March 2000 Archives

There are times it seems like only yesterday that I was sitting in Section 133 Row 16 Seat 13 watching the Arizona Diamondbacks winning their first play-off game in franchise history. There are other times when it seems like forever since I was watching a game at BOB. Well, my wait is finally over as the Diamondbacks play host to the Boston Red Sox tonight and tomorrow. I can hardly wait for the game to start. I had a hard time sleeping last night due to the anticipation. I was up early this morning. I pulled the seat cushions that Trina made out of the closet and began the task of getting them ready for the season. I filled the pockets with peanuts, pens, binoculars, and a score card. I checked my scoring pencil for lead and zipped the pocket shut. I then turned to filling the water bottles with water and placing them in the freezer to make sure they would be cold for tonight's game. The almost nightly ritual began to feel familiar to me again and I knew that baseball season was about to start. Once everything was loaded, I placed the bags next to the door ready to go. All I had to do now was wait eight hours for the gates to Bank One Ballpark to open. It was about killing me to wait that long. It was a good thing that I had to go to work so I would quit bugging Trina. Finally, baseball season has nearly arrived and I am once again going to the game. Even though it is supposed to rain tonight, it doesn't matter. The roof will close and the game will go on. Life in the desert is good.

As I got home today, the kids had once again forgotten to get the mail. I have been through this fight so many times I have just given up. Instead of even asking, I decided to just get the mail myself. With the keys in my hand I walked down to the box. Getting the mail is a lot like playing the lottery. There is always a chance that something cool will come but in most cases you just find bills. I like to build up the anticipation of getting the mail. Lately, I have started humming the theme music from So You Want To Be A Millionaire just before I turn the key to our mail box. It is kind of fun but I have found that the other mail gatherers find it a little creepy or maybe annoying if I do the song when they are turning their key. They probably wouldn't be so freaked out if I didn't let out a big Ahhh when they get only pull ads out of their box. Today though I was alone at the mail box. Come to think of it, I have been alone at the mail box about every day after I started singing this song. It may just be a concidence but I have been noticing that several people have started towards the mailbox at the same time as I am but turn and go back in the house. That is kind of strange don't you think? Today happened to be one of those lottery days. When I opened the box there was a package in the mail. I had not remembered ordering anything so I looked at the return address to see if it looked familiar. It was from the Diamondbacks! I turned leaving the rest of the mail in the box and rushed home. I opened the package to find a day planner, a discount card good at the team shop, and a letter. The letter was from Rich Dozer, president of the Diamondbacks. It thanked me for being a season ticket holder and said this was a gift of appreciation. It was a great gift and one I will treasure forever. I immediately sat down and wrote Mr. Dozer a thank-you letter.

It seemed like only yesterday that I was awaiting the first game of spring training. Now here I sit watching the last Cactus League game of the 2000 series. It is sunny and 82 degrees, perfect weather for baseball. Down on the field during batting practice, Buck Showalter is surrounded by reporters trying to get one more sound bite on Matt Williams's injury. Lenny Harris, Greg Colbrunn, and Andy Fox now find themselves a lot more popular when it comes to interviews. When the game started though, it was back to business. Brian Anderson looked very good during his start even with an umpire that couldn't tell a strike from a man hole cover. BA even managed to pick off a runner from first putting him in a run down between first and second. That is when the unthinkable happened. Tony Womack chased the baserunner back to first base and in tagging him out, he twisted his ankle having to be carried off the field. Just 24 hours after Matt Williams is lost for 6 to 8 weeks, Tony lay on the ground surrounded by his team mates. X-rays were taken for precautionary measures and showed no structural damage to the ankle and he will take it easy for a few days until Opening Day. Overall, it was a great day for baseball. The Diamondbacks led until Jim Corsi gave up 5 runs in his one inning of work. The score ended up 12-9 with the Diamondbacks having the bases loaded in the top of the ninth when Hanley Frias grounded out to the second baseman. After reading the paper and hearing the newscasts, I expected the sky to fall and western civilization to cease to exist because Matt Williams is out of the line-up. Just maybe this team will survive the adversity it faces and become stronger with Matt on the shelf for the first few weeks of the season.

Today was my last hope of getting to a ballgame at Tucson Electric Park this year. It was the last home game of spring training for the Diamondbacks. I had planned to go down tomorrow but as I went to bed last night, it began to rain. I cannot explain it. The only days of rain we have had all spring are when I was going to the Diamondbacks game. This morning, I woke up early and sat at the window watching the sun come up to see if the weather would cooperate. It was still raining when I left the house, but according to the Weather Channel, it was partly cloudy in Tucson. I loaded Trina, Whitney, and Dakota into the car and headed south. When we arrived at Tucson Electric Park, the sun was shining through partly cloudy skies. We went through the gates and found our seats. We were sitting two rows up from the Diamondbacks dugout. It was great. The kids were able to interact with the players and wave and talk to them between innings. We were having a great time, until the second inning. Matt Williams led off and I had my camera poised waiting for him to take his hat off. After a called first strike, Matt swung at the second pitch fouling it off his left foot. He fell to the ground in pain but managed to finish his at bat. As the top of the third inning arrived, Matt did not reappear from the dugout. He was replaced by Lenny Harris at third. Curious, I watched the dugout and the trainers. This was obviously much more serious than merely fouling a ball off your foot. As the game went on, the players became more grim. During the seventh inning, I found out that Matt had broken a bone in his foot and would be out a minimum of six to eight weeks. This is a major blow to the Diamondbacks with only a week before the regular season starts. Things are not looking good at this point.

