The Oil Can Cometh?

Seems our friend Oil Can caught a little bug at Red Sox Fantasy Camp. Check this out from the Boston Globe:

"
At 49, Boyd wants to turn fantasy into reality

Dennis "Oil Can" Boyd has long felt the game of baseball was taken away from him far too soon. He was 31 years old when he threw his last pitch for the Texas Rangers in 1991.

But now, at age 49, Boyd believes his shoulder is stronger than ever. He says his velocity is up in the low 90s and the 12-6 curveball and changeup have returned. He wants a chance to show a major league team he can still pitch.

"I have nothing to lose, and all a major league team has to lose is 15 minutes," said Boyd. "Give me 15 minutes and I'll show I can still pitch. That's all I want."

It's always been Boyd's dream to carry on the legacy of Satchel Paige and pitch into his 60s. Two weeks ago, at the Red Sox fantasy camp, Boyd started throwing in earnest again and was pleased with the results.

"After surgery in '87, it took me 10 years to feel good," he said. "I wasn't on the field, started gaining weight. All of a sudden, my arm has healed. The arm strength is there and it's there consistently. The more I throw, the better it feels."

Former Red Sox catcher Mike Stanley, who caught Boyd at the camp, said, "He looks no different to me now than when I caught him in Texas. He still has the same passion. I don't know if he was getting to 90 because we didn't have a gun, but he still had the same stuff. The same tight slider, curve, fastball."

"Satchel being my idol and knowing he didn't come into the game until he was in his early 40s, that's always been in the back of my mind," said Boyd. "Now, I've been given back the fastball I once had. I want to play.

"I spoke to some people about it. If I was given an opportunity, I'd love to work my way back. I think it would be good for the game. It shows me baseball is a forgiving game."

[End Excerpt]


Oil Can loves to talk and clearly it's a slow news day when the Globe decides to run a story about this, but I can hardly blame a reporter for being sucked in by the vacuum of Oil Can's mouth.

One day during Red Sox Fantasy Camp, Adam and I were walking into the hotel lobby after a long day at the ballpark and saw Oil Can just standing around near the door of the hotel bar, seemingly waiting for someone. Turned out, he was waiting for us. Or rather, anyone. I can't remember what we asked him, but it hardly mattered. What followed was over an hour of stories about his childhood as the son of a logger in a small town in Mississippi, with anywhere between 18 and 24 siblings, depending on either the father or the time of day, his career in the majors, the injury that derailed his career, and the barnstorming tour he began after his retirement, each story laced with lots of "muthafuckas" and "shits" for a heavy hand of color.

Clearly, he is a man who lives by his own credo for better or worse, and I'm not surprised he doesn't listen to naysayers tell him he's too old to come back, the same way he brushed off the racism he experienced as a ballplayer, especially in Boston. I'm particularly interested in his barnstorming tour, which takes the style and flair of Negro League baseball and pits them against a Washington Generals-esque white baseball team in exhibitions at minor league parks around the country. Unfortunately, the link to his tour's Web site doesn't reveal anything recent, which is pretty consistent with the amount of hot air that comes out of his mouth. I do hope that it gets organized because I would love to see them play, especially as I have been writing a play about a Negro League baseball player in the 1930's.

One thing that Oil Can lamented about today's game is that there are not enough characters, begetting nicknames, to keep baseball entertaining. That I can agree with. "The Big Unit" might be a funny nickname, but it's not a character. It's not a man who speaks his mind no matter who is listening and will tell stories that probably aren't true, and tell it all with an intoxicating, unpredictable flair. It's not Oil Can Boyd.

More Award Banquet Pics

Me, Adam and former Sox manager Butch Hobson, who, when Adam told him it was thrill to meet him, responded: "Me, too." Glad that we were able to fulfill Butch's lifelong dream of meeting Adam Weiner.

Spaceman couldn't stop getting a kick out of two Weiners and two Nathans being on a team together coached by a Johnson.

Adam Takes Home The Prize

To the shock of virtually no one, Adam scored the not-so-coveted Trainer's Award for his diligent time and effort in the trainer's room getting his various muscle and blister ailments treated. Actually, the biggest shock was when Joe Castiglione mistakenly called my name as the winner. The right man went up to the podium, however.
Savoring the sweetness of victory. Only 10 men out of 120 took home trophies. Congrats to Adam!

The guy who threw a complete game shutout at us won the Cy Young award. Adam got a hit off of him. The batting champ hit .800, so my .363 average doesn't look quite as good as it might have seemed.

Adam and trainer Paul, who kept Adam on the field and helped him feel better as the week went along.

