May 2000 Archives

There are times in baseball where you just happen to be in the right place at the right time. When it comes to the Diamondbacks, I have had my share of those moments. Whether it be seeing Devon White hit the first Diamondbacks home run into the pool or Yamil Benitez hit a ball off the roof, or Jay Bell hitting a grand slam to win a fan a million dollars, or even seeing Jose Jimenez pitch a no-hitter against Randy Johnson; I have been there. All of these things paled when compared to what I witnessed tonight. The drama behind the Big Unit versus Big Mac was enormous and it lived up to its billing as a match-up of the ages. The most dominating pitcher versus the hitting machine. The match-up consisted of four rounds, each having its share of drama. In round 1, Randy struck out McGwire with such force that we could feel the wind from the bat all the way to third base. Round 2, McGwire was frozen by a Randy Johnson slider taking strike 3 called. Round 4 saw Randy give up McGwire's twenty-first home run of the season, a towering ball to left center that went 422 feet out and 120 feet up. Round 3 though will be the one that I will cherish most.

All that we are missing is some elephants and a couple dozen clowns and I would swear I had stumbled into the Ringling Brothers Circus rather than a Diamondbacks game. Before the gates even opened, several thousand people were milling around the plaza waiting to get inside Bank One Ballpark. As 5:00 approached, people began rushing to the turnstiles crowding around. The poor ushers were left trying to manage the hoard of people as they shoved their way into the stadium. Once inside, the madness did not stop. Instead, grown men and women, their children in tow ran down the aisles to camp out in left field. Within 5 minutes, the entire left field bleachers were filled to capacity. A ball hit into the stands couldn't hit a seat if it wanted to. Instead, 300 people would be on top of it before it reached the ground. There was no place safe from the mob. Even our seats, halfway to third base and 16 rows up were filled with people there to see Mark McGwire hit during batting practice. I took the kids and we went for a walk until batting practice was over. Given the mob of people, it was safer if I took the kids elsewhere. As soon as McGwire went into the clubhouse, the stadium settled down and we could once again go back to our pre-game routine. It is amazing how much of a distraction McGwire can be.

Well, it started, the one series that any diehard baseball fan dreads. Mark McGwire and the St. Louis Cardinals have come to town for a four game series. It is not that I don't want to see Big Mac and his offensive power at the ballpark, on the contrary, I enjoy watching him belt balls around the outfield. The problem comes from the fact that everybody and their dog has to come and watch. Most of these people will never set foot within Bank One Ballpark for the remainder of the season. But for the next four days, they will be hanging out with their Diamondbacks hats and McGwire jerseys. Many have brought their mitts and their cameras and will spend batting practice packed like sardines into the left field stands attempting to catch a batting practice or game home run from McGwire. I'm sure many of them have already begun calculating how much money they could make if the home run they catch is some sort of record breaker. Those who aren't trying to catch the ball are trying to catch the Kodak moment of when McGwire hits a towering home run. In the midst of all of these fortune hunters are scattered a few diehard fans who are just trying to go about their business and watch a game without getting caught up in all of the craziness that surrounds Big Mac. I usually hang out at the bottom of section 135 near the bullpen and talk to the players during warm-ups. This also allows the kids an opportunity to collect a few autographs. But for the remainder of this week, I will go and hang out with Stan Oliver at his Stick by Stan booth in the upper deck. There, he and I can discuss the finer points of bat manufacturing and the amount of torque that the contemporary bat must handle given today's bigger players. Sure, that isn't as exciting as watching some body builder crush a baseball 500 feet, but it is a lot more relaxing and a whole lot quieter. I'll go back to my routine after the Cardinals and the McGwire groupies have left town leaving the park to those of us who are interested in the game, not the sideshow.

It has become a weekly ritual when the Diamondbacks are in town. Trina and the girls will go to church while Dakota and I head to the ballpark. I am sure that at some plane of consciousness, I could be perceived as choosing baseball over God. There are probably even some out there that could construe this to mean that baseball is a God in my mind therefore presuming I am somehow breaking the commandment of having no other God before Me. I tend to believe that I am closer to God when at the ballpark than I am in some stuffy church listening to a dry speaker decry what a sinner I am and how God will save me if He feels like it. But I digress here. The important thing is that I am getting to spend some precious time with my son teaching him about the game that I love. In Dakota's brief life, he has been to more games than I had in my entire life until three years ago. With each game, he learns a little more about the game and the players. Today was no exception, Dakota was able to meet Russ Springer and Byung Hyun Kim as part of the Bullpen Buddies activity. Dakota went down into the bullpen before the game and was able to get autographs. He came away very excited and with a new understanding of what these players were like. During the game when each of these pitchers came in, he would tell everyone sitting around us that those were his bullpen buddies and he would show his autographed ball. I am very proud of him. Most kids have a hard time sitting still for more than 5 minutes. Dakota lasted most of an 11 inning game. His only break was a nap in the eighth, ninth, and tenth innings. All the way home he talked about the day he had and the players he met. It was a good day to be a father.