During the second inning of the final home spring training game at Tucson Electric Park, Matt Williams broke the second metatarsal bone in his right foot. Williams being the gamer that he is, completed the at bat by lining hard to the center fielder. After the out, Williams was taken to a local hospital for x-rays before returning to Phoenix to meet with team physicians. The break was a non-displacement injury meaning no surgery will be required. Team doctors are confident Matt will be able to return in 6 to 8 weeks. This is a tremendous blow to the Diamondbacks as Williams is looked at both as the clean-up hitter and more importantly as the clubhouse leader. In the third inning, Williams was replaced by Lenny Harris who will most likely be Matt's replacement during his absence. Others who may get playing time at third base are Greg Colbrunn and Hanley Frias. Andy Fox, who would have been the back-up third baseman is still healing from a broken hand. Fox is expected to be sidelined until at least mid-April.

It never ceases to amaze me what bizarre turns Major League Baseball will take as time rolls on. Granted, I am not a traditionalist, in fact I thrive on change. But even I draw the lines somewhere. For example, I deplore the thoughts of a designated hitter. Baseball is a sport and should be played by athletes. Instead, the DH allows players with glaring deficiencies to continue to play the game. Now, the baseball powers that be have decided that the best place to play the first game of the season is in Japan. Granted, I understand that Major League Baseball is trying to increase their market and that the game is become more global as players come from all countries in the world, but to begin the American Pastime in Tokyo seems a bit odd indeed. Couldn't baseball have perhaps started the second half of the season in Japan after all-star break? It just doesn't seem like baseball if a fan has to get up at 3:30 AM to see their favorite team play opening day on television. I'm sure ESPN doesn't mind since the only thing that they will have to bump in order to carry the game live would be the best of bass fishing or classic candlestick bowling. Sometimes, I think baseball just doesn't get it when it comes to dealing with the fans. I suppose there is a positive from all of this. With the popularity of karaoke in Japan, the rendition of "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" should be outstanding.

Once a year, the Academy Awards are presented to recognize the best performances in motion pictures for the past year. Now being a baseball fanatic, I rarely deviate from ESPN, ESPN2, or ESPN Classic. But today happened to be different. I made the mistake of leaving the room and not taking the remote control with me. It turns out this was a grave mistake. While I was out of the room, Trina seized control of the television in a coup worthy of the lead story on CNN. I returned to find that I was no different than many dictators before me. I had been banished to an unfamiliar island and was none to pleased about it. I found myself sitting on the couch watching this awards show. For many years I had known the Oscars were rigged. How else can you explain Major League, Bull Durham, and Angels in the Outfield never being nominated for best picture? Oh sure, they try to appease the fan by including Field of Dreams but baseball films in general never garner much support from the academy. Tonight was no different. The closest this awards show came to sports was a brief clip from some boxing movie which I had never seen. Further, there was only one baseball player even remotely associated with the program and that was Garth Brooks. Even then, he was a former player after being waived last week by the New York Mets. (Suggestion, after two years of trying to become a baseball player, Garth Brooks should retire from the game and instead send Chris Gaines next year. At least that guy looks like a baseball player.) So here I sit, watching as everyone thanks everyone else for wasting my evening. I would have thought that Billy Crystal would have at least made a few baseball comments. After all, he is part owner in the Diamondbacks. He didn't even wear his Diamondbacks hat on the show. What kind of fan is that?

As I got up this morning, I went downstairs like I do every day. Today was different. Instead of a table full of half eaten cereal bowls and loud and obnoxious children fighting over which cartoon we are going to watch next, I found myself in the house all alone. At first I thought perhaps they had been abducted by aliens and I quickly went to the phone book to look up the number for the FBI X-Files Division. As I walked past the table, I noticed there was a note. Bummer, I'm beginning to think I will never meet Scully and Mulder. The note had one simple but deadly sentence, "We've gone next door to the garage sale." Garage Sale, never have two words ever invoked so many bad connotations. I have to admit, I am not a big fan of the garage sale. I am not sure which bothers me worse. Me trying to sell my junk or someone rummaging through my stuff and putting a value on my junk. As I went outside still clad in my pajamas and my Goofy slippers, I was met by what must have been 20 carloads of bargain shoppers. The all in unison stopped looking through boxes to comment on my fashion sense. It was bad enough having everyone look at me, but then to have someone come up and say, "I'll give you 75 cents for your slippers." That was to much to bear. I yelled for Trina and turned and went back into the house. Trina and the kids came running to tell me that they had each earned $5.50 and they had only been out there for three hours. This was more than I could bear. I headed back upstairs. Maybe this was all just a bad dream.

After the heartache I had to endure yesterday, I had come to the conclusion that I would have to make up for it by going to another game today. The Diamondbacks were back in Tucson and would play host to the Colorado Rockies at Tucson Electric Park. I have yet to get to TEP so this would server a double purpose. As I got up this morning, plans were made. I would get Whitney out of school and take her, Dakota, and Trina to the game. Everything was all set. As I was walking out the door to my car to head to work, the sprinklers came on outside as they normally do this time of day. This is the kind of thing that usually goes without notice at our house, but not today. There in the middle of the lawn, one of the sprinkler heads decided it had stayed in the ground long enough. It came loose and shot water what appeared to be twenty-five feet in the air. It is interesting that when I am in the shower that I cannot get enough water pressure to cause the shampoo to foam but if a sprinkler head comes loose, it can shoot a fountain of water over two stories. I dropped my briefcase and sprinted for the water shutoff valve. I quickly turned it shutting down the newest geyser and began to make alternative plans for my day. I obviously couldn't leave the sprinkler system in its current state until I got home from a Diamondbacks game. Could I? I was willing to test this theory until I turned around to find a dripping wet wife behind me who was wondering what happened to all the water while she was showering. I probably would have been fine if I had not suggested she stand in the middle of the lawn to finish her shower since there was no reason to waste perfectly good water. Note to self, keep smart remarks to self when faced with a wife having a head full of hair conditioner. Armed with a checkbook and permission to go to Home Depot, I wouldn't be going to any game today.

