Diary of a Diehard

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.

Continue reading ‘On the Runway with the Models’ »

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.