For each home game, the Arizona Diamondbacks in conjunction with Miller Beer sponsor a designated driver program. For those who volunteer to be the designated driver for their party, the Diamondbacks will give you a coupon for a free medium soft drink. Since I do not drink, I volunteer before every game. During the third inning, one lucky fan is selected from the designated driver program to be the driver of the game. They are given a T-shirt and shown on JumboTron. In my wildest dreams, I never anticipated being chosen. I was just happy to get a free pop. But today, as I sat there keeping score with Whitney, I was told I was the designated driver of the game. So in the third inning, I stood there with my picture and name on the scoreboard waving to a cheering crowd of 37,777 baseball fans most of which were on the opposite end of the sobriety scale. Whitney was very excited since she got to see herself up on the screen waving her arm frantically. It doesn't get much better than that for a Saturday afternoon.

Randy Johnson pitching at home and Miller Lite Beach Party Night. This is probably the oddest combination of events that I have ever seen. On one hand you have the most intense and psycho pitcher in the game today. On the other hand, you have a night that celebrates the laid back surfing culture of southern California. The only thing more bizarre would be to see Randy sporting a Hawaiian shirt and thongs on the pitching mound. This is one of those sights that can offer no explanation other than the end of the world is near. With each Diamondbacks batter, the public address had replaced the players usual music with some type of beach blanket bingo music. As the Big Unit would strike out a Brewer batter, the public address announcer would declare it a wipe out in his best California lingo. So there I sat, my scorebook in my hand, a Hawaiian print shirt and a plastic lei around my neck wondering how in the world I could have swerved so far away from the integrity of baseball. Lou Gerig would roll over in his grave if he saw what had become of the game. It has gone from the national pastime to where the game is almost an afterthought. The fans now come to the game to be entertained and in most cases, the game on the field is the least of interest. With player salaries spiraling out of control and ticket prices rising nearly every year, people expect to be entertained and in many cases, they expect to become part of the entertainment. Whatever happened to the time when you could go to the game and see a game without having to worry about what you were wearing or if you were one of the first 4,000 people in the door and came away feeling you got your money's worth for a nine inning game? I'm afraid I am getting old. I am beginning to sound like my grandfather.

Ah, my arch nemesis has returned bringing with him a swagger knowing he has bested me in the past. The white whale is again patrolling third base. He stands as a mountain with his head tightly wedged upon his bald head. Seeing him during batting practice I again attempt to get a picture of him sans cap. It has become a game between the two of us. Each time he reaches up to remove the sweat from his brow, the camera comes to my eye. He can sense my presence much like Darth Vader senses Luke Skywalker. I pray that I do not encounter the beast to find him proclaim he is my father and that we will rule the bald universe together. That would be just to creepy. I am further frustrated as I look back at the potential possibilities I have missed in my quest to get a picture of Matt Williams without his hat. There was the day at the Phoenix Open when he snubbed me. There was the Scottsdale parade that I missed due to other commitments. There was Fuji Film Fan Photo Day when I could not talk him into taking off the hat. And who could forget the cover of the Diamondbacks magazine which had him on the cover without a hat. Alas and confound the beast. He is clearly mocking me now. I shall not rest until I have completed my vision quest. It's funny, this started off as a time saving device. I thought if I could get a picture of Matt without his hat, it would save me a few minutes when it came time create his Chia head. Instead, I have spent a factor of 10 more time in trying to get this picture. It has become a matter of principle and I will continue my search for the holy grail, the scalp of Matt Williams.

After four painful days of caring for the kids solo, I was finally relieved of duty when Trina returned home. It is hard to tell who was more excited, me or the children. I am sure this amount of concentration of dad is not healthy especially for small children. Trina has had her own personal trials in the past few days as she was forced to sleep in a cabin with 16 teenage girls and countless numbers of bugs wanting to share a sleeping bag or cabin. It was clear that she was exhausted so I did the best thing I could for her, I took her to the ball game. I mean what more relaxing place is there in the world than a baseball game, especially an Arizona Diamondbacks game. With the Pittsburgh Pirates in town, there would be a smaller crowd so she could sprawl out and relax. Unfortunately, this plan worked to perfection. By the third inning, she was asleep in the seat next to me. Being the caring husband that I am, I woke her for each double play, great catch, or Diamondbacks base hit. She got extremely excited in the seventh inning when the Diamondbacks scored a run to tie the game at 3-3. I was pretty proud of her until I stopped to hear what she was yelling. She was looking for anyone to score just to make sure that we did not go into extra innings. That didn't sound like team loyalty at all. I am beginning to wonder whether she even wanted to go to the game tonight? What am I saying, of course she wanted to go. Who would pass up a chance to go to a Diamondbacks game to stay home and sleep?

