers all around the course. When Matt made a fantastic shot or when he choked a shot, I did my best to get the crowd to react so that Matt would remove his hat. He did twice during the tournament. The first time, we were standing behind some old lady with a beehive hair-do blocking our view. By the time we pushed the lady out of the way, it was to late. The second time, we had been filming Matt's every move. The minute we stop to check the battery life, bam! he takes his hat off. I yell to Mike to roll but by the time we got the camera in position, the hat was back in place. At the eighteenth green, we waited patiently as the golfers ended their rounds and began to walk by. Matt was very gracious and stopped to sign autographs for many of the fans who were there. He posed to have pictures taken with everyone who asked. Mike and I made our way to the front of the crowd and Matt stopped right next to us signing a ball for a small child. I politely asked if we could take his picture and he obliged. I asked if he would remove his hat. He answered, "Sorry, I only take it off for private parties." Bummer, a whole day and an entire 8 MM tape later, I have a lot of pictures of Matt Williams in a black golf hat and a real good close-up picture of an old lady with a beehive hair-do being shoved out of the way by eager paparazzi. My quest continues.

Tonight, Mallorie notified us that there was an orientation for all incoming Freshman at the local high school and oh by the way we were supposed to attend. Did she mention that it started in 10 minutes? I would have gotten upset, but this has become a normal occurrence in our house and I have come to expect it. I keep telling Trina this is the reason I had to have a Camaro Z28 that will do 150 MPH. Trina still doesn't buy it but at least it gives me an excuse to squeal the tires now and again. We arrived at the school with 3 minutes to spare. I have always thought I should work for Federal Express not only do you get to drive real fast, you get to wear those cool shorts in the summer. The orientation was held in the auditorium. The meeting started with everyone rising for the National Anthem. It was then that I realized that song was the second most recognized song my kids know after Take Me Out to the Ballgame. People may say baseball is not educational but I beg to differ. Not only do you learn math skills by keeping score, and reading skills from watching the scoreboard, you also learn music appreciation. In fact, there is so much learning going on while you attend a baseball game, the schools should be offering credit. I may even suggest that extra credit be given for perfect attendance. As the song ended, I had the uncontrollable urge to yell play ball but I knew if I did, Trina would wring my neck.

I sat in front of the television and tried desperately to get interested in the National Football League play-offs. I had missed the morning game but was able to see the NFC Championship game. The game began with the Tampa Bay Devil Rays roughing up the St. Louis Cardinals starting pitching for 3 runs. The Cardinals quickly came back in the bottom of the inning to score 3 themselves. The game remained tied until Tampa Bay threw one back, back, back, it's out of the end zone! The Cardinals lead 5-3. The new found offensive power of the Devil Rays paid off when they scored three more runs to lead 6-5. This lead lasted until the bottom of the ninth with St. Louis down to their final out. Here's the pitch, its back, way back down the line, it's outta here! The St. Louis Cardinals defeat the Tampa Bay Devil Rays by the score of 11-6. Strange as it seems, 15 Major League Baseball teams scored more than the St. Louis Rams during a game last season and none of them are going to the Super Bowl.

Last year, the Diamondbacks implemented a new promotional program called the QuePasa.com crew. This group of individuals would wander around the stadium and attempt to entertain the fans between innings. There were eight or ten of these guys and girls. They had ring toss games where one of the QuePasa.com guys would wear a batting helmet with a bat stuck to the top and you the fans would try to throw a donut on top of their heads. In most cases, these guys were just real annoying since they would throw things into the stands which caused people to get whacked with shirts, donuts, basketballs, etc. If you were lucky enough to have one of these things thrown your direction, it usually resulted in 800 kids crawling over your seat to try and catch them before the prize got to you. Today, the Diamondbacks announced they are holding try-outs for the QuePasa.com crew at the end of February. I wonder if it would be possible to get Tonja Harding to put out a hit on these guys.