Awards Banquet

Me, Adam and banquet emcee Joe Castiglione, the voice of the Red Sox radio network.

Joe not only emceed the banquet, but also called the games against the pros earlier in the day, even singling out Adam's backhanded stab at third base.

Pros and Campers Line Up For Post-Game Handshakes

More Pics From Pro Day

Johnson's Jackals manager Ron Johnson takes a bite out of a sandwich in the dugout during a game.

Johnson's Jackals coach UL Washington warms up in the on-deck circle.

Legendary Sox pitcher Luis Tiant inexplicably takes an at-bat. He grounded into a double play.
Rick Wise, the pitcher I faced in the game against the pros. Lucky bastard caught my line drive. Curses!

Me and Adam during Pro Day

Behind the pros' dugout.

Top step during our game against the pros.

Me and former Sox manager Joe Morgan, author of Morgan's Magic in '86, and the pride of Walpole, Mass.

Spaceman on Pro Day

The Spaceman gives signs to our player Tommy (Nick L.'s doppelganger?), who got to catch a couple of innings for the pros side in relief of Mike Stanley. Spaceman gave Tommy the signs for the pitches he planned to call from the mound. "Just catch it, kid."

Spaceman having fun. The old man can rake- from both sides of the plate, too.

Adam shows off his mastery of photography timing in these two separate at-bats by Spaceman.

Oil Can Boyd Plays For The Pros

Oil Can pitched a few games against the campers in the morning during Saturday's marathon. The pros played 30 innings and Oil Can and Spaceman played all 30.

Oil Can has a smoke between innings.

Adam's Scoreless Inning of Relief

On Friday afternoon, Adam recorded one scoreless inning of relief, as well as one inning of relief that was not recorded-- on video at least. Here's the youtube footage:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bysWdSN9tcs

Last Day of Red Sox Fantasy Camp

Just back from a fantastic day at City of Palms Park, watching the pros take on all 10 teams in 3-inning games. No camp teams beat the pros, and only two runs were scored by camp teams-- which is actually an improvement over last year.

First, we were bused over to the training complex in the morning where we cleared out our lockers. Very sad, like were all being demoted to Reality, Mass. We tipped out the clubbies and the trainers and then boarded a van to City of Palms Park, where games were already in progress. We had the 6th out of 10 games, so we didn't have to play until 12:30 or so. We got there early and watched some games, cheered on our fellow campers, and chatted up the pros in their dugout. Pictures of that later.

In our game, we began by being introduced by Red Sox radio man Joe Castiglione, which was very cool, though he announced me as "Number 12, Craig Winer," despite already correctly pronouncing Adam's last name. He corrected the name and the number, but the moment was gone. It was still pretty cool to hop out of the dugout to a smattering of applause from campers and their families who had come to visit, and then go down the line, high-fiving teammates.

As the visiting team, we batted first, starting from the top of the order. Fortunately, everyone was guaranteed at least one at-bat, so my spot in the number 11 hole was safe. As expected, we went down 1-2-3 against former Sox pitcher Rick Wise, who won 188 games in the majors and once threw a no-hitter. In the field, I managed to distinguish myself by ruining a great backhanded stab by Adam at third when I dropped his throw to the bag at second. I somehow lost sight of the ball while trying to get to the bag and just stuck my hand out where I thought the throw would be. The ball hit the webbing of my glove perfectly, but just popped out. My bad, bro. Fortunately, it didn't cost us a run, not that it mattered. We lost 4-0. In my only at-bat, I was way out in front of a fastball from Wise, who I had somehow assumed would be pitching faster even though he's 63 years old. I adjusted a little bit on my second swing and hit a line drive up the middle that Wise snared on the fly. Maybe it would have gone into center field for a single if he hadn't stuck his glove out, but he did, and an out is an out. I was, quite frankly, glad to hit a fair ball, so that's good at least. In fact, I somehow managed to not strike out swinging once the entire week, which is fairly miraculous. I did take one third strike early on and vowed that it wouldn't happen again. I was here to be aggressive, not work a walk.

In any case, after the game, we hung out more in the stands, had some lunch, drank a few beers and watched more games. Great day. Tonight is the award banquet, which ought to be fun. Sad to take off my uniform for the last time, but I get to keep it so maybe I'll start waking around New York in it, just for kicks.

Adam Takes Hill

I'll post video from his scoreless inning of relief later. Off to ballpark!

The Clubhouse

The endless line for the trainer's room is in the back...