This is a day I have both anticipated and approached with a sense of dread. On the one hand, the Diamondbacks are back in town after an extended road trip that saw me handcuffed to the house with a never ending list of "honey do's". I feel much like a convict being released from prison after a reprieve from the governor. My excitement was tempered by the fact that Trina is still gone meaning that I have in my possession three small children in transit to Bank One Ballpark. Tiffany who is nearly 10 is a big help getting things together so that we may leave. I am not sure what I would do without her. Whitney is more worried about packing a "to-do" bag. A "to-do" bag for a ballgame? The thoughts of such a thing are beyond my reality. Dakota when he is not attacking Dog Dot Com is undoing everything that Tiffany and I are working on. Miraculously, we finally leave the house to head downtown. I had gone no more than a mile when Whitney became hysterical that she forgot to staple her homemade coloring book. We could go no further until we stopped at a store and picked up a stapler. With no time to spare, we rushed down to the ballpark to be there when the gates opened. I was very interested in whether Matt Williams would be activated and didn't want to miss batting practice. I was curious how his swing looked and whether he still had his timing after an extended lay off. My question was quickly answered as we stood near the bullpen to watch him take batting practice. In just his second swing, he turned on a ball that looked like it might be coming our way. That turned out to be the understatement of the new millennium. The ball made a beeline to the children and I rushed to move them out of the way. I was partially successful as the ball hit Tiffany in the hand and ricocheted three sections over. Her right ring finger immediately began to swell and turn blue. The security guards and emergency medical technicians (EMT) were great. They rushed over to check on her. Jeff Motuzas, the bullpen catcher came over to see how she was doing and gave her a ball. I think that Tiffany was more excited when the EMT gave her the ice bag but she thanked them both. We spent the rest of the night enjoying the game while I tried to think of a story to tell Trina. Between Dakota thinking he could fly off the bunk bed and Tiffany catching a foul ball off her hand, I would have some serious explaining to do.

I'm beginning to think that Murphy was some kind of misunderstood genius. How else can you explain how he is always right? It has been only 24 hours since Trina, Ashley, and Mallorie have left and we already have casualties. This morning, Dakota was messing around with Tiffany on the bunk bed and was coming down the ladder at a rate faster than is recommended. Somewhere halfway down, Dakota came to the illconceived conclusion that he could fly. He jumped off the ladder and planted his foot squarely on top of Mr. Potatohead. Normally, a spud would give way under the weight of a falling boy but this was some sort of super potato. Instead of crushing like every other toy that Dakota owns, this plastic tuber decided to flex its Taiwanese muscle and stand up to the abuse of a three year old. Dakota twisted his foot and fell to the ground crying. I went up and did my best impression of the mother comforting him and looking over the damage. The room looked as if a bomb exploded. Carnage was everywhere. In the corner sat the remains of some sort of Barbie mass murder. Arms and legs were detached, one poor doll was even tied to a Hot Wheels track where numerous cars had attempted to jump her like the Grand Canyon. How could one little boy cause this much destruction? All of this meant nothing at this point though. Dakota was obviously hurt since this was the longest period of time in his short life that he stayed in one place. I looked over his foot and it appeared he could move it. I am guessing he sprained it. All that really means is that we can limit the damage path of a Category 5 Dakota to a local area. I'm sure Trina is going to kill me when she gets home. Maybe I should jump on Mr. Potatohead myself. I'm sure she wouldn't hit a guy with a sprained ankle.

It is amazing what you will watch at three o'clock in the morning when you can't get to sleep. As I sat here, the events of the past away series against the New York Mets continued to plague me. How could we lose three one-run games to these guys? I absently turned on the television and began to scan the channels. On some obscure satellite channel sandwiched between a Middle Eastern cooking show and some guy telling me the finer points of tying flies in Spanish I came across a show about Nostradamus. As I sat there listening to how this guy was some kind of prophet I became more and more skeptical. Oh sure, it is impressive that some 16th century dude can look into a bowl of stagnant water and somehow predict future events. But if he was so cool, why didn't he warn the Chicago Cubs about the goat curse or raise a red flag that spelled out what would happen to the Boston Red Sox if they traded away the Babe? See, this guy spent all of his time staring at his water glass that he missed the big picture. I mean how much use are we getting out of his so-called predictions. Every one of the examples that were stated in this show were of events that have already taken place. Duh, I can predict what would happen after the fact too. Yeah, I recognize that he was talking about events that happened several hundred years after his death but the least he could have done was put in a bookmark so we could find it before the events happened. And while we're at it, why couldn't he have predicted something actually useful like World Series champions? I'll bet his descendants could have found a lot more use for that type of information. I'm thinking that Nostradamus was probably the last person picked when the kids went out to play ball. On the other hand, he could probably pick which team would win the game. It was probably always the team who didn't have a sissy playing right field that stared at his water and talked in four line poems that no one could understand.

