Spring Training in Arizona

After spending the greater part of my life celebrating a dogged love affair with the game of baseball, it goes without saying that March is easily the most joyous month on my calendar. Most people identify March with the NCAA's and I think that's completely reasonable. The annual madness that is held on the hardwood splashes out of the sports section and into the cultural consciousness, riveting the most casual of fans. Saint Paddy's Day slowly becomes a greenish blur of drunken subway rides and busted brackets. "Kiss me, I'm Irish and I just took a leak in the alley" are the wobbly sentiments of a generation just trying to keep their balance until the next game starts in a crowded bar at noon. And don't get me wrong, I love March for those moments of purest drama, of clutch performances, of dare-to-be-great scenarios playing out above. However, I believe that the underscored sentimentality of Spring Training is the true anchor for sports fans. Those who spent their formative years kneading sweaty leather gloves and spitting sunflower seeds. This month marks the rebirth of the American year; the month when the snow retreats back up mountainsides and dusty sandlots across the nation once again capture the imagination of a new crop of lifetime practitioners. Simply put, basketball is what riles us up, baseball is what calms us down...

To me, Spring Training has always been an abstract idea. When I was in grade school, I could grasp the concept of a glorified try-out. So that's what it was. The stars show up, shag some fly balls, play 18 holes of golf and get ready for the season. The young guys are bundles of nerves in pinstripes, feeling the exquisite sting of every booted groundball and backwards K. I could understand this because I too knew the how it felt during Little League "talent assessments" to be backpedaling hopelessly for flyballs while rows of Dad's with clipboards looked on. When I reached high school, my cynical Cubs side overtook things. I toted my Sports Illustrated and Tribune Sports onto the EL and spoke with my fellow comrades about false hopes and dashed opportunity. Cursing names like Mel Rojas and Rodney "Don't Call Me Randy" Myers each Spring. However, now that I'm older (and presumably wiser) I've gained the clarity that can only accompany honest perspective: Spring Training is for the fans. The ultimate priming of the pump. The unmeasurable serenity that one can only find at a ballpark after a bleak winter. The immortal Harry Carey put it best, "It's the fans that need spring training. You gotta get 'em interested. Wake 'em up and let 'em know that their season is coming, the good times are gonna roll." And I know, I know, this ground has been treaded upon before, nothing new here, but I still think it's paramount when considering what makes baseball so timeless: the fanbases, young and old, in the sun, collecting outs on a scorecard, talking that one common denominator...

***

TK, Joey, Jay, Easy, Ryan and I arrive at Scottsdale Stadium while the National Anthem is playing. The Giants are hosting the Cubs on this 90 degree day, not a cloud in the sky. As a matter of introductions - Joey and Easy are Giants guys, Ryan and Jay like the A’s and TK and I hold down the Cub fort. All are TK's high school buddies from Marin, all around 31, all good sorts. I know them mostly from BORP’s weekly wheelchair basketball scrimmages in Berekley when I used to live out in the Bay Area. Each one of these guys posses that good-natured California wit that belies a group that, once assembled, is constantly on the verge of unabashed revelment. Tough to keep up with on a night out, tougher to legitimately crack up. Okay, enough about those clowns.

We make our way to the bleachers through the mezzanine, a sea of Cubbie blue and Giant orange move by us in the opposite direction. TK and I try to hide our overwhelming excitement, but that gives way when we pass this dry erase board:
The starters are playing, Zambrano is pitching and Barry is batting in the three hole. Perma-grins all around.

We settle into our "seats" on the grassy knoll in right-center. The TOP of the first inning lasts and lasts. Ten batters, six runs, a couple errors. You can't really blame Matt Morris, the ball is eating up some of his core defenders. Anyway, we already have some highlights: With two on and no outs (when things were still salvageable) a can-of-corn is lazily launched to left field. Barry settles under it, raises his glove and then... raises his elbows, covers his head and moves hesitantly to-and-fro... the ball drops a few yards behind him, another run scores. The crowd is an awkward blend of high fives and people crouched over with their head in their hands. Personally, I was excited about this play for a couple reasons. Obviously, it's funny to see an eight-figure 43-year-old losing a ball in the sun. That's intrinsically funny. But even more than that, it brings up something which I don't think gets enough attention. Bonds was an elite fielder in the 90's amassing 8 Gold Gloves while crashing into walls for third outs. He was a beast out there. Now? He can barely run, nor does he have any urge to. He's given his body's best years to this game (and most likely to synthetic substances) and there's nothing left but a record to chase. In Moneyball, the overall value of a player is determined by how many run shares that player helps produce in relation to how many runs they concede in the field. Unless the MLB institutes co-ed softball rules and lets the Giants stick a tenth player in left-center, that Chevron logo in the gap at Pac Bell park is getting peppered. Barry will break the record, but I think it will come at the price of a 70-win season. I'm worried for the sanity of my Giants friends at this point.