All winter long, we have heard about Ken Griffey Jr. and his desire to be traded. First it was that he wanted to be closer to his Florida home, then it was that he only would accept a trade to Cincinnati. Well, the lottery is over, and I know the winner. Me. That's right, I am the new owner of the Kid. I know what your're thinking, you're thinking I am crazy. That maybe I have been sniffing a little to many paint fumes. But you're wrong, and I can prove it. I have a receipt. Today on my way home from work, I decided to celebrate my one day a year off from thinking about baseball by getting myself a gift. I went over to Best Buy and picked up Ken Griffey Jr.'s Slugfest for the Color GameBoy. I could hardly wait to get home and pop it in the machine. I eagerly unwrapped it and started this bad boy up. Wow, me the owner of the player everyone is calling the best that ever played the game. I didn't want to be cheated out of even one second so I even put new batteries in the GameBoy before I started. Junior swaggered up to the plate, I now controlled his every move. The pitch came and I patiently watched it go by for a called strike. The second pitch was delivered and Griffey swung fouling the ball off down the third base line. The third pitch was belt-high right down the middle and Junior took a mighty cut. Strike three! This game sucks. I turned it off and sat in the living room with my hat down over my eyes.

In rare occasions, I do think about things outside of baseball. I know that is hard to believe, but it does happen. Today was one of those times. This evening, I took the family outside to view the lunar eclipse that was to occur. Although it was partly cloudy, the moon was very clear and we stood and watched as the earth's shadow fell across the moon. It always amazes me to watch human behavior. As we stood there, a couple walked by for their evening stroll. When two people come upon seven others who are standing there staring at the sky, they have to stop and see what all of the commotion is about. I am not sure whether they thought we were looking for UFOs or what but they were very curious. "What are you all looking at?" they asked. I explained there was a lunar eclipse. The husband asked, what is a lunar eclipse? His wife gave him an frustrated look shaking her head, she said, "Bill, everyone knows a lunar eclipse is when the sun comes between the Earth and the moon!" I had to smile at the explanation. "Well, I'll be, I ain't never seen that before." Bill said. Not being able to resist, I explained, "Yeah, this is the first time and it's not supposed to happen. I guess not all of the Y2K testing was successful." Confused, they looked at each other, shrugged, and walked away.

After my attempted escape, the warden has me working on the chain gang. Although I don't have leg irons on, I am still well aware of the consequences should I try another escape. I am again in the bedroom painting. You would think that if we could put a man on the moon, we would be able to make paint that would cover using one coat. While Trina left me alone I decided to be a little creative with the paint. I mean, if you have to do work, you should at least make it fun, right? I guess not. When Trina returned, I had painted half the room making foul lines, a pitchers mound, batters box, scoreboard. I thought it was pretty cool. Obviously I was alone in that thought. Within 5 minutes, she had covered up what had taken me an hour to do. What is up with that? With the painting all complete, I am stuck waiting for paint to dry. I didn't think anything took longer than Armando Reynoso pitching a 9 inning game, but I was wrong. I don't know whether it was boredom from watching paint dry or whether it was the fumes but I could have sworn that I saw the ghost of Babe Ruth dancing on the kids beds dressed as that funky dancing baby that circulated the web a couple of years ago. That is a vision that would have you removed from the Hall of Fame should the baseball writers ever see it.

Oh, the sights and sounds of spring are in the air. The models are all dressed in the latest fashions as legions of fans and potential customers oh and ah at the latest wares. No, this is not Paris or New York, it is Denver Colorado and the Rockies new uniforms have been unveiled. Colorado joins the ranks of Houston as the newest teams to sport dapper new uniforms. Gone are the days when teams had one jersey and one hat. Now it is all about flash, splash, and merchandising. People like to say that the Arizona Diamondbacks and their cute little purple uniforms started all of this, but it happened well before that. My first recollection of the merchandising machine was Charlie Finley, the flamboyant owner of the Oakland Athletics. Who could forget those forest green and brilliant gold uniforms that Mr. Finley brought to the game. Today though, he couldn't hold a candle to what is happening fashion-wise in baseball.