This is a day I have been dreading far more than that silly Year 2000 scare. It has nothing to do with impending computer disasters although I will probably not be able to use the computer for several days. Today Trina, Ashley, and Mallorie left for girls camp. They will be gone until almost game time on next Wednesday. This left me to take care of Tiffany, Whitney, Dakota, and Dog Dot Com. Now I have taken care of these kids before. It is just that I have never had this much concentration of small children by myself for such an extended period of time. It probably wouldn't be bad if all I had to do was take care of the kids. But Trina left a couple of pages worth of information on extra activities and jobs that need to be done while she is gone. I had hoped to take the kids down to Bank One Ballpark to the Walk Across Home festivities, but after perusing "the list", I found that wouldn't work. Instead, Tiffany had gymnastics, grocery shopping needed to be done, Trina needed her jewelry picked up at the mall, and the kids wanted to do some shopping. I could see this was going to be a full day then I realized all of this needed to be completed before noon. By evening, I was ready to relax. Instead, the kids decided they needed to go swimming. While they were in to pool, Dakota and Dog Dot Com got tangled and both went into the pool. I was pretty proud of Dakota, he made his way to the edge of the pool and got out. Dog Dot Com wasn't so lucky. She completely freaked out at being in the water and I ended up jumping to help her swim to the side. When she finally got out of the water, she made a mad dash to the only place where there is dirt in our whole yard and rolled around to dry off making her a giant mud ball. I spent the rest of the night cleaning her and the kids up. I can't believe it. I didn't leave the house and yet I have probably experienced more wildlife than Trina who is at camp.

I have come to the conclusion that I am the owner of the world's dumbest dog. You would think I would learn my lesson. This is the third Basset Hound I have owned and I can say without a shadow of a doubt that Basset's are the dumbest breed in the canine family. Granted, they are loveable and cute in a goofy sort of way. Who couldn't help but laugh at those huge feet and long ears. My theory is that in heaven, God was giving away gifts to each of the animals, the Basset somehow got in the ears line twice and missed the brains line completely. This point was proven tonight. Mallorie came home from the store with one of those laser pointers that shine the red light. I am not sure why she bought one of those other than she plans to take it to girls camp to use to initiate the new campers in the snipe hunt. She took the pointer out of the package to test it out. She shined the light on the floor on the living room and Dog Dot Com went nuts. She began chasing the light around the house barking at it and trying to bite it. Mallorie kept flashing the light around making the dog crazy. She would shine it on the wall and Dottie would run head first into the wall to attack the light. If we shined the light on the ceiling, Dottie would sit there and howl at it because she couldn't get to it. I finally had to put the light away because she was going nuts. Even after we stopped, she would get her nose down to the floor and try to get the light's scent to try and track it. This dog is such a flake.

After months of unsuccessful searching for information about the Arizona Diamondbacks draft picks for 1997, I uncovered a plethora of data about the team. Given the magnitude of this discovery, I felt like Indiana Jones. All that was missing was some cool background music, a fedora hat, a bullwhip, and a few hundred Nazi soldiers. The source of my new found knowledge was the Arizona Diamondbacks 2000 Media Guide. This book has changed my life. A couple of days ago, I was given the book by Bob Crawford, the Media Relations Manager. Mr. Crawford has been a lifesaver. I have not put this book down since the day I received it. How the media guide has not made the New York Times best seller list escapes me. Within the confines of its cover I have found fountains of information about the players and the team. I used to believe that the sports media personalities were the most intelligent and knowledgeable people in the world. How else would they know that Matt Williams was using a Louisville Slugger model T141c that is 34.5 inches long and weights 32 ounces? Well, it seems all they did was turn to page 149 and read it word for word. Needless to say that my admiration of television color commentators has been reduced while I have become increasingly impressed with the media department of the Diamondbacks. I now have enough information to keep me in heaven until the end of the season. I am not sure there is a subscription for this book but I am going to find out. Now where was I? Oh yeah, "Andrew Junipero (Andy) Fox ... he and his wife, Stefanie, are the owners of a pair of dachshunds, Super Joe (named after former NFL quarterback Joe Montana) and Six..."