Adam's Gator bag rests on a chair in front of his locker

Rare Morning Post

It's 8:15 a.m. and I'm still in my hotel room for a change. After waking up before 6:00 a.m. for the past few days, this is a much-needed break, although it means the beginning of the end of Red Sox Fantasy Camp. We have one 3-inning game against the pros today at 12:30 p.m. at City of Palms Park, which should be a blast. We'll spend most of the day hanging around the ballpark watching the other 3-inning games before and after ours. At 7:00 p.m. tonight is the awards banquet at the hotel.

Last night we took our coaches out for dinner at a Mexican restaurant close to the hotel. We were split up into two tables, one with RJ and one with UL. We sat with UL and listened to his stories, including him being on base when George Brett hit his famous Pine Tar homer against the Yankees in 1983. UL had singled to center with two outs and the Royals down by one in the top on the ninth inning, with Brett on deck. Here's the clip:

http://mlb.mlb.com/news/article.jsp?ymd=20080723&content_id=3181787&vkey=news_mlb&fext=.jsp&c_id=mlb#

Trotting Home During the Friday Afternoon Game

Infield Dirt

Luis Tiant doesn't mind giving campers a ride from the complex to the hotel, as long as the campers don't mind that he smokes a cigar in his rental car the entire drive.

One camper was fined during the morning meeting for "cockblocking" Oil Can Boyd at the bar last night. The OCB was not pleased.

One of our better players struck out swinging in his last at-bat and promptly broke his bat over his knee, the shards of which UL Washington then used as a toothpick.

UL Washington sometimes gets mistaken for the three other black coaches, so when he's approached for an autograph by someone who thinks he's Al Bumbry or Felix Maldonado, he signs their names, but misspells them. He thinks this is hilarious.

Frank Malzone spends all day being driven around in a golf cart to each field, but still feels the need to make his presence known in the shower.

There are a few father-son pairs in camp, but one has a twist. The father and son have been estranged for 5 years and coincidentally both signed up for Red Sox Fantasy Camp. Apparently, the father asked the son if they could talk, but the son refused. Awkward.

Last year, a camper showed up, took his locker-room swag on the first day and promptly left to go to Hawaii with his girlfriend. No word on whether his wife found out.

Spaceman harbors deep resentment toward Arthur Miller for writing "The Crucible." He seems to think this "book" is responsible for stunting his exploitation of the sexual freedom of women everywhere.

I suffered what can only be described as a dislocated testicle while getting off the bench to high-five a teammate. Don't worry, I found it.

I finished the camp season batting .363 with three walks. If you take out my abysmal 1-for-8 start from right side, I batted .500 lefty with two doubles and those three aforementioned walks.

I Am Not A Good Pitcher

If Red Sox Fantasy Camp has proven one thing to me, it's that I can put to rest any fantasies of ever having had a chance to be a major league pitcher. What a burden lifted from my sucky shoulder, elbow and hand.

In the morning game, we were able to beat up on poor Butch Hobson's team, who saved their only win for the last game of camp in the afternoon. I went 1-for-4 with a single and a run scored. The coaches pitched in the morning games this time so that the campers could pitch in the "postseason" round in the afternoon. We finally scored our first victory over our coaches, which is fairly ridiculous since they're just throwing batting practice fastballs. I played a pretty uneventful second base.

In the second game, I started for our team, which essentially cost us a victory. After scoring a run in the top of the first, I took the hill in the bottom of the inning and proceeded to issue free passes to anyone who wanted them. I think I even walked an opponent's wife who was in the stands. My final line was 2/3 IP, 1 strikeout, 2 hits, 9,000 walks, 6 runs, 4 of them earned. I was only saved by the 6-run mercy rule, though I did induce a pop-up that would have ended the inning after 4 runs had scored, but alas, it was dropped by our 58 year-old second baseman. I did much better at the plate, however, going 2-for-2 with three walks, a run scored and an RBI. Adam, however, did a much better job pitching two innings of relief, including one scoreless inning. We mounted a furious comeback in the bottom of the 7th, but fell a couple of runs short.

The championship game was played at City of Palms Park, but by the time we had showered and gotten ready it was too late to check it out. I'm sure we'll hear all about it tonight. The team is taking our coaches out for dinner tonight, so that should be fun. Mike Stanley showed up yesterday and became our bench/first base coach, even though I think he was supposed to coach with Spaceman. Stanley was a catcher for the Sox and a former Gator, so that's a good combination to have on our side.

Right now, I'm dog tired, so I'm going to post a few little tidbits while I can still remember them and catch a little nap before dinner.