In Moby Dick, Captain Ahab had his white whale. He battles the great whale in a life long struggle. In Diamondbacks lore, my white whale is Matt Williams. I have been attempting for the past few months to get a picture of Matt without his hat on. Given he is folicly challenged, a picture of Matt without his hat would save me countless hours while creating a Chia head for him. I have seen Matt at golf tournaments, at parades, even around town. I have even spoken with him and asked for a picture with his hat off. Each time, he has eluded me. Today, the Arizona Diamondbacks are in Phoenix to play the San Diego Padres at Peoria Sports Complex. The quest for the picture drove me to leave work early and make my way to the ballpark, my camera in hand. I got there early for batting practice. With my camera glued to my eye, I followed the players around snapping shots that will soon become part of the web site. I took pictures of Travis Lee and Jay Bell, Tony Womack and Greg Colburnn. Damian Miller even stopped to sign autographs for the kids and let me take a few pictures. As practice ended, so did my roll of film. I watched as Matt left the field to get ready for the game. I unloaded my camera with plans to start another roll. When I got in my bag, I found I had just shot the last roll. Given that I had already taken 36 pictures at the game, I decided to put the camera away and enjoy the game.

There are times that I wonder what I did before the Internet. Today happened to be one of those days. My normally reliable Internet connection decided it needed a break from the constant surfing and went walk-about for the better part of the day. This left me the technological equivalent of Gilligan. Granted, I didn't have to share a hammock with an overweight co-worker who constantly referred to me as his "little buddy" but I was none the less stranded. I saw how long technical support kept Gilligan on hold after assuring him he would have service restored within a three hour window. After about an hour of not being able to get e-mail, update web pages, or surf in general, I began to wish I had access to someone like the professor. I mean, that guy was a genius when it came to coconut shells. I'm guessing that if I would have had him here, he could have fashioned a router and a network connection using nothing but coconuts, bamboo, and a little water from the lagoon. Not to mention the fact that this all would have been taken care of within 24 minutes if you didn't count commercials. Instead, I sat here humming the theme song from the television show and wishing I could get some access. Trina sensing my frustration suggested that I use my time more wisely while the network was down. After all, there is only 13 more days until opening day and there were still a few items remaining on my list of things to do. Curses, I never heard Ginger or Mary Anne get on Gilligan while he was out searching for wild gorillas or Russian satellites that mistakenly landed on the island rather than on the moon. Why can't life be as simple as television, or at least as reliable?

It has now been fifteen days since I was supposed to see the Arizona Diamondbacks play the Oakland Athletics at Phoenix Municipal Stadium. It has also been fifteen days since the Phoenix area has gotten rain. Today marks the second attempt the Diamondbacks will make to play Oakland in Phoenix. As I woke up this morning, I looked out the window to see the sky filled with clouds, a gray haze hovering around the valley. The good news was that it was not supposed to rain. The bad news was it was supposed to be cold and windy all day. I could deal with a little wind and I did have a jacket so I thought I would be ok. I thought that for about five seconds. Then Dakota wandered into the bedroom and crawled into bed with us. I reached over to cover him up as I went to get ready for work. When I touched him, he was extremely hot. The little dudester was obviously running a fever. There is nothing that makes a father feel more helpless than when a young child has a fever. They are miserable and as a result, so are you. He just wanted to be held and we either sat on the couch watching television or we were laying down taking a nap. Neither of these were what I had planned but that is the price you pay for being a father. I was hoping that by game time, Dakota would be feeling better and we could go to the game. Unfortunately, that didn't happen so I spent the rest of the evening waiting for ESPN to update the scores at the bottom of the screen. It would appear I am not supposed to attend a Diamondbacks game this spring.

Today marks the official first day of spring with the coming of the spring equinox. I always mark this day on the calendar since it is the one day for me to display that I paid attention in eighth grade science. Mr. White was an interesting character, I believe he spent time in a hippie commune but I have no proof. He did make an impression on me with his interactive science experiments. I can remember countless useless science facts that make you the life of a party. I'm sure my parents were less than thrilled with his teaching methods given the number of trips they had to make to the Junior High School to explain to the principal that I would be severely punished for causing part of the science lab to explode. Looking back at my childhood, there were only two toys I would ever ask for and I did not receive either. The first was Rock 'em Sock 'em Robots. My mother seemed to think that the last thing her son needed was a toy that taught him to knock someone's block off. The second toy was a chemistry set. Given my inquisitive nature and classification as a gifted child made for a bad combination when mixed with potentially explosive chemicals. That is not to say this made our house safe. It merely meant that I had to do some research before building these components. Needless to say, my mother was worried for no reason. I still have ten fingers and toes and no one has ever died from one of my experiments. Evacuated yes, scrubbed by the biohazard team yes, admitted to an emergency room yes, but never killed. Besides, I thought that was why she had three children. So that we had spares in case of an accident. Today's experiment though had nothing to do with explosions, at least it wasn't supposed to. It seems that on the spring equinox, it is possible to take a room temperature raw egg and make it stand on its end. This always fascinates the kids and makes our house very popular as all the neighbors come over to see the magic egg. Today, I was not as prepared as I should have been. I forgot to get the egg out of the refrigerator so that it was at room temperature. Cold eggs do not stand very well and when you are faced with an audience of five impatient kids, you improvise. In my case that meant warming up the egg in a hurry. What better appliance is there for heating things than the microwave oven. I probably would have been fine if I would have taken my time. Instead, I added an extra digit to the timer and ran upstairs to finish getting ready for work. It would appear that somewhere between one minute and three minutes, an egg will explode in the microwave. It is not quite as impressive as when house flies explode but it is still pretty cool. Well, its cool as long as your wife doesn't find out. It's grounds for another night of sleeping on the couch if she does find out.