Under the cover of darkness, I begin to execute my plan. I gently inch my way across the cell careful not to make a sound. If I am caught, it will be 30 days in the cooler for sure. I cannot be seen. Another day in the prisoner of war camp is more than I can bear. Guards are posted at various areas around the camp. I am careful not to draw attention to myself as I crawl along the wall. Darkness is my friend, light my enemy. Two sentries are posted at the entrance marching back and fourth in unison. Their eyes trained to notice anything out of the ordinary. I wait in the darkness. My patience and planning have paid off. The guards are changing, now is my chance. I quickly move from one wall to the next. Oh no, I kick a rock. The guards turn to see where the sound came from. I freeze, not even breathing for what seems like an hour. Slowly, the guards go back to their posts settling into their routine. Beyond them I see freedom. I can almost taste it. I am to close to fail now. Be alert, stick to the plan. I am by all of the guards and working my way to the perimeter. I am going to make it, I am really going to make it. I can't believe it! Three feet and I am in the trees and to safety. "Halt!" The light hits my back and I freeze. I turn around to see my captor standing no more than a foot away. My cause is lost. I hold out my hands to receive the handcuffs that come with a prisoner returning to his cell. "Did you get the painting done in the kids room?" I nod. "Come back into the house, I want you to see the wallpaper I picked out. And for heavens sakes, put your arms down you look silly."

After my bedding purchasing experience, I thought Trina had learned her lesson. Surely, she would understand that my help in redecorating is less than optimum. But no, this episode was far from over. When I got home from work, there she stood, purse in hand. "Where are we going, The Team Shop?" I asked. "No, we need to get paint for the kids room." Paint for the kids room? Last I saw it already had paint. A pretty shade of white if memory serves me correctly. That did not add enough color I was told. Well, I can solve that problem in a hurry. A trip to the closet to retrieve the bucket of crayons and five minutes alone in a bedroom without supervision should solve this dilemma quickly and painlessly. My suggestion was met with the steely gaze usually reserved for the children when they try their hand at gardening using Trina's good silverware. I know when I am beat and grudgingly go to the store. Now the good news was that she couldn't get paint at Wal-Mart. I personally don't have anything against Wal-Mart, but picking out paint while goldfish look over your shoulder is just a little bit creepy. After countless hours and stores and digging through paint chips matching colors, I thought I was going to die. If God is merciful, he would let me impale myself on a paint stir stick and end my misery peacefully and quickly. No such luck. What is worse, she wants me to take a day of vacation tomorrow to paint the room. I don't think she realizes that spring training games start in 44 days. I am going to need all of that vacation.

I'm sitting around watching television, waiting for the Simpsons to start when a commercial came on announcing the big Monster Truck rally being held next weekend at Bank One Ballpark. It is hard to believe that three months ago, the BOB was filled with a capacity crowd cheering on the Diamondbacks in the first play-off game in franchise history and now it would be filled with 50,000 fans cheering on large trucks that require ladders to get into. The fan base would seem to be substantially different as well. I can only envision what it will be like next Saturday. Men who are having trouble sitting down in their seats. Beer guts hanging over, belt buckles larger than dinner plates making comfortable seating even more difficult. As the commercial ended, I found myself thinking that there are some events at Bank One Ballpark that even I couldn't force myself to attend. A fan has got to draw the line somewhere.