Ok, still in the TOP of the first inning. Zambrano comes up, two outs, two on. He takes his two big cuts, both misses. If this were four years ago, Chip Carey would pretend that Big Z is trying to corkscrew himself into the earth as Steve Stone would pretend that Chip was funny. The next pitch Zambrano unloads on an 0-2 curveball which would have landed in the centerfield basket in Wrigley. Instead, it smacks against the top of the wall and shoots away from Winn as our lumbering pitcher is rounding second base. He realizes this and kicks it into another gear, mentally preparing his "I can't believe I hit an inside-the-park homerun in Spring Training either" speech. Then, between second and third:

Never have I heard so much cheering instantly morph into gasps of horror. Every Cubs fan immediately thought, "Did our Ace just dislocate his shoulder while trying to stretch a triple into a homerun in Spring Training?". Flashbacks of Prior, Nomar and Lee going down danced in our heads. Luckly, he hopped up and sheepishly jogged into third. Jumping up and down on the base to let the crowd know he was okay. Once Soriano made the last out, I went directly to the beer stand. Just... Wow. Anyway, Big Z capped off the BOTTOM of the first inning with strike outs of Bonds and Feliz. He's in midseason form, pointing to the sky, foaming at the mouth, yelling at himself.

Since we had a six run cushion after one frame, I decided to roam around watching the game in different places. For the second inning, I stood next to a kindly old man standing by himself in full Giants regalia. We were right next to the rightfield foul pole and we talked about pitching staffs. He likes Lowry and Cain but is worried about Morris. "Gives up too many homeruns," he says. He thinks Zito will either be a resounding success or a colossal failure because of the contract. "There's no middle ground with money like that," as he pounds more water, eyes darting around the field like he a bench coach. I didn't talk much, just asked questions because I could tell he was a little put off by the first inning, but he was exceedingly warm and excited to dole out his information. I had the feeling this wasn't his first Spring Training. That's what I learned quickly in the Arizona sun, you don't understand March baseball unless you make the trip. The good vibes are almost disarming. I saw two sixty-year-old men walking by laughing at a joke, one wearing a Cardinals hat, the other a Tigers hat. Families rolling around amidst surprisingly restrained drunk Cubs fans; kids transfixed by their heroes while fathers wore broad smiles of satisfaction that the family trip wasn't to Disneyworld this year.

The generated mist started to rain down on the infield seats as the second inning concluded. I wiped the sweat from my brow and decided it's time for a stroll around the nice seats. I nod to the kindly old man and wish him luck. He tells me that my team could probably use it more (you know, in the cosmic sense). I think he's right.

The third inning starts with Zambrano doubling to left. He's the best. The requisite jokes begin from nearby fans, "Are they going to leave him in for the cycle?" and "He should be our DH for interleague games." I'm mildly amused. Only mildly.

The fourth inning starts and I have a moment of Zen. I've got my second beer and a pocketful of sunflower seeds. I've snuck into a seat on the 3rd base line and I'm taking notes while the game moves about before me. It doesn't seem like a big league baseball game psychologically at this point. There are hundreds of millions of dollars out on the field and all I can think about is the simplicity of it. The smaller, more intimate park coupled with the fact that these games don't count makes it almost seem like a neighborhood game. Men are walking around selling bottles of beer out of ice-filled buckets. Kids are gliding by on those gym shoes that have wheels on the heel. The stadium is bordered by endless earth tones, gorgeous outcroppings of desert rock. The euphoria of the game in the purest form. Damn, a couple is standing here giving me the ole stinkeye. I better move.

The fifth inning begins with the Cubs up 7-2. I decide to walk around the mezzanine to find TK and the gang. I get about halfway there and I hear over the loudspeakers, "Now batting, number 25, Barry Bonds". I scurry down an entranceway along with a handful of others. Cheers, Boos, everything inbetween. People on tippy-toes to see him swing the bat. I've got to give it to him, he still has "it". I used to think Bonds was such a polarizing figure and either you hated him or you were a Giants fan. However, whenever he's in the batters box, Barry Bonds has a galvanizing force on everyone. Watching history, greatness, whatever is still one of the most enthralling things in sports no matter what package it's in.