With the regular season now less than two weeks away, it is time to look at the team and assess their progress. The hitters again seem to be ahead of the pitchers with many on the team putting up monster numbers at the plate. The Travis Lee experiment seems to be going nicely with Lee hitting .354 this spring with 8 doubles and a home run. He is getting a lot of at bats this spring to try and prove his offensive numbers last year were a fluke. Erubiel Durazo continues to be hampered this spring by tendinitis in his wrist that has limited his playing time this spring. Greg Colburnn has been on fire with the bat but as of late has suffered from an thigh bruise. This has left Buck with little choice but to use Travis Lee at first base. The positive from this has been the ability for Buck to look at David Dellucci in right field and see how he is progressing. David has been struggling at the plate and is in the middle of a 2-16 slump. The right field job appears to be going down to the wire with a decision being made in the last week of training camp. Based upon my observations, I look to see Dellucci start in Tucson so that he can get a few more at bats before joining the team in May.

With only sixteen days remaining before Spring Training is over and the regular season begins, the games begin to take on more meaning. It is at this point where most of the roster spots have been won. Those that remain up for grabs are dog fights between a couple of players. This drama is what is so compelling to a fan. These guys are battling their brains out trying to make the team. Today it was the San Francisco Giants going to Tucson to play the Arizona Diamondbacks. After last year's pennant race, the Giants and the Diamondbacks are creating quite a rivalry. This is also fueled by the fact that the San Francisco Giants have never beaten the Arizona Diamondbacks in an exhibition game in the histor of the Diamondbacks. With both teams playing each other what seems like every week, this is a strange fact. The games are usually quite close which adds to the drama. Today was no exception. The Giants lead the game only to have the Diamondbacks tie it up not once but twice. The result was extra innings which was ok with me. It was a great game with Lenny Harris being the player of the game. He threw out a runner at the plate from left field then scored the winning run in the bottom of the eleventh inning on a single by Turner Ward. The streak is alive and the Diamondbacks continue to be Giants killers.

In my rush out the door yesterday to get to the game, I forgot to pack the sun screen. Trina reminded of this fact ever half inning as we sat in the third base stands. That night when we got home, I took off my sunglasses and my jersey and got ready for bed. I didn't look that bad, or so I thought. Something happened during the night because when I woke up, my skin had turned the color of a freshly boiled lobster. Everywhere I was red except around my eyes where I work my Oakley sunglasses. So I guess to be accurate, I looked like a really cool lobster that was wearing Oakley glasses. Trina and the kids took every opportunity to give me grief about my appearance. They also made sure that I was miserable by walking by and touching me to show each other that they could leave white finger prints on dad's sun burn. I became a walking, whining science experiment. It didn't matter though because I had gone to a Diamondbacks game and that was all that really counted. I spent this afternoon rubbing aloe gel on my skin and listening to the Arizona Diamondbacks game from Hermosillo Mexico. I should feel lucky, at least no one attempted to pour melted butter on me and chase me around the house with a tiny fork.

Today being St. Patricks Day, I decided it would be the perfect day to go to a ballgame. (As far as I am concerned, every day is the perfect day but if I have a holiday fall in there, it is easier to justify going.) This is the third year in a row that I am going to a Diamondbacks game on March 17. Today's game is in Tucson at Hi Corbett Field against the Colorado Rockies. Since the kids are all out for Spring Break, the whole family is going to Tucson. Now this is the third attempt to go to Tucson, the other two being unsuccessful I was taking no chances. The game started at 1:05 PM so we left the house at 9:30 AM just so we could make it. Traffic was pretty bad and I resorted to weaving in and out of lanes to make good time. It seemed everything was going to plan. We reached Tucson at 11:00 AM and would be at Hi Corbett in time to watch batting practice, or so I thought. When I got into Tucson, I attempted to cut through downtown. I was one street away from pulling it off, then it happened. The police came and closed down the street in front and behind me essentially trapping me. I frantically tried to find out what was going on and was told that the St. Patricks Day parade was about to start and the street was now closed. I attempted to tell the officer I was on my way to a game but he didn't seem to care. I was determined that this time would be different, I would not be denied going to the game. I drove down the entire parade route Barbie-waving to the confused crowd waiting for the parade. I could hear them asking, "Who is the guy in the Diamondbacks hat and jersey and why is he waving at us?" When I reached the end of the parade route, I made a dash for the exit and drove like a maniac to the ball field. I wasn't sure whether the police would appreciate my stunt but I wasn't about to stand around and wait for the reviews. I quickly parked the car and made my way to the stadium. At last, I was at a Diamondbacks game. I felt so grateful I knelt down to the ground and kissed the ground. Those standing around me stared, one old lady turned to her husband and exclaimed, "Lookie there John, that one's drunk on green beer before he even got in the gates." Almost as an after thought, the Diamondbacks won the game 6-3.

In a strange scheduling twist, the Diamondbacks have two days off during spring training and they are both on Thursdays. Today happens to be one of those days. Now given I am such a fan, I naturally assumed that I had the day off too. I woke up this morning, and rolled over smacking the alarm clock across the room making a perfect basket in the Diamondbacks wastebasket. Of course the force used to hurl the clock ripped the clock out of the wall breaking the outlet cover in the process. When the clock came to rest in the bottom of the metal can, the noise woke the dead or in my case, Dakota. He immediately bound into the bedroom up for the day. Knowing my sleep was over, I drug myself out of bed. As I shuffled across the floor, Dakota took my place in bed. "Thanks a lot!" Trina said as I made my way to the shower. It was much to early for sarcasm. Dog Dot Com also heard the commotion and she began to howl. I decided after my clock stunt, if I were going to get any rest, I better go to work. So I got dressed and headed to the office leaving Trina to deal with the wild bunch. I can see that I'm probably in for trouble when I get home tonight.