It has been said that nearly all domestic accidents happen around the home. Accidents have varying degrees of importance. Some can do bodily harm while others can produce mental anguish. In my case, there are also those accidents that can cause large amounts of ridicule from my family. Today I had one of those accidents. This afternoon, after a full day of working on the honey-do list, I was tired and thirsty. As is usually the case, I went to the refrigerator to get a pop only to find that all of the cold ones were gone. There was a whole case of warm pop, but who really wants that. So instead of waiting for one to cool down, or heaven forbid add ice to the pop I did what every other guy does. I put a can in the freezer. I had all intention of going back to retrieve it, I just got busy. So I am sitting in the kitchen contemplating how Mike Morgan could possibly still be pitching at his age when I heard a loud POP coming from the freezer. I quietly move to the fridge and carefully open the freezer door. I am not sure what I expected. I have never had aliens attack my frozen food so I doubt that is why I was so tentative in opening the door. When I did open it, there sat my can of pop, the top of it perfectly blown out. It looked very similar to the pictures I have seen of Mount St. Helens just after it erupted. I quickly tried to clean up the mess before my wife and kids could see but the root beer ooze was everywhere. The kids laughed their heads off at my predicament. Trina was in a much less jovial mood. Instead, she retrieved the "honey-do" list from my pocket and begin to fill it up again. It really wasn't my fault. I think the can was defective. I think I will write to A and W to complain about their quality control.

My friend John Fischer moved away today. He and his family are moving to Denver Colorado. He and I have known each other for three years and have become pretty close. He only had two vices, one he was a Denver Broncos fan and made sure everyone knew it. Second, he was cursed. This was not your normal everyday curse, this was huge! During the inaugural season of the Diamondbacks, John went to nearly 20 games. At each of those games, the Diamondbacks lost. He and I tried everything to break this curse. We looked up mojo on the Internet and tried several things to break the streak of bad luck he was giving the team. He doesn't know this, but I even went so far as to go to his house in the dead of the night and dance the mojo dance and bury a chicken (all I could get that late was KFC) in his front yard. In 1999, his streak continued. It got so bad that fans would send John to get beer just so the game would be close. John is a great guy and I will miss his company and his sense of humor. But I won't miss the extended losing streaks that he caused. As a last farewell, we went to lunch at Bank One Ballpark and he got to look around one last time. It's been a great run John, now go and destroy the Colorado Rockies hopes for a pennant!

I have been collecting baseball cards since I was a kid. I am in no way a serious collector. I buy a pack of cards a few times a year, mostly looking for Arizona Diamondbacks players. Today I happened to see that the Upper Deck 2000 Series I Baseball Cards were now available as I stood in line at the grocery store. Being the perfect impulse buyer that I am, I grabbed a couple of packs and put them in my cart. When I got home, I opened the packs and found that I had a Luis Gonzalez card. I was pretty jazzed. Getting this card reminded me of collecting cards as a child. I bought the cards mostly for the gum but I was also interested in getting cards of my favorite players. Because these were cards of my baseball heroes, I didn't think of them as an investment. Those players who I could care less about, their cards became perfect accessories for my bicycle as I would clothes pin them to make noise in the spokes. When the cards became sufficiently bent, they would be discarded. I think back to the number of Nolan Ryan rookie cards that must have gone through my spokes or the limited Mickey Mantle cards that were destroyed and I now think about the thousands of dollars that are gone. Even the cards I held dear to my heart have been lost or thrown away by a ruthless mother who was more interested in a clean sock drawer than saving for my retirement. I sit and watch as Regis Philbin asks insane questions to socially deliquent geeks who used to be pummeled for their lunch money and I think that maybe I used to be a millionaire. But I traded the fame and fortune so that my bike would sound like a motorcycle.

With the lack of news coming from the Arizona Diamondbacks, you have to wonder if maybe Jerry Colangelo gave the team the winter off after all the hard work they put in last year. Since the first of January, the Arizona Diamondbacks have posted only two transactions and neither of them were related to the product on the field. All transactions have involved the front office with Bryan Lambe being named a special assistant to the general manager, Scott Geyer was hired as vice president of broadcasting and Gina Giallonardo as the director of marketing. While these are important posts to be filled, it doesn't especially enthuse the fans to start buying tickets to next year's games. Given the holes and questions still surrounding the team after their premature exit from last year's play-offs, you have to wonder if Colangelo's heart is still based in basketball.