Jeff Samarja pitched the 5th and 6th innings giving up five baserunners but yielding no runs. I'm impressed with his fastball and quick motion towards the plate. He has a little trouble putting guys away after getting ahead of them in the count, but he's got plenty of time to work on that. Basically, he "looks" like a Major League pitcher, but then again, so did Todd Van Poppel. In all seriousness though, I hope they put him in Double-A ball and fast track him into the show. I think he has a chance of being a very capable middle reliever when all is said and done. Remember I said that. Anyways, the game ended in a Cubs 10-5 victory. I laughed, I cried (sunscreen in my eyes), I got drunk. It was better than ten Superbowl XLI's. Can't wait til next year... I mean, this year. Go Cubbies.

The Chicago River 5-0

Remembering Mr. Jones

Thomas Jones has gotten a bum rap during his three year stay in the city of Big Shoulders and now he's gone. For all the "good riddance" people out there, you're all idiots. You'll all feel the pinch of those words come fall. You have no idea what we just lost.

I know I'm a little biased here because of my Virginia ties, but that doesn't mean I'm wrong. I remember the day in early 2004 when T.J. inked a deal with the Bears. I was excited because I thought we got a real, genuine piece of the puzzle. Jones came out of UVa a polished specimen, finishing 5th (I think) in Heisman voting and carrying the weight of gigantic expectations. He split carries in Arizona and had some gawd-awful blocking during his first three forgettable seasons. But he showed signs in Tampa Bay and I knew from watching him in college that this was the REAL Thomas Jones. Now, when we signed him after the 2003 season, we were a laughing stock. Kordell Stewart's swan song was so excruciating to watch that when an ancient Chris Chandler filled in for him it was a breath of fresh air. THAT'S how bad we were. Rex Grossman was on his first injury and our offense was the most unstable thing at Soldier Field since Bryan Cox used to stalk the sidelines, spewing sound bytes, angling for a sportstalk radio gig once his lackluster playing days were up.

So anyway, Jones came in and did exactly what was asked of him. Averaged 4.0-plus yards per carry in his first season, blocked, caught passes, kept his nose clean. He split carries with a fading Anthony Thomas but still managed to show his meddle, just missing 1,000 yards. Now, after this first year is when they released A-Train and drafted Cedric Benson. Considering the fact that Jones had more receptions than the Bears leading wideout (David Terrell, 42 rec, 699 yards, 1 TD), I thought it seemed logical to grab a bookend WR to compliment the offseason acquisition of Muhsin Mohamed. But Bears GM Jerry Angelo went ahead and nabbed Benson with the 4th overall pick. It would be one thing if T.J. was in the twilight of his effectiveness, but he was just rounding into his prime. How the fuck are you supposed to respond to that? Well, Jones responded by having two hard running seasons, eclipsing 1,200 yards for the first time in his career. All the while, his job was precariously balanced on the whim of an organization who hasn't drafted a worthwhile running back since Neal Anderson in 1986. It was a lose-lose situation from that point on. Concede carries to Benson and he does well, people will want you gone. Concede carries to Benson and he flounders, then we're spending too much on a back-up and Jones should be scaled back until Benson finds his groove. Don't believe me? Both those things happened. During Benson's first year in 2005, after the rookie holds out all of training camp and then injuries his leg, Jones picks up the slack. He runs for 1,335 yards and 9 Tds while defenses stack the box, tempting Kyle Orton to throw the ball. Fans wonder why we invested in Benson in the first place, Angelo implores us to give "the future" some time. What about our present? Well, that happened last season. Benson came on and many jumped on that bandwagon, completely forgetting the seasoned running back that moved aside to make a Super Bowl run not only feasible, but entirely possible.

Critics say he wasn't a team player because he sat out camp before the season claiming he wasn't happy about his contract, his role on the team. I say, damn right. We treated him (as an organization) without any loyalty or respect. We took him for granted. We made it difficult to keep him by the steps that were taken. On a related note, two time Pro-Bowler Lance Briggs said earlier this week, "The Chicago Bears team? The coaches, players, city and fans? Yeah, I could stay there forever. I love it. But the Chicago Bears organization? I don't want to be there anymore. I won't play for them and I'll do everything in my power to keep from playing there." The funny thing was, after the Superbowl, I was waiting to see what happened with these two guys because I was either going to get a Jones or Briggs jersey for next year.

Bottomline, Cedric Benson has big shoes to fill and I hope he’s up for it. This isn't open mic night at the Bryn Mawr student union, this is running back for the NFC Champion Chicago Bears. You leave your ego at the door and you tote that football with all the fury of a runaway locomotive because that's how it's been done here for decades. Defense and running the football. Running the football and defense. At this point last week, I was comfortable with that premise. Now? I'm hoping on hope. A place no fan wants to be.