Ever since we first got Dog Dot Com, my life has been anything but normal. It started with Dot Com deciding that everyone's biological clock should be on the same time zone as hers. This meant we were expected to go to bed at 7:30 PM and get up at 4:15 AM. When the family would not comply with this schedule, she made sure we all heard about it whining and howling until someone got up with her. After that, it has been the potty training that goes along with having a puppy. It didn't matter where I stepped, she had planted little puppy bombs in the exact place where my bare feet would find them. She has the tendency to lead you to believe she is learning to go outside. Just as you are lulled into thinking you are over the worst part, she reminds you she is still a puppy and can go potty wherever she wants. Now this week, we have moved into the next area, the chewing phase. There is nothing safe that her little puppy teeth have not tasted. Whether it be my ear, shoes, socks, Dakota; it is all fair game. The one area she had not touched was the computer, until now. I have been working on networking the computers in the house to share Internet access and files between Mallorie and I and temporarily laid Category 5 Ethernet between the computers to test. While I was configuring IP addresses, Dottie decided it was time she went digital. As I came down the stairs, there she laid, the remnants of a network between her teeth. It was apparent that Dog Dot Com was under the belief that all networks should be wireless. I quietly yanked the wires from her mouth, the twisted pairs flossing her puppy teeth as she struggled to hold on. It would not have been so bad had the wire she ate not been my link between the computer and the cable modem. I was cut off like Gilligan from the mainland. Unlike Gilligan, I did not have the Professor, that master of the coconut shell to bail me out. It took a couple of days before I was back up and on-line. In the mean time, Dog Dot Com has gotten the taste of the Internet. She may never go back to being a mere analog dog.

As I got home from work, Dakota met me at the door, ball and bat in hand. "Let's play ball dad!" I didn't even have a chance to put my briefcase down before he threw me the ball to pitch to him. I eagerly obliged even through the yelling Trina was doing that we shouldn't be playing in the house. I threw pitch after pitch with the wiffleball and each time his little plastic bat would make a connection causing me to dive for the ball before it hit something and broke it putting both Dakota and I in the dog house with Dog Dot Com. After several minutes of throwing batting practice, I began to tire and my reflexes weren't what they should have been. In a way, this was my spring training. Like the Major League players, in our house hitting is ahead of pitching at this stage of the game. I was resorting to throwing junk balls relying heavily on my knuckleball to try and get one past this two-year-old hustler. His hitting was dead on, he rarely went after a bad pitch and made me work for every out. I began calculating and if he continued at this pace, he would break Pete Rose's hits record somewhere around the age of 12. Of course my arm would go out somewhere around the age of 7. Given his hitting expertise and his subsequent running around the living room sliding head first on the tile, he reminded me very much of what I was like as a kid. At that time, I was given the nickname Charlie Wiffleball. It is time that I pass that name on to the next generation. After another 20 minutes of throwing to Charlie Wiffleball Junior or Junior for short, I made a mental note to go out to the Internet and search Fog Dog for a wiffleball pitching machine. I may be getting old, but I'm not stupid. Well not until I let loose a wild pitch hitting Dakota in the batting helmet. I knew I was in trouble when he dropped the bat and charged the mound. I wasn't expecting his attack especially when he is still waist high to me. He dropped me faster than broccoli down the garbage disposal.

There are certain days in one's live that become defining moments that will forever be etched in your mind. This happens to be one of those days. Fifteen years ago, Trina and I were expecting our second child. We had just finished our last ultrasound the week before and found we were having a girl. We were both quite excited and awaited the day she would arrive. On this day, I was out of town on business and Trina was at home. She didn't feel quite right and went to the doctor. He immediately admitted her to the hospital and began the delivery of our child. I was told of the event and rushed home on a plane to be with Trina. I arrived at the hospital just in time. As Lindsay was being born, a blood vessel in her umbilical cord burst causing her death. They say that time heals a broken heart. I used to believe that until I lost my daughter. I remember that day like it happened just yesterday. The emotions and the images still crystal clear in my mind. I remember the prayers that were offered, the faces of our loved ones as they gathered around us comforting us. I remember the numbness I felt as I had to choose the coffin where I would lay my daughter and the dress we picked out for her to wear this one last time. But most of all, I remember the weather and the bitter cold that enveloped me as I stood above her tiny grave bidding an Earthly farewell. I am an avid baseball fan who loves the game dearly. I would enjoy nothing more than to share a game with my daughter. Sitting her on my lap and showing her all the sights and sounds of the game. Remember honey, daddy loves you and misses you greatly.