Tonight, Trina and the two older girls had an activity planned leaving me to take care of the three younger children (Tiffany [9], Whitney [6], and Dakota [2]). I am figuring this is part of my punishment from the Precious Moments episode earlier. As Trina was leaving the house she informed me, "You need to go to take the kids shopping for new bedspreads and sheets before the new bunk bed arrives tomorrow." Oh, great. Besides baby-sitting, I also have to help pick out bedding. How hard can this be? All sheets and comforters look the same, right? I was so naive. As I arrived at Target, I found myself surrounded by Martha Stewart wannabes each looking for the perfect ensemble. After what seemed like an eternity, I finally looked at the cart to find a bizarre assortment of sheets, blankets, bedspreads, pillows, curtains, shams, and pillowcases. Now I don't profess to be a genius but I am smart enough to know that if I went home with this mess I would be killed. Somehow, I needed to color coordinate everything while making the kids happy. After negotiations that would make the Arab-Israel peace talks pale in comparison, we finally settled on a single matching set of bedroom accessories perfect for any child's room. Each of the girls and Dakota have matching baseball comforters with sheets and pillows having bats and balls on them. I even went so far as to find Arizona Diamondback wallpaper border for their room and paint that is the perfect match of the baseball bats in the wallpaper. We left the store all pretty happy. Me with three arms full of bedding and the kids each with an Icee and a King Size candy bar. I can't wait to show Trina how well I did with this assignment.

In this day and age, baseball players change teams more often than Dennis Rodman changes hair color. The Free Agent Era has produced a boon in several industries. For example, with all the player movement fans are nearly required to buy a game day program just to see who is now on the roster. The team seamstress is now making overtime as well sewing on all of the names of the new players. With the changes, there is also a need for the media to meet and greet these new players. For better or worse, this also gives the players a chance to speak to reporters and give the fans a glimpse into their personalities and thoughts. Sometimes this is good, sometimes it isn't so good. In the past week, two former Arizona Diamondbacks players were signed by other teams and as part of their signings, they took the opportunity to take some pot shots at their old team and its fans.

Today was the announcement of who was elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame for the class of 2000. I was at work when word arrived that Carlton Fisk and Tony Perez were elected. These two players will forever be linked to the 1975 World Series in my mind. I can still remember watching Game 6 of the series from my hospital bed. I was 15 years old at the time and it was the day before I was to go in for surgery. I had been playing football and happened to get my finger stuck between two helmets shattering the joint on my middle finger. I was pretty lucky, at least it wasn't my pitching hand. I sat in the bed, glued to the television as the game went extra innings. When Fisk came up in the bottom of the 12th, I like everyone in the country cheered and leaned to try and help the ball stay fair as it sailed above the green monster. Doctors and nurses were all in the room cheering as it hit the foul pole and Fisk rounded the bases. That experience helped me get through a rough period of time in my life. I would like to say I remembered Perez homering in game seven to help Cincinnati win the series but I was experiencing better living through chemistry. It seemed appropriate that they should enter the Hall of Fame together.