We'll miss you Thomas Jones.

Go Hoos.

Bulls/Warriors Running Diary

The Bulls/Warriors tickets fell through (although I did pick up some tickets for when LeBron comes in town later this month) but I decided to keep a running diary anyway. Listening to Johnny "Red" Kerr and "Stinky" Stacey King on WGN with the Warriors while drinking a six-pack is about as good as it gets for me. By the way, Stacey gets his nickname from being the ultimate warrior in garbage time for the Bulls in the early 90's. Onto the game...

7:39pm - Starting lineups for both teams are announced as the crowd settles into their seats. The Bulls are running out Gordon, Hinrich, PJ, Big Ben and Deng. Coach Skiles has been using P.J. Brown as a starter ever since Nocioni went down a few weeks ago. I love the move, keep it big, keep it physical, keep it heavy on the boards. The Warriors (ravaged by injury) are starting Harrington, Biedrins, Ellis, J Rich and Azubuike. Stinky Stace points out that Richardson is the only starter for them to have played any college ball. I'm feeling pretty good right now.

7:44pm - PJ Brown looks like the old man in a pickup game consisting of young guys. He demands the ball in the post, takes a "power" dribble into the lane, plods slowly toward the hoops, forces up an antiquated looking hook shot and calls his own foul. Meanwhile, all the young guards who want to run are looking at each other with sideways glances each time this happens as if to say, "Who the hell does this guy think he is?".

7:48pm - Ben Gordon is 3-for-4 from the field and has 7 points in the early going. He's one of the purest shooters in the game, hands down. He looks like a little Reggie Miller rolling off screens, squaring his shoulders at full speed and dropping his hand in the cookie jar (as the man says). The thing I love most about BG (besides the fact that he heats up so quickly and rarely forces up a bad shot) is his body language when he shoots. Just based on his release, you can tell with about 80% certainty whether or not the shot is going down. It's really uncanny.

Timeout with 6:49 left in the 1st quarter. Bulls 16, Warriors 6.

7:54pm - The Warriors switch to a 3-2 zone. I'm thinking the impetus of this move is their lack of size on the interior. With big bodies like Brown and Wallace moving people around, the Warriors tempt the Bulls to beat them from the perimeter while marganalizing their ability for cohesive team rebounding. What transpires is a barrage of treys (for both teams) as lazy rotation and deadeye shooting carry the rest of the quarter. I'm having one of those Sportscenter flashbacks when a team hits a record amount of three pointers in a game and the entire highlight is just a ticker of them raining bombs from downtown for 30 seconds. This is shaping up to be once of those games.

7:58pm - Tyrus Thomas just threw down an incredible dunk over J Rich off a Gordon alley-oop pass in transition. The play before Thomas came from the weakside and swatted Ellis into the stands. I think this whole Slam Dunk fiasco with Ty has helped him focus and let him just worry about what he can control which is being a high energy guy off the bench. In that respect he reminds me of Cliff Levingston (not style-wise mind you) from those early 90's Bulls because he comes off the bench going full speed and his effort is palpable almost immediately. Contagious effort is a commodity I wouldn't mind having in spades come playoff time.

8:06pm - Richardson hits a leaner from 40 feet with a hand in his face to end the quarter. His teammates seem only mildly excited. NBA players are freakishly good.

End of the 1st quarter. Bulls 31, Warriors 28.

8:12pm - The offensive rebounding by the Warriors tonight is astounding considering their personnel. Great energy. Never would have guessed they have lost their last three games and just played last night in Milwaukee.

8:14pm - Monta Ellis just launched a 21-footer from the wing that went 19 feet. Red Kerr brings up the stat that Ellis is shooting 25% from downtown this year which just further cements my claim that he's the new Tony Parker. Wonderful slasher, scorer in the lane and passer but just miserable shooting from distance. All he's got to do now is start dating an elfish-looking woman with a debatable degree of celebrity and rapping in foreign tongues and we have a copyright infringement on our hands.

Nellie immediately subs Ellis out for Sarunas Jasikevicius. I mention this because Sarunas is quickly climbing the list of "All-Time NBA Names that are Fun to Say" right there with Detlef Schrempf, Mahmoud Abdul-Rauf and Dikembe Mutombo.

Timeout with 8:42 left in the 2nd quarter. Bulls 36, Warriors 35.

8:24pm- Tyrus Thomas collects an offensive rebound in the paint and goes right back up (flat-footed) to flush it HARD over Adonal Foyle who's only true value is as a shot blocker. I mean, it was right in Foyle's mug. Somewhere Roman Adler just felt a chill go down his spine.