There are times when I wonder whether I should make a career change. This weekend happened to be one of those times. Don't get me wrong, I have a pretty good job and the best part about it is the flex hours I can work so that I can go to all of the Diamondbacks games. There are trade-offs like everything else. In my case, I have to be on call every nine weeks. What this means is that I get paged whenever there is a problem with a server at work. This duty manager goes on for a week straight. In the off season, having the duty manager is bearable. After all, it does not interfere with baseball so I can live with being on call 24 hours a day for 7 days. But when spring training rolls around or worse, the regular season, it can be almost more than a guy can handle. Today happened to be one of those days. I had plans on going over to Mesa to watch the Diamondbacks play the Chicago Cubs in a split squad game. Just as I was about to leave, I was paged telling me of a potential server problem. I set all of my gear down and went to the computer to begin testing and troubleshooting. While I was doing this, I listened to the game on the Internet again. At about the third inning, I had the problems solved and ran to the television. The game was being televised on WGN in Chicago and I quickly set the satellite to that transponder to see the game. There I witnessed the Diamondbacks get taken to school by the cubs. The strange part was it seemed my duty manager pager and the Cubs were somehow in-sync. It seemed each time the Cubs scored, my pager would vibrate. In the 7 run seventh inning, I began to feel much like a white lab rat. By the end of the game, I had been trained much like Pavlow's dog. Each time my pager went off I assumed the Cubs had scored. Worse yet, each time the Cubs scored I felt a vibration on my waist. This would not have worried me so much but I had set the pager on the desk 3 innings ago. Make a note to self, leave pager home during next game.

I am sometimes amazed at the depths I will go to see a baseball game. I had grand plans to again try and attend a Diamondbacks spring training game in Scottsdale. The Diamondbacks were playing the San Francisco Giants and it was a beautiful day. I was up and ready with everything packed. I grabbed the three younger kids to take them to the game, went to the garage only to find there were no cars parked there. That was strange. I remember distinctly parking in the garage last night. Confused, I walked back into the house trying to recount my steps last night. How could I misplace my car? It's not like I have a hole in my pocket and it slipped out. Still scratching my head, Whitney offered to help. "Dad, there is a note on the counter." As I picked it up, I read the following, "Jeff, had to go to the store. Ashley went to the gym. Will see you this afternoon." This afternoon?!? Are you kidding me? Do these people have any idea what they have done? I frantically started calling cell phone numbers but I could not reach anyone. By game time, I gave up. I tuned into the game via the Internet and began listening. It is just not the same. I wandered down to the family room and blankly turned on the television and began scrolling up the channels. When I reached channel 33, I froze. There in living color were the Boston Red Sox versus the Houston Astros. A game on television! I sat there watching the action on the screen. Pitchers, hitters, base runners. This was great. It was only after watching for 5 minutes that I began to realize that no one on the broadcast was speaking English. Pitch after pitch were being called in Spanish. I had stumbled upon Univision. I had no idea what they were saying but it really didn't matter. I had found a baseball game and a way for me to spend some time watching spring training while stranded without a car. As Garrett Morris so elequently put it, "Beisbol has been berry berry good to me."

On January 16, 1997, the Arizona Diamondbacks became the newest member of the National League West. At that time, it seemed like a natural fit with geographic rivalries and a history of National League through the Phoenix Firebirds and the influx of Chicago residents who now live here. Jerry Colangelo worked long and hard making his case for the Diamondbacks to be placed in the National League. The other owners agreed, or so it seemed. Even then, the then acting commissioner of baseball Bud Selig had a clause added that stated that Major League Baseball could move the Diamondbacks to the American League without the Diamondbacks approval in 2001.

Being back at work today, I had to recount how I missed another Diamondbacks game. My co-workers seem to find joy in my misery going so far as to place bets on whether I will be able to catch a game before spring training is over. By the end of the work day, I am relatively depressed and ready for the weekend to begin. I dragged my tired body into the house and plopped myself into my new Bank One Ballpark seat. As I sat there, my thoughts turned to baseball and the fun I have had watching the Diamondbacks over the past two years. In the midst of my daydreams, I was startled by the doorbell. "Oh great" I thought "I'll bet it's an opportunity to buy another 17 boxes of girl scout cookies." As I opened the door, I was greeted by a smiling postal worker. I was taken aback by this sight. I did not realize there was such a creature. I always envisioned postmen as only having smiles on their faces while they were cleaning their firearms. "Will you sign here please?" the postal worker asked. I absently autographed his ledger "To the best Diamondbacks fan." He looked rather confused and asked if I would just put my name down. I apologized and signed again. This time, he handed me an envelope, thanked me, and went on his way. As I shut the door, I began to look at the package. The return address was one I was well familiar with. It was the Arizona Diamondbacks. I eagerly tore open the package and inside found a most precious prize. It was my 2000 season tickets. I reverently admired the tickets looking at each one, counting them and envisioning tearing them out of the booklet to attend the game. It was almost enough to bring tears to a man's eyes. When I finally got over my sensitive moment, I began to do my best impression from Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. I danced around the living room singing, "I've got a golden ticket!" As Trina and the kids came into the living room to see what was going on, in unison they made one comment "Looks like your dad got the tickets today. There will be no living with him for the next three weeks."

Five years ago today, I eagerly awaited a press conference where Arizona was awarded a baseball franchise. As the televised conference was going on, I was at work. Trina on the phone to me repeating everything that was said so that I did not miss anything. That was a memorable moment in my life. Partly because I could now go to see Major League Baseball, partially because I now shared my birthday with the Arizona Diamondbacks. Each year since that date, I have received at least one item for my birthday that had a Diamondbacks logo emblazened upon it. Today was no exception. I received to seats from Bank One Ballpark, a personalized authentic jersey, a new Diamondbacks hat, and a Diamondbacks polo shirt. After the gift unwrapping, Trina, Dakota, and I headed to Tucson to see the Diamondbacks play the Seattle Mariners. We had gotten half way to Tucson when we encountered a traffic accident that had closed the freeway. After sitting in traffic for 3 hours, we were finally sent back to Phoenix. I pleaded with the police to let us through. I explained that my sanity depended upon my getting to the game. The policeman calmly stated, "Hit the road fan boy." With that I was again shut out from the ball game. Dejected, I turned the car around and drove back to Phoenix. Not wanting to miss baseball completely today, I went to Phoenix Municipal Stadium and watched the Oakland Athletics play the Colorado Rockies. I am beginning to think that I am not to attend a Diamondbacks game this spring. Overall though, I would say this was one of my better birthdays.