My off-season education continued again today. It was kind of cold outside as the temperature only got to the mid-sixties. (Hey, it was cold to us so I don't want to hear any comments from anyone. You don't hear me questioning your stories about how you fought polar bears on your way to school with your spiral notebooks.) So instead of playing outside, Dakota and I decided to play catch in the house. Now growing up, my mother used to give me a lot of advice. I learned there were millions of starving kids in China that would kill for half-eaten lima beans. I know that if I make a weird face that it will freeze that way. I am well aware of the consequences of putting house flies in the microwave. But mostly, I was told never to play ball in the house. As I have grown older (notice I did not say up), I have challenged each of these rules. Today was my final test. Dakota and I set up across the room and began to quietly throw the ball back and forth. It seemed innocent enough, but one thing led to another and I must have gotten a little carried away. I threw the ball to Dakota and he should have caught it, but he didn't. Instead, it bounced off of his little head and went straight for the Precious Moments figurine. Now I have watched enough baseball that I should have been able to do a diving catch at the wall, but after hurdling Dakota and sliding face first into the couch, I barely missed the catch. It seems the figurine isn't quite so precious any more. I think that little girl looks perfectly ok without a head but I seem to be the only one. I spent the remainder of the day attempting to remove Super Glue from between my stuck fingers while staring at a headless girl with a duck. I am pretty disappointed in the Super Glue company. Her head won't stay attached. On the commercial, that guy's hard hat was stuck to the bottom of that girder and it worked great. Maybe if I stuck a G.I. Joe helmet on the Precious Moments doll it would work. That is enough writing, it is hard to type with only eight fingers.

January is always the darkest month for a baseball fan. It is far enough away from last season to make you begin to forget what happened and it is close enough to Spring Training to make you think it will never come. This is the time when most of the free agents have signed or determined where they will sign and teams are not willing to deal until Spring Training starts. This coupled with the fact that the only thing there is to watch on television is football and college basketball. I am beginning to pace the floor waiting for baseball. I think I have hit rock bottom. This afternoon I watched the Disney movie Angels in the Outfield and actually began to root for Anaheim. The sad part of this is that I have seen that movie about a hundred times. At least it was baseball. Oh how I long for the game of the week. If only I would have gotten the express written consent of Major League Baseball and the Arizona Diamondbacks so that I could rebroadcast the entirety or a part of the telecast of a single Diamondbacks baseball game. Curse the commissioner's office and his legal cronies! Now where did I put that DVD of A League of Their Own. Nothing quite says baseball like Madonna.

Today I went down to Bank One Ballpark. The stadium is playing host to the Arizona boat show. I have no interest in boats but this did give me a chance to hang out on the field. I was excited to go down and wander around. I wasn't quit sure what to expect. I was shocked and horrified to see boats stacked end-to-end on the playing field. Wandering back and forth across the outfield were rednecks wearing rubber hip boots. Babe Ruth would roll over in his grave if he saw this. I tried hard not to freak out as I saw a giant tank where the pitcher's mound should be. There were guys fishing in this tank while people sat in the seats cheering them on. The only thing missing from this scene was a couple of trailers, a dozen dogs, three or four cars up on blocks, and maybe a tornado warning. This was not a crowd I probably ever would see at a baseball game. Then again, they were probably saying the same thing. I probably would look out of place with my Diamondbacks jersey and scorebook standing out in the middle of a stream. Not to mention that my Nikes would be a little soggy. Sometimes we have to endure strange and unusual circumstances in order to hang out at the old ballpark. I am just grateful I didn't catch a Lunker Lure Biffle Triple Rattleback Jig in the head when the casting demonstration was going on.

"Dad, you got a big envelope in the mail today. It's from the Diamondbacks." When my daughter Mallorie made that statement over the phone, she may as well have gone to the roof of the Gotham City police station and turned on the bat-signal. I hung up my phone at work and grabbed my coat. Everyone in the office turned as I sprinted for the door. There was no time to spare, lives may hang in the balance. The family acted as a well oiled machine as I got home. It was a scene reminicent of the Boston Marathon. I ran through the door one child met me with a drink. I took two swallows, dumped the remaining contents on my head and tossed away the empty cup. There was no time to spare. I reached the kitchen counter in record time. I peered at the envelope through Gatorade filled eyes (make a note to check the glass before I empty it on my head next time). I opened the letter. Just as I thought, the seats for the 2000 season have been assigned. I looked at the page in front of me. I am sitting in Section 133 Row 16, Seats 13-14. Excellent, prime foul ball territory. Last year I caught three foul balls there. This is going to be fun. I now have my seats, well I have half of my seats. The Diamondbacks still own the other half until they are paid. The deadline is January 31. It is now starting to feel like spring. Maybe I better go take a shower. My eyelids are beginning to stick shut from the Gatorade.