After barely surviving Ashley's birthday celebration, I find myself once again bracing for another birthday party. Mallorie has always been my technologically saavy child. She always has to have the latest gadget or information appliance. I'm afraid she inherited the technology gene from me. As her birthday approached, I asked her what she wanted as a gift. She immediately inundated me with brochures of new pagers and other techno-gizmos. Trina of course just rolled her eyes and walked off leaving me to do the research on these products to determine what Mallorie would get. Mallorie was very persuasive in her argument of why she needed these new silicon based devices in her life. My favorite justification was that she would be able to receive the latest baseball scores for the Diamondbacks so that she could keep me informed as to how they were doing. I have to give her extra credit for that one. Coupled with her birthday, Mallorie is also graduating from Middle School and will be in high school beginning next fall. I find it hard to believe that she is that old already. It seems like only yesterday that I was sitting in front of her high chair teaching her to sing "take me out to the ballgame". Oh wait, that was yesterday. Just kidding Mallorie.

Much like Gilligan, I had anticipated a three hour tour only to find myself stranded with six other castaways. Family life in our house is much like a shipwreck but without the lagoon. This week is a prime example of how things go.

Seventeen years ago today, I stood in a delivery room at a hospital ready to faint. At the time, I thought I was queasy because I had never witnessed the birth of a child. I have since realized that I was sick to my stomach because I was going to be the father of a teenage girl. Don't get me wrong, I love Ashley with all of my heart. I am just not ready for her to be a grown woman yet. Ashley is now the same age that Trina and I were when we met and I remember what I was like at that time in my life. Teenage boys should be corralled and not allowed access to the opposite sex until they have finished college or had a year playing double-a minor league baseball. Ashley has now been dating for a year. Just before her last birthday, she sat down with Trina and I to talk about dating. We tried to explain to her that she should not get to serious about a single boy and date several boys before deciding on just one. She assured us she would never have a steady boyfriend and suggested we implement a rule where she would date one boy for only three dates. Trina explained she could not enforce this rule. Wanting to help the best I could, I volunteered to enforce this rule to its fullest extent. I went further to establish guidelines for her dates. Before each outing, her date and I would go into the backyard. There he would be given 10 pitches to hit with a wiffleball. Ashley would then be given 10 pitches. If the boy out hit Ashley, the date was on. If Ashley out hit the boy, I would thank him for his time and send him on his way. So far over the past year, this rule has worked quite well. In fact, the majority of Ashley's first dates have been to the batting cage for her date. She has broken the three date rule but I can't complain. For each time she breaks the three date rule, I get a box of Dairy Queen Dilly Bars.

Being a mother is an interesting calling in life. It is something that I cannot envision doing. Fatherhood is a breeze compared to what a mother must face. As a father, you can get away with a lot. If a baby has a dirty diaper you can plead ignorance and mom will take care of it. During potty training you can explain that you don't understand the concept and mom will take care of it. If a child throws up, dad will usually freak out while mom will clean it up. Usually, it is the father that will instill a love of baseball into a child. The mother however also plays an important part in the development of a ball player. Looking back, my mother helped me in a number of ways to become the best player I could be. There were countless times that I would drag her from the house to try out my latest pitch or stand her in the batter's box to test my control. She always made sure my uniform was clean regardless of how many stolen bases or diving catches I made. She drove me to practice every day and always cheered when I came home without a hit. She remembered treats on game day for the team and she kept score at each game. She rattled umpires when she felt they were treating me unfairly and she chastised me when I brushed back a hitter from the mound. She bandaged my knees and elbows and even rushed me to the hospital a few times after breaking an arm or finger. Above all, she taught me that there is more to the game than offense and defense. There is an emotional side to baseball that must be experienced. To commit to the game you have to share its soul. I am grateful to my mother for helping me understand the game and for being there for me.

Even the best laid plans are not successful. This was the case with my perfect shopping trip yesterday. I was so proud of myself for getting Trina a Diamondbacks hat at the team shop that I could hardly contain myself. You can imagine how amazed I was to hear that she didn't even list black Diamondbacks hat as one of the gifts she would like to see on Mother's Day. Luckily, I got the hat in a size that would fit me just in case this would happen. (Again, I cannot believe how well planned out this gift idea was.) At the top of Trina's list was flowers and plants for her flower bed in front.

With the Diamondbacks out of town, I need to find something to pass the time until they return home. At first I thought about working around the house but quickly talked myself out of that. There's no reason to completely lose my head. I was standing at the calendar, rechecking the number of days until the next Diamondbacks game (hey, it is possible that I might have miscounted. Dang! I was right the first time!) when I suddenly realized that mother's day was only two days away. This was perfect, I could easily kill a few days shopping for the perfect gift for Trina. With a new purpose in life, I grabbed my Diamondbacks hat, an AM radio so that I could keep up with the Diamondbacks and Padres game, and my keys and headed out the door. As with most men, I headed directly to the mall. I determined that this location had the largest concentration of stores so that even if I couldn't find something at the first shop, chances were that I wouldn't have to drive very far to find something. I really had no idea what to get Trina so I did what I do best, I wandered around. By about the fourth inning, I was getting pretty tired then it hit me. The Team Shop. What woman wouldn't want something from the Team Shop? This was perfect. I could pick her up a new Diamondbacks hat and be able to catch the end of the game. Sometimes I amaze myself at the ideas I come up with.