Today marked the second game the Diamondbacks would play this spring in Phoenix. I had tickets to the first one rained out on Monday so I had planned to attend this one. I was at work early so I could get everything done before lunch. As the time came near, my pager and phone became more vocal. It was like the Baseball Gods had conspired against me. Game time came and went and I was still sitting at my desk typing feverishly on the keyboard trying to get everything done. By the time I looked up, it was time to go home. I drug my tired body into the house where I was met by Tiffany's shining face. "Dad, are you ready to go? Mom said you were taking me to gymnastics tonight." Oh good, nothing I would rather do after missing a baseball game than sit in a stinky gym watching 10 year-old girls attempt the splits while mothers gush over them from the sidelines. My only ray of hope is knowing that tomorrow I am going to the Diamondbacks game in Tucson tomorrow.

Today began as another lion day (see, I do use this stuff). The rain and wind seemed to set the tone for my day. As I got up this morning, I went out and picked up the various newspapers scouring the sports pages for Diamondbacks news as I do every day. Today, I happened to pick up a copy of USA Today. On their sports page was an article on the proposed realignment of Major League Baseball. This is a subject that really irritates me. I am not a baseball purist, I do believe the game needs to evolve. If it were not for change, the Diamondbacks would not have a franchise. There are a few aberrations that have occurred in the history of the game. The most despicable would be the introduction of the designated hitter. I am a firm believer that as a steward of the game, Bud Selig's job is to not offend the Baseball Gods. At present, They are very unhappy with the state of affairs. In my opinion, it is this deity displeasure that has led to baseball work stoppages and drops in attendance. There are many signs in the skies showing that the end is near. If we do not change our sinning ways, the Gods will visit us in their wrath. Their anger is already displaying itself in the equipment. When I was a kid, broken bats were few and far between. Gloves lasted for years and you only got new cleats if your feet grew. Now, bats last maybe three innings, players go through a new mitt every season, and some players wear new shoes every game. If Bud Selig and the owners allow travesties such as moving the Diamondbacks to the American League, the baseball Gods will have no choice but to curse the teams voting for such an injustice. I for one will lead the call for bad mojo. I have already started searching the Internet for voodoo sites to help with my curses. Before you scoff at such a notion, look at the power of the "Curse of the Bambino" in Boston or the "Curse of the Mule" in Chicago. I do not believe baseball should mess with the powers of the baseball Gods. I implore the commissioner to bring sanity back to the game, keep the Diamondbacks in the National League where they belong.

According to the National Weather Service, the Phoenix metropolitan area receives approximately 287 days of sunshine per year. That said, I awoke to the sound of rain hitting my bedroom window. It has been raining all night long and according to the Weather Channel, it is supposed to rain all day and through the night tonight. I am still not giving up hope. I packed all of my baseball gear into the car and headed off to work. Each half hour, I would wander over to a window and check to see if it had stopped raining. I am not sure why I bothered. Even if it did stop raining, it would take temperatures in the 200 degree range and 100 mile an hour winds to dry out the field. A guy can still hope though. Just before game time, I went down to the stadium. Maybe it wasn't raining at Phoenix Municipal Stadium. When I got there, sure enough, the infield was under water and the rain continued. Not wanting to give up hope, I waited at the ticket window. When it was my turn, I quietly asked the agent, "Is the game going to start on time today?" You would have thought I asked if he believed in aliens. After the laughter subsided, he refunded my money and thanked me for stopping by. So much for living in a desert.

After getting my first taste of baseball yesterday, I was ready for another game today. Plans were set, I would go to church then kick over to the ballpark to spend the afternoon. Those plans were quickly squelched when I looked out the window this morning to see 40 mile an hour winds and rain drops pelting my bedroom window. Surely the weather cannot be that bad outside. I have watched enough programs on the FOX network to understand the power of mind over matter. It wasn't like I was attempting to walk on a bed of hot coals. This was a little wind and rain. I decided I would just pretend it was sunny and in the mid-seventies and everything would work out. I came home from church and put on my shorts, a t-shirt, my sunglasses, and my thongs and headed out the door. Upon walking to the driveway, my hat blew off and I had to chase it a quarter mile before I caught up with it. I turned to walk back to the house only to find myself doing my best mime impression of walking against the wind. When I finally got back to the house, I was soaking wet and freezing. I quickly ran into the house and jumped in the shower turning the hot water on full blast. After ten minutes, I began to thaw out. As I put on a turtleneck, a sweatshirt, my flannel pants, and my Goofy slippers I began to wonder where I was. This obviously was no longer the Valley of the Sun. Somehow, we had been transported to Bizzaro World where everything was opposite of what it was supposed to be. Looking out the window I wondered where all of the scientists were that had predicted global warming. I'm guessing they have all frozen to death sitting next to their swimming pools. I'm thinking maybe I should just stay home with an electric blanket and watch a re-run of one of last year's games.