Tonight, Trina drug me to a craft store to look for supplies for one of her endless projects. Besides myself, she also tagged my three-year-old son Dakota. He and I being the only two males in the household, I think she felt that we needed to better get in touch with our feminine side. I have tried to explain to her that in many third-world countries, her actions would constitute cruel and unusual punishment. In fact, I have seen the movie Midnight Express and even inmates in Turkish prisons are not forced to look at endless aisles of glue sticks. Regardless of our whimpering and whining, we still had to go. So there we were, marching down the rows of Styrofoam balls, past the land of glitter. From the shopping cart, Dakota began to sing the one song he knows from start to finish. With each passing step he began to sing louder. "Take me out to the ball game, take me out to the crowd!" His voice began to carry throughout the store. By the time he got to "root, root, root for the Diamondbacks", several other men in the store began to chime in. By the end of his song, everyone in the store had come over to see who was singing. They couldn't believe it was coming from a little boy. I couldn't understand the commotion. Doesn't every kid learn Take Me Out to the Ballgame as their first song? These people really need to get out more. What was more amazing was how quickly Trina finished her shopping so that she could get us out of that store. For nearly 20 years I have tried without success to get out of a craft store in less than three hours and have been unsuccessful. Now, my three-year-old got her out in less than 20 minutes. I'm beginning to think this kid is some kind of genius. I wonder what he can do at a fabric store.

With Tony Womack wrapped up for another four years, the Diamondbacks have set their sights on the other three players they have that are eligible for arbitration. First up is Matt Mantei. Mantei solidified the bullpen for the Diamondbacks last season and many feel that he was the key ingredient in the late season charge resulting in the team winning the Western Division championship. Matt must feel the same since he and the team are currently at odds over what he should be paid next season. The Diamondbacks have supposedly offered a three year deal valued around $9 million. Mantei on the other hand feels he is now one of the premier closers in the game and is looking to be paid similar money to what Trevor Hoffman was given in San Diego. Neither side seems willing to compromise. This could become a case where the two sides will need arbitration to solve their differences. This will not sit well with Jerry Colangelo. He has made his feelings known to baseball that the current arbitration process should be abolished.

Every day now, I find myself surfing over to the Major League Baseball web site. There they have a section that gives the statistics and box scores for the Winter Leagues in Mexico and Latin America. Each day, I scour the statistics to see how the Diamondbacks players are doing. Is Durazo still hitting over .300? What about Rob Ryan and Rod Barajas? It is the one link I have to baseball during the winter. With the cold weather we are having in Phoenix (it was only 65 degrees today), maybe we should think about heading south this winter. I have seen enough Snow Birds driving around town that I know the drill. Set my blinker to continuous flash for a left turn and drive 30 MPH below the posted speed limit. I could do that. Now, if I can talk Trina into a trip to Hermosillo. I hear it is nice down there. So what if we don't speak Spanish, we're Americans. All we have to do is talk REAL LOUD and everyone will understand us just fine. Having driven in Mexico before, I think we should leave the car here. I'll bet Greyhound goes to Mexico. Besides, you meet such interesting clientele when you travel by bus. Yeah, I'm pretty sure the family will go for this. It will be such an adventure.

Typically, I try to keep this column light and loose but I have to make an exception in this case. For those who have not followed the developments, this is supposedly how the story unfolded. On Christmas, Bobby Chouinard and his wife were at a friend's house. Bobby had been drinking when they ran out of beer. He asked his wife to go out and get more beer. She stated that he had been drinking enough and refused. Later when the couple returned home, they began to fight over his wife's refusal to get alcohol. The argument escalated to a point where Chouinard grabbed his wife by the neck and choked her in front of their 17 month-old son. After attempting to strangle her, Bobby hit his wife across the face. He then took his son to bed. During this time, Chouinard's wife tried to call 911. Bobby returned to find his wife on the phone and tore the phone from the wall telling her now she was going to pay. He went to the bedroom and retrieved a pistol pointing it at his head. His wife pleaded with him. He then turned the gun on her. She knelt before him and begged him not to shoot. He unloaded the gun and told his wife to get out. At this point the police arrived and arrested Chouinard.