Timeout with 5:10 left in the 2nd quarter. Bulls 45, Warriors 44.

8:27pm - Gordon and Deng check back in. At this point I decide to myself that we should be up 10 by half. The very first time down the floor Harrington steps in a passing lane, weaves through three Bulls defenders on his one-man fastbreak and treats the crowd to a nice dunk. Coast-to-coast with all the ease of a stroll through Central Park. I've said it once, I'll say it again... What were the Pacers thinking?

8:34pm - Sefolosha hits another trey to make it eleven total points for the quarter. He's exuding confidence right now and I'm forced to call him a more athletic B.J. Armstrong right now. Great defender, fundamentally sound, plays within himself at all times. Just Thabo-lous.

Halftime. Bulls 62, Warriors 58.

8:57pm - The second half starts with a quick interview with an anonymous Bulls assistant coach. He says that the coaching staff spent halftime talking about how to attack the Warriors zone (which they presume will be used for the rest of the game). The half starts with the Bulls pushing the ball hard, catching the Warriors before they can set up. Within three minutes they have a 12 point lead and things look like they could get out of hand at any moment.

9:00pm - Tyrus SCREAMS after driving to the lane, drawing the foul but not finishing the three point play. He's got two big dunks in the early going of the second half and as a Bulls fan you absolutely have to love his newfound intensity. He hits both free throws and I ease back in my chair, comfortable for the first time tonight that the Bulls are in control.

Timeout with 7:18 left in the 3rd quarter. Bulls 78, Warriors 64.

9:09pm - The Warriors officially look tired. They are fouling the Bulls everytime down the floor and hurling up shots haphazardly without any of that offensive rebounding moxie they had to start the game. It's starting to look like Victor Khryapa and Malik Allen will be logging big minutes in the 4th quarter.

9:14pm - The Warriors finally switch back to man-to-man about a quarter too late.

Timeout with 2:28 left in the 3rd quarter. Bulls 88, Warriors 67.

9:18pm - Adrian "Old Man" Griffin is blowing by defenders, out hustling guys ten year his younger to loose balls... Golden State has officially checked out and I can't blame them. They are casually launching threes like the Dunleavy/Murphy Warriors of old. All players on both teams are now in cruise control and it shows. A prime example why basketball is the only sport where the college ranks are easily more watchable than their professional counterpart.

9:20pm - This stat flashes at the bottom of the screen: The Bulls are 21 of 24 from the line.

End of the 3rd quarter. Bulls 95, Warriors 69.

9:27pm - Just an astonishing couple of minutes of broadcasting... Red and Stacey spend three minutes discussing whether or not Michael Sweetney is out of shape. They ponder outloud if his weight is the reason that he's not getting more minutes. Um, what the hell is going on here? Is he just big boned? Is his nickname of Sweet Tits not enough proof for these guys? They use the example of Eddy Curry as an "extra-large guy" who still gets minutes because he can produce. Listen, as much as I despise Curry and his all-too-apparent lack of effort, he's a solid scorer. He's a woeful rebounder for his size, but he fills up the basket and that quality will be rewarded with playing time no matter what. Sweetney has all the carriage and desire of Curry with about as much touch as the Rock Biter from The NeverEnding Story.

9:30pm - The Bulls are out rebounding the Warriors 19-5 in the second half.

9:32pm - Sefolosha throws DOWN on the fast break. The Bulls are R-U-N-N-I-N-G right now. Tyrus and Thabo have both tied season (and therefore career) highs for points at 14 apiece. It's a good night to be a rookie in Chicago.

Timeout with 8:55 left in the 4th quarter. Bulls 103, Warriors 71.

9:37pm - The Bulls bench has outscored the Warriors bench 53-11.

9:43pm - Duhon steps in the way of a crosscourt pass and goes in for the uncontested dunk. This sparks two minutes of gushing from Red and Stacey about how Duhon is the ultimate role player. Stacey also informs us that, "Du used to be a big time scorer in high school". Red adds, "He needed to adapt his game to be more of a utility player in college for Coach K". I'm sorry, this has gotta end. Duhon is what he is. He's a back-up NBA guard that occasionally surprises but in no way is an exceptional athlete "reeling it in" for the sake of the team. What is it about this guy that makes everyone a well wisher? It’s like hearing a flock of parents at a junior high game lauding each other's children.

Timeout with 2:57 left in the 4th quarter. Bulls 110, Warriors 81.

9:52pm - In the closing minute, the United Center starts chanting "Nocioni!" even though he's in street clothes. He flashes a big grin and gives the peace sign to the crowd. Just a nice moment and a great way to bring this puppy to a close.

Final. Bulls 113, Warriors 83.