I have already run the gamut of emotions leading up to Red Sox Fantasy Camp. At first, I was beyond excited, dreaming even of establishing total domination of a camp likely comprised of out of shape 50-somethings who would not be able to hope to compete with my raw power and blinding speed. Then I took a good look in the mirror, examined my excess gut poundage, acknowledged the fact that I have not played baseball in twenty years, and felt complete and utter fear. What if I suck? What if I can't make contact with a pitch, much less put the ball into play? What if my arm makes Johnny Damon look like Willie Mays? What if I generally look like an ass on the field? To take my mind off all of that, I quickly decided that my greatest fear really ought to be for my health. I once sustained a fracture of my tibia rounding third in a softball game. Playing two games a day for 4 days straight leave pretty good odds of something similar happening again. Not to mention being pretty well out of shape; if professional athletes can pull a hamstring and be out for a week, why can't I? So, my goals for the week swung from dreams of camp MVP to "Please, let me not tear a muscle and spend the entire week chewing sunflower seeds in the dugout."
Given all of this, I decided to do a little preparation for the trip. While stepping up my visits to the gym from monthly to weekly surely won't help much, I did manage to get a little running in on my trip to New Orleans to visit my parents last weekend. The main thing I wanted to do was make sure that my leg muscles feel and understand pain before it counts, hopefully allowing for quicker healing during the camp. I also wanted to get used to the distance between bases (this ain't a softball diamond we'll be playing on), as well as the turns my legs will have to make rounding bases (assuming I can get on base).
So, I snuck into the Algiers Babe Ruth baseball stadium in a rather shady neighborhood on the West Bank of New Orleans, not too far from my parents' house. The gates were locked, but I was somehow able to squeeze my fat ass between two gates with a loose chain lock around them. It reminded me of how I used to fetch balls that landed in a gated utility area outside my house in Gainesville. I'd stuff myself in between the gates when I was smaller and then, as I grew, would have to stand on the lock and slip through a bigger opening near the top of the 7-foot high gate. It was a lot of work to get through those gates, but I was dedicated to getting whatever ball I had thrown or hit into there. Now, I am a much bigger kid and I needed to get into that field.
A field of dreams it was not. The clay was wet from an overnight shower and green and brown weeds crawled through the cracks of orange dirt on the infield. Still, I stood in the batter's box, swung an imaginary bat and bolted for first. In my mind, I was Jacoby Ellsbury-fast, but I'm sure I'll discover next week that I am, in fact, averagely-fast. At the very least, I didn't fall down. I spent about 25 minutes running the bases, going first to third, second to home, spending several seconds between dashes to catch my breath. I spent the majority of my time perfecting the home run trot. No one wants to look silly after hitting a 400-foot blast. I went back again the next day, this time adding a lap around the field to my regimen. I really didn't think I would make it past center field without collapsing, but to my surprise, I made it all the way from home plate to the right field foul pole across to the left field foul pole and then home again without stopping. My legs stung a bit, but I was still able to do the full set of drills I had set up for myself.
The hardest part was the following day (yesterday), when I could barely walk at all. My stride was cut in half as I gingerly made my way to, around and from work. I wondered to myself "Is it normal for my ribs to hurt after running?" Today my legs are a little better. In any case, I'm going to have to grind out whatever pain my legs are in, but I most certainly do not aim to be a hero with my speed on the basepaths.
Tomorrow I am making my final visit to the Astoria Sports Complex, where I have been throwing and taking batting practice the last few weeks with Adam, Carl and Mike. The throwing has been okay, but we only really have about 40 feet to work with, so I can't say I'm really stretched out. It's just too cold to throw outsided. My first round of batting was horrid, but after some helpful tips from Mike and a little bit of practice, I've gotten to the point where I have a little bit of confidence going into the camp. Perhaps too much confidence, since I am now considering batting left-handed, despite being a right-handed batter/golfer most of my life. We've cranked up the pitching machine to 65-70 miles an hour with really no idea how fast pitches will come at the camp. Hopefully, not much faster than that, or my original fears will all come flooding back.
Jackie Robinson's Fenway Tryout
12 years ago
1 comment:
You two better not rub off your suckitude on the Sox or else you'll be known as Doubleplague Craig
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