With the completion of last night's game, the Diamondbacks now leave on a nine game road trip. That means I won't be back at Bank One Ballpark for another 12 days, 22 hours, 47 minutes and 13 seconds. Usually I can pass the time by watching the away games on television but today is an off day for the Diamondbacks meaning there is no game to see. I sat on the couch, my remote in my hand flipping through the channels trying desperately to find some baseball game. At this point, I would even settle for a replay of a 1973 little league game. As I was channel surfing, I paused to rest my index finger and sip my Gatorade. There on the screen was an African lion who had just awoke from a tranquilizer dart to find himself in a small cage surrounded by six zookeepers intently watching how he was handling his captivity. I came to the realization that art does indeed imitate life as I looked around to find my own personal zookeepers watching as I paced back and forth perusing the satellite guide trying to find a baseball game. The children whispered among themselves that perhaps they should call the Discovery Channel and see where they could get some of those lion darts. I tried to ignore them as I looked at my watch. Only 12 days, 22 hours, 45 minutes and 37 seconds until the gates at BOB open.

My season with the Diamondbacks has in many ways mirrored the novel Moby Dick. Much like Captain Ahab, I too am searching and battling with my own nemesis. I continue the quest for a picture of my personal white whale, Matt Williams bald head. I began my quest in January at the Phoenix Open where I followed Williams around during the skins game (how ironic is that title?) but I was unable to catch this illusive character without his hat. I went as far as asking him to remove his hat for a photography but was dissed. I again came in contact with Williams during spring training but again was unsuccessful in my quest for a picture sans-hat. For three weeks I followed the beast as he went from park to park always beyond my lens length when he removed his hat. As spring training ended, Matt was hurt which left me without a challenge for a short time. My adversary returned this past week to renew our rivalry. Matt began taking batting practice and fielding practice but always with his hat in place. When Fuji Film Fan Photo day came, there he was off the starboard side. A magnificent animal, mist majestically flowing from his blow hole. A golden opportunity. I quickly moved my peg leg in order to set myself for another encounter. Perhaps this would be the day my quest would end. The great beast approached, I tossed my daughter Tiffany to lure him. Matt took the bait and approached. There I stood eye-to-eye with this noble opponent. "Aye, would ye consider removin' yer hat for a picture?" I asked. The mere sound of my voice frightened the great mammal as he turned before I could fire a shot. Alas, I saw him move in the distance knowing my quest would again go unfulfilled. Before the game last night, I again saw Moby Matt as he moved around the field during batting practice. I had not brought my camera and was forced to watch as he stood in front of me facing the plate and removed his cap. It was as if he were mocking me. The light glistened off his brilliant white scalp. I could do nothing but wail in pain at the thoughts of another lost opportunity. I think I shall never be able to face these demons associated with my quest for the white whale.

New technology always fascinates me. I am intrigued at the new ideas and products that come out and I am always trying to determine how I can take advantage of these new toys to make my life different. Notice I said different and not better. One of my personality traits is that I thrive on change. My theory is that different is better than same. Perhaps that is why I am such a non-conformist. I would rather rock the boat than sit around and enjoy a smooth ride.

Matt Mantei went onto the disabled list for a second time in a month. He is suffering from a weak arm and will begin rehabilitation this week. The Diamondbacks have placed him on the same workout program they used for Todd Stottlemyre last year as he recovered from a torn rotator cuff. Mantei continues to throw on the side and is reporting no pain. In his absence, the Diamondbacks have been using a bullpen by committee. Byung-Hyun Kim continues to dominate his opponents and is the Diamondbacks best hope for a closer. Vicente Padilla was brought up from Tucson to fill Mantei's roster spot and has looked very good in his outings for the Diamondbacks. Even with the emergence of these two young stars, the Diamondbacks continue to talk with other teams about possibly acquiring another relief pitcher. The name that seems to come each time is Roberto Hernandez of Tampa Bay. Arizona tried to trade for Hernandez last season but a deal could not be worked out. Talks are resuming between the teams. Don't be surprised to see a trade happen before the all-star break. Given the log jam of outfielders the Diamondbacks possess, it seems most logical that the trade will involve some package of these players.