The day dawned a beautiful day of sunshine. Trina had grand plans for the day. We would get up, take the kids to their appointed destinations and then have some time for ourselves. Cool I thought. Unfortunately, her idea of time for ourselves and my idea seem to be quite different. After returning from taking the kids, I came in and there she was waiting for me, a rake and shovel in hand. She seemed to think that quality time together should somehow equate to removing the weeds from the back yard. I tried everything I could think of to get out of these menial tasks. I faked a pulled hamstring thinking I would be excused. All I got was a couple of aspirin and a lecture about stretching before raking. I had an asthma attack from all the dust and debrie and all I got was a breathing treatment and a dust mask. There was no getting away. I was stuck. Just as I was about to give up hope and learn to live with my sentence, Trina threw me a curve. "You've been working hard, why don't you go to a spring trai... Before she could finish the sentence I was gone. My car was out of the driveway before the shovel hit the ground. Now I would have liked to make the trip to Tucson to see the Diamondbacks, but time was of the essence. I needed to get into the park before Trina changed her mind and called my cell phone asking me to come back. I threw the Camaro into fifth gear and screamed over to Hohokam stadium in Mesa where the Chicago Cubs were playing the San Francisco Giants. I bought a lawn ticket and laid out in right field watching baseball. As I was sitting there, Ernie Banks walked by surrounded by fans and autograph seekers. Mr. Cub was right, it was a great day to play two.

As I got to work today, I had the bandage on my ear from where Dog Dot Com tried to introduce another hole into my head. I must have had to recount the story about a hundred times. Each time as I finished, I had to endure the countless snickers and other smart aleck comments. I wish I had a dime for every time I was told I should change the dog's name to Mike Tyson. I would now have enough money to completely pay for my season tickets and upgrade them to sit next to Jerry Colangelo. It did not help that my little brother attended yesterday's game and had to tell me all about it in graphic detail. So today I vowed that I would take off this afternoon and go to a ball game. At this point, I didn't even care if it was a Diamondbacks game. I would settle for watching the Oakland A's play the Milwaukee Brewers, it just didn't matter. So I had a plan. I would work all morning, endure the laughing and then bail out in the afternoon. I had my shorts, my hat and money for parking and a program. Everything was set, except I got swamped at work and was unable to get away. There I sat in my office looking out the window at the bright sunshine and blue sky. On the weather channel web page it said the high temperature would be in the mid-seventies, and I was stuck inside staring at a computer screen. I now know how a dog must feel when tied up outside a butcher store its leash long enough to look in the window but not long enough to do anything about it. If I don't soon get to a ball game I am going to go nuts. Until then, the waiting continues. I guess I will go walk Cujo the wild dog. Maybe that will get my mind off of things.

Did you ever have one of those days where you had a perfectly good plan for the day which ended up lasting about minutes? I had one of those today. I had been working on my plan for the entire off-season. For six long and painful months, I have been without baseball. Today marked the first day of Cactus League spring training games. I slept very little last night as I anticipated the events of today. I would get up early, be to work by seven, work through lunch then head over and see a ball game. What a perfect day. It started off well enough, I was up early and ready for work. I went downstairs and said hello to the family and sat on the couch to put on my shoes. This was where the plan began to unravel. Dog Dot Com came over to say hello. I bent down to pat her on the head and she mistook this action as a sign that I wanted to play. She jumped up and her little puppy teeth sunk deeply into my left ear. No I consider myself open minded and at times I feel I am in touch with the latest fads. I have seen kids with earrings and have not passed judgment on men wearing jewelry dandling from their ear lobes. I had once harbored thoughts of getting one myself. Three things stood in my way of getting my ear pierced. First, I was not quite sure which ear I was supposed to have pierced. Not wanting to send the wrong message, I felt it safer not to have my ear pierced. Second, I am somewhat old fashioned in that for the longest time, the only men I could envision wearing an earring were pirates. Now I am not currently a pirate, I don't own a parrot, I live in a land locked state, and I don't look good in a puffy shirt. These things considered, chances were I would never be a pirate. Third, my father once told me, "Son, you get your ears pierced, I'll come down there and kick your butt." Now I once saw my little brother defy my father and I witnessed the butt kicking he got. My dad is now 60 years old, but he could probably still kick my butt and that just doesn't seem like something you want your kids to see. With all that said, Dog Dot Com decided I would look much better with another hole in my head. She therefore poked a hole through my left ear allowing me to do my best Vincent Van Gogh impression. Blood went everywhere and I could not get the thing to stop. It is interesting to note here that contrary to what my wife believed, I did not bleed Diamondbacks purple. So instead of going to work and to a baseball game, I went to the emergency room, got shot (like I needed another puncture wound), and spent the rest of the day with white gauze stuck to the side of my head. All in all, today turned out to be almost the exact opposite of what I had planned. I can tell you right now, I am not going to work with a bandage stuck to my head tomorrow. I will never hear the end of it. I am also not going anywhere near a gay bar until I can figure out if Dottie bit the right ear or not.

I remember as a child in elementary school, we were always taught the old adage, "If March comes in as a lion, it will go out like a lamb." This pertained to the weather patterns surrounding the month. A nice and sunny day was defined as a "lamb" day while a stormy or windy day was classified as a "lion" day. In first grade, we would color pictures of lambs and lions and hang around the room. When we got older, we would graph the lamb and lion days to determine whether the custom was accurate. Granted, this was rural Idaho where March marked the month when snow would finally leave the potato fields and the mountain winds would come down and dry out the soil to get it ready for another planting season. As a child, I was less interested in planting cycles as I was that on lion days, if the wind was blowing out, you could hit some towering home runs on the playground. We would take turns doing our best Hank Aaron or Willie Mays imitation. If we were in a groove, we may even call our shots just like the Babe. As I grew older, this local custom stuck with me and each year I look at the days differently in March than I do on other days, measuring each against these two animals. This was interesting and somewhat useful when we lived in Idaho but when we moved to Arizona the days took on less meaning. The difference now between a lamb and a lion day is judging between 72 degrees and 75 degrees. Rather than the Idaho gale force winds, in Arizona we have a slight breeze that keeps you cool during those afternoon spring training games. I guess I can chock this lesson up to another useless fact that I was taught as a child. This will go into my book of disillusions along with if I make a goofy face it will freeze that way and girls have cooties. I sometimes wonder if I learned anything of value?