After getting the letter yesterday about spring training, I have really got the bug to see some baseball. I scanned the satellite dish looking at over 200 channels trying to find a baseball game on television. I realize that I probably could have looked in the the satellite guide (Trina reminds me of this fact about every 10 stations), but what is the fun of that. I think that man as a species has never gotten over our need to hunt. Whether it be hunting big game on safari or hunting baseball games on the Satellite. Searching a television guide is more of a gathering activity. Real men would not stand for that. Besides, guys dig buttons more than they dig documentation. Explaining my fascination with remote controls and arguing about the finer points of battery life of a Duracell AAA did little to solve my dilemma of finding a baseball game. Three hours later, all I found was the Sugar Bowl (which I thought should be something on the Food Network). Maybe I will go over to the electronics store and see if they have a bigger satellite dish.

Today I received a letter from the Arizona Diamondbacks. I eagerly tore the letter open to see what the team had to say. In the envelope was an order form for spring training tickets at Tucson Electric Park. Tickets for spring training will go on sale January 20th but as a season ticket holder, I am able to order tickets a few days before. I grabbed the calendar and began to calculate how many days of work I would be able to miss to spend at the ballpark. It became obvious that I needed to ask for more vacation time if this was going to work out. Trina just shook her head as she came it the living room to find me with papers and calendars sprawled out on the floor. She said it looked like I was making battle plans for some sort of military invasion. She also reminded me that spring training did not officially start until February 16 with the first game being March 2. According to her calculations, I still had 59 days to complete the "honey do" list and from the looks of the list, it would take that long to finish. So I put my letter back in my pocket. I would make ticket plans after everyone went to bed tonight. Now where was I? Oh yeah, "honey do" item number seventeen, take down Christmas decorations and put them in the garage.

We celebrated Whitney's birthday today and I learned two important lessons. First, I cannot do all of my shopping at the Diamondbacks team shop. As strange as it sounds, there are some people who are not interested in receiving gifts with the Arizona Diamondbacks logo emblazened upon them. I was chastised for not showing creativity in my gift giving. I beg to differ. Do they know how hard it is to find little girl clothes at a team shop? If anything, I should be praised for accomplishing what I did. Looks like tomorrow I will be making another trip to the mall to return a gift and find something more appropriate. Hmmmm, I wonder if I could just exchange this girl's outfit for something that would fit me?

Another New Year is upon us and I am sitting at the computer surfing the Internet in search of baseball. It has been 82 days since Todd Pratt ended the Diamondbacks play-off run with his game-winning home run. I think I am over being depressed at that and I am now looking forward to spring training, which starts in 46 days. I find I am missing being at Bank One Ballpark. Last week I went down to Friday's Front Row Grill for lunch just so that I could see how the field is doing. I wish the Diamondbacks would install a web camera at the field just so that I could at least watch the grass grow or better yet, see who is working out at the stadium. I think I will have to go and take the Bank One Ballpark tour just so I can hang out at the stadium.

The Arizona Diamondbacks avoid salary arbitration by signing infielder/outfielder Tony Womack to a 4-year contract extension valued at $17 million. Womack spent much of the 1999 season playing right field for the Diamondbacks after being traded from the Pittsburgh Pirates in February. Current plans have Tony moving back to the infield for the 2000 season taking over the everyday shortstop job. Womack is one of four Diamondbacks players eligible for salary arbitration. The team continues to negotiate with the other three players, Brian Anderson, Andy Fox, and Matt Mantei. The Diamondbacks hope to have all under contract before the middle of January.