It's funny how pieces of your childhood tend to carry forward into your adult life. As a young boy, I had the opportunity to play baseball for several traveling all-star teams. Before each tournament, the coach would give each of us 15-20 pins. We used these pins to trade with other athletes from other areas of the country. It was always cool to receive a pin that you could put on your baseball cap to show the various parts of the country where you had played. As each tournament ended, I would take the pins home and place them in a drawer. When I got more than a few, the jar gave way to a pin board. As the pin board filled, I moved my collection to a book. Through the years, I have continued to collect and trade pins. As my love for baseball continued, I began to pick up pins from different teams from the National and American leagues. When the Diamondbacks began, they introduced several pins that commemorate the history of the team. I find that before each home game, I will walk through the team shop and see if they have any new pins. Today I stopped by and found that there were three new pins for the Diamondbacks that I did not have. I immediately picked them up to add to my collection. It is pretty cool to look back and be able to relive memories that bridge the gap from my childhood through my adult life.

Sunday marked the annual Fuji Film Fan Photo day. I am sure this is a day that all of the players just dread. They are asked to parade around the field in their uniforms while 3,000 people with disposable cameras snap off countless pictures. Of course there are a multitude of people who ignore the no autograph rules and beg the players to sign everything from baseballs to shirts, to their arms and legs. This is the third year that I have taken one of the children with me. For the first two years, Mallorie called the game as soon as the schedule came out. This year, Tiffany negotiated the opportunity to go to the game. Armed with her disposable Fuji camera, we headed down to the ballpark. Being a veteran, I knew there would be a line waiting to get in. What I had not anticipated was that people would begin lining up at 7 AM when the gates did not open until 11 AM. By the time we arrived, we were well back in line. Tiffany was disappointed but I assured her that we would be able to get into the park just fine. As the gates opened, me and 2,999 of my closest friends made our way out onto the warning track. The players came by in groups of 3-4 and flashes began to light up the stadium. I have never actually seen a nuclear blast, but I can now envision what the flash of light must look like as the bomb detonates. It amazes me that the players could even play a game after this experience. For the first several innings, all they would probably be able to see was blue dots from all the flashes. Tiffany had a great time and I now have pictures of the players and hundreds of complete strangers. It was truly a Kodak moment.

Somewhere in Kentucky, there are thousands of people sucking down green drinks with leaves sticking out of them while watching large farm animals carrying small humans who all sound like they have been breathing helium around an oval of dirt. At the end of this ritual, the fastest farm animal is rewarded with a blanket made from left over St. Valentine's bouquets of roses. I can only assume that someone has taken the time to remove the thorns from these flowers. It is a strange ritual that I struggle to understand but it appears to be popular since it is the lead story on ESPN every year about this time. Today was no exception, when I returned home from the game, I immediately turned on the television to try and catch the afternoon baseball scores and highlights. Instead, I was greeted by 19 horses trapped in small gates all being released with munchkins slapping the animal's behinds with long whips. The story of the day of course was that the horse that was favored to win actually won. To me, this is like celebrating when the weather man correctly predicts that the sun will shine. If the horse was supposed to win, why all the excitement? But excitement there was, the highlights showed the owner's box where there must have been at least 20 screaming Japanese people jumping up and down. I had not seen this amount of noise and excitement since the last Godzilla film festival on the Science Fiction channel. With all the sports news that happened today, I am at a loss as to why this was chosen to lead the broadcast. Pedro Martinez strikes out 17 and loses to Tampa Bay 1-0 and yet here I sit watching some Japanese girl jumping up and down squealing as she watches some short dude with no fashion sense drive a horse in a circle. Society desperately needs to reevaluate its priorities.

Buenos Dias beisbol entusiastas! That coupled with "Esta es las historia de los thres osos" (this is the history of the three bears) are the two phrases I remember most from high school Spanish. My theory is that if you have a firm grasp of these two sentences, people will assume you are fluent in Spanish and you can fake your way through everything else. So far in my life, this theory has worked so I am sticking with it. Armed with my vast Spanish vocabulary, I headed down to the ballpark to partake in the teams Cinco de Mayo festivities. Not wanting to stand out in the crowd, I wore my best Taco Bell Chihuahua t-shirt and a sombrero. I had thought of dressing like a gaucho but I figured that would be a little over the top. I was correct in this assessment as I was the only one at the game in costume other than the ballpark musicians. The fans sitting behind me were none to thrilled at having to watch the game from behind a big hat either. The one good thing to come out of this was that the entire section was shaded from the field lights and if there were rain from inside the stadium, they would remain dry. I would have thought they would be grateful for my thoughtfulness but instead all I got were negative comments and dirty looks. Of course these are the same people who complain on Disco Night when I have on my huge afro wig. I swear, there is no pleasing these people. Regardless of their comments, I was again at the game and el unidad grande was on the mound. In closing, I leave you with the immortal words of Chico Escuela, "beisbol has been berry berry good to me."

