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| Spring Training Twist On A Classic Cap. |
Spring is in the air, which, in addition to daylight saved, weather warmed, and allergies aggravated, means spring training. For the uninitiated, spring training is when Major League Baseball teams gather in warm weather locales like Arizona to tune up for the season. After braving a long winter of inactivity, baseball players need a month or so to get their minds and bodies back into peak condition to weather the grind of the 182-game baseball season.
And so on Friday afternoon the Dog Doc and I raised our banners (read: baseball caps), hopped into my Energy Efficient Steed, and ventured eastward to the desert sands of the state in which "Ditat Deus." After a longer-than-hoped-for journey, including a pit stop in Blythe for some rebellious bbq, we eventually arrived at our lodgings, the aptly-named Knights Inn. It was a nondescript little building tucked away next to the Interstate and a three-story monstrosity of a strip club called the Jaguares Gold Club. All things considered, it had some character (and characters). And I got a pretty good feeling from the recently-immigrated night receptionist who from behind his bulletproof glass regaled me with tales of our shared ancestral homeland. In fact, it's gonna be hard to point the finger at him when I start seeing charges on my credit card from Osaka to Uzbekistan.
Anyway, we finally get to our room and the first thing we noticed is how spacious it was. It appeared to be two rooms converted into one giant "suite." The second thing we noticed was the odor. A mixture of cigarette smoke and cat pee. With the smoke detector tucked away neatly in the nightstand, it would appear that the "No Smoking" signs were just a polite request. The phone is not working, which prohibits communication with the front desk. However, it also eliminates the possibility of the front desk calling in the middle of the night with unwanted interruptions. The suite contains a single table and chair, a place where you can easily envision John Malkovich sitting and plotting a presidential assassination. While carefully opening various drawers and cupboards, we stumbled across a Bible, which I thought was in surprisingly good condition. The Dog Doc chimed in that it's likely because that book is the least-touched and therefore cleanest item in the whole suite. Truth. I'll spare you the details of the bathroom and the beds, but please, feel free to let your imaginations run wild.
I think it's fair to say that the beauty of the human spirit is that it can adapt to any situation. So despite lacking in the creature comforts of home, we quickly adopted Room 158 as our home for the next two nights. Plus, the room wasn't that bad (I mean, they'd at least removed the dead body (bodies?) before our arrival). Certainly nothing a few beers and hits off Clayton couldn't cure. For, we were devoted baseball templars. Simple discomfort and fear of disease would not stop us from completing our pilgrimage. And when I use the word "pilgrimage," I do so in all sincerity. Many people equate sports fandom to a cult, but to me it's more than that. A cult implies blind worship; something empty. Baseball is more than that. You don't just worship it. You have faith in it because you believe in it. It transcends mere cult to become religion, and Spring Training is its purest manifestation.
Spring baseball is stripped of all the monied trappings of the regular Major League Baseball season. The stadium are tiny, the games are no frills, and multimillionaires mingle with journeyman scrubs lucky to get a couple-hundred-dollar signing bonus. The game is distilled to its fundamental essence; to what you loved so much about little league and sandlot games. But, most of all, the air is filled with pure belief. From the players to the organization to the fans, everyone has hope. Everyone believes that this season will bring with it glory; that in October the Dodgers will be the last team standing. Sure, all that belief may ultimately prove to be in vain, but right here right now, it feels very real and very possible. I suppose that's the beauty of games that don't count. A beauty that only spring can foster; something too fragile for the oppressive heat of summer and the chilly winds of autumn.
Religions have their rituals, and I think making the trip to Arizona could be one that becomes a regular part of my March routine. Although, next year I may switch up the lodging situation. That is of course unless the Dodgers win the World Series. At which point, for better or for worse, the destinies of the me, the Dog Doc, the Dodgers, and Room 158 will forever be entwined.
--KM
"So what we get drunk. So what we don't sleep."