The Diamondbacks have been out of town for eleven days now. It is usually at this point that it is the most unbearable. I can see on the calendar that there is a game tomorrow and yet it seems so far away. As a child, I remember the fourth of July always seemed like the longest day of the year as we waited for the sun to go down to shoot off all the illegal fireworks we brought back from Wyoming. Thinking back, that day was merely a moment in time compared to how long the wait is for the next home game. The entire concept of time is relative. On one hand, it seems like Trina's brithday comes nearly every month and yet the distance between the end of the season and spring training feels like an eternity. I've also noticed that as I grow older, time becomes shorter. As a young boy, Christmas would never arrive and yet now I find that I barely finish cleaning up the wrapping paper before Christmas is again upon us. Regardless of this information, the fact remains, the clock stands still when the Diamondbacks are out of town. I have attempted to set the clock ahead to see if that helps but all that seems to do is make me really early to appointments. I am still left with the same dilemma, the gates at Bank One Ballpark still do not open until 5:00 PM on May 5, 2000. My only consolation is that Arizona does not adhere to Daylight Savings Time. If they did, the gates to BOB would open an hour later, like that is of benefit to anyone.

As part of Opening Day, I had stopped by the Team Shot at Bank One Ballpark and picked up a few things. One of the items I had bought was an authentic purple jersey. I had long planned to get one of these jerseys and have it personalized with my name and number on the back but had never gotten around to it. Now I had the jersey but it was blank on the back. This was a situation that I took care of today. After a dentist's appointment that made me in a less than joyful mood, I decided to take a walk over to the team shop and see what was new. Nothing quite lifts your spirits like seeing what's new with a Diamondbacks logo attached to it. While I was in there, I began talking to one of the salesmen which was quite a feat given my mouth was dead and I continued to drool. He stated that they could have my jersey personalized and returned before all-star break. He was very helpful. I am not sure whether I was getting this type of service because I was a season ticket holder or whether he felt sorry for me in my condition or even if this was his way of helping the handicapped. Regardless, I was grateful for his help and feeling time was of the essence, I gave him my jersey and had him send it off. Even now my spirits had been lifted. Today might not be as bad as I had thought after all. Feeling pretty lucky, I decided to go for broke and asked if they had any orange Diamondbacks hats. Regretfully, he shook his head and I left once again without a hat but with a jersey on order.

After being gone for five days, I was again faced with what seems an impossible task. As we arrived home last night, Tiffany reminded me that the Diamondbacks would be returning home on Friday and we still did not have a replacement for the lucky hat. I struggled with the thoughts of going out and looking for another bright orange hat. It was at this point that I decided my best bet would be to shop via the Internet for a new lucky hat. I tried several of the standard sporting goods on-line e-businesses but I did not meet with much success. The Internet search engines provided little or no help. In fact, google.com sent me to NowHitting.com and this page where I talked about my lack of success in finding a hat. For all of the power the Internet provides, there are times when you have to take the results with a grain of salt. I did find a phone made from a batting helmet and a lamp, both of which I added to my father's day wish list but I was unsuccessful in finding an orange hat. I even went to the Kit dye web site for instructions for coloring a white hat orange but quickly realized that would also color the logo. I stopped by three shopping malls and even went to a store that custom makes hats to ask if they could create one. I was told they could if I could get written approval from Major League Baseball to use the logo. I thought seriously of writing a letter to the commissioner for get this approval until the hat salesman explained that his minimum order for these hats would be four dozen. I realize that Dog Dot Com may indeed chew this new hat when we finally get it, but if she chews 47 hats she will definitely be looking for a new home. I have not yet given up, there must be something out there and available. Maybe I should check out e-bay.

Today marked the end of our vacation and we had to head back to Phoenix and reality, school, and work. Before leaving California, we again went back to Disneyland for one last trip around the Magic Kingdom. Each child rode their favorite ride one last time and picked out a souvenir to remember their trip. It was once again a full morning packing up this troop and getting them corralled into the car. I was also once again greeted with the now common sound of Dakota announcing, "I gotta go potty!" After a quick stop at Target for a bathroom break and six Icee drinks, we started on our trip home. I had not gotten more than 10 miles down the freeway when the family decided they were hungry and needed some food or they would all die. Trying to reach consensus between a teenager, two elementary school age kids and a toddler not to mention two adults is challenging at best. After fierce negotiations, back seat payoffs and promises to clean their rooms for the rest of the month, it was decided that we would go to Jack in the Box. Trina and I ran in for food while the kids battled for personal space in the back of the Suburban. I stood in line for food (a skill I have perfected in the past four days). Behind me was a family obviously not from this area since they spoke no English whatsoever. I smiled at the little girl behind me as I waited for the cashier to determine how to enter a special order of extra pickles on a hamburger. The girl smiled back and then began to relieve her bladder on the floor and my shoes. This was not a behavior I am used to and I must admit it freaked me out just a little. The parents seemed to think this was a normal occurrence and stood and watched. I was unaware of the amount of liquid a small child could hold and came away educated. Needless to say, we quickly ordered and left town as soon as possible.