RJ Sings Craig's Praises

RJ holds court at the morning meeting. He likes to refer to me as "Big Weiner" and Adam as "Little Weiny." He's also extremely pumped about his plan to have us show him around New York if we visit his place in Tennessee.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WZRtaeQHsdE

Thursday's Pics

Me and Youk.

Me, Adam and Luis Tiant at the Reserve Cigar and Wine Bar. El Tiante's left hand is gently resting upon by left buttock.

Me, Adam and Kinda Cousin Mike's Kinda Cousin Charlie, who is the southern version of Mike E. in virtually every way. It's scary.

Jackals Split

Just back from an organized social event at a cigar and wine bar where Luis Tiant put his hand on my ass. Our van driver also described Venezuelan minor league players as more intelligent than Dominican players, who were "savages." Good times.

This morning, Adam and I waited an interminable amount of time to get into the hot tub at the training facility to warm up our aching muscles, which caused us to abandon our plan of taking extra batting practice in the cages. The morning meeting went well, especially when our manager referred to my hitting as similar to Ted Williams'. I'm fairly certain he was exaggerating.

We won the morning game, and I went 2-for-3 with a run scored, but the one out I made was the best contact I made the entire camp. Hit it right on the screws to right-center, but the center fielder made a nice catch. I had never experienced this before, but the feeling of hitting a ball "perfectly" is when you don't even feel the ball hit the bat. It just makes a beautiful hollow sound as it jumps off the bat. I didn't even care that it wasn't a base hit. UL Washington still can't get over me hitting from the left side of plate after my abysmal start as a righty. After one of my hits this morning, he high-fived me at first base and yelled "You could've been somebody!"

We lost the second game, but not before rallying for two runs in the bottom of the 7th (last) inning to tie it and force extra innings. I was able to make an aggressive base-running play to make it to second on a hit with a runner on first, and then scored the tying run on a single. Unfortunately, we lost 9-8 in nine innings. Our record is now 2-4, but spirits are high. I'm now batting a fairly respectable .312 for the camp, with decent enough fielding, not that I've had many non-routine chances to handle.

Other highlights from today include another Youkilis sighting (with a signed bat), as well as seeing Jon Lester and Manny Delcarmen warm up while we were stretching in the morning. Mike Greenwell was the featured guest during lunch today and was very nice and chatty with people while signing autographs.

I'm pitching tomorrow, which is bound to be disastrous since I haven't pitched in 20 years, so I better get some rest.

RJ Sings Adam's Praises

During today's morning pre-game meeting, Ron Johnson awards Adam with the Defensive Player of the Day award for his work at third base during our team's opening day doubleheader.
For some reason, I can't upload this video onto the blog, so I've put it up on YouTube:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pX2lNQ2QBfs

Today's Pics

Holding the World Series trophy during the freezing cold BBQ after the Home Run Derby that I missed watching because I was busy soaking in the ice tub.

Getting an autograph from Dwight Evans, a really nice guy who seemed happy to be here.

The indominatable Bill "Spaceman" Lee and the OCB (Oil Can Boyd) during the morning meeting.

Chilly in Ft. Myers

Greetings from Ft. Myers again, where the weather is a cool, crisp 52 degrees, which wouldn't be too bad if I had been wearing any appropriate clothes at the BBQ we just attended. Supposed to be even colder tomorrow.

In any case, today was not a good day for the Jackals, falling 1-0 in the first game to a team with a pitcher who was pretty phenomenal. I continued my lousy streak of hitting by going 0-for-3, including striking out looking with a runner on third to end the first inning (the last of three straight victims after putting runners on first and third with no outs), fouling out to first and grounding out the catcher to end the game. In the second game, we lost by a count of Many to Less. Possibly, the score was 10-4, but we really lost count after the third inning after falling behind so quickly. I finally batted lefty (I couldn't have done worse than righty) and went 1-for-2 with a solid ground ball single to hole between first and second, but not before straining what might be the oblique muscle in my side by lunging for a pitch too far outside and only getting a piece of it. That was painful. So, I finished the day once again 1-for-5. I am nothing if not consistent. Defensively, I made a couple of routine plays at second base and right field, but nothing spectacular. As a team, we have virtually no shot of the championship, but in a way that's not too bad because now we can relax and have fun without worrying about whether a bad at-bat or an error will cost our teammates a shot at a trophy.

Enough of the boring details, I want to focus a little more on the atmosphere of the camp. There are 120 guys in camp, ranging from 30 to mid-70s. Some are hardcore adult league baseball players; others are more like me and Adam, fans of the game who want to have a little fun playing a little boys game in a major league environment. Some campers have returned to Red Sox Fantasy Camp year after year, which is pretty incredible.

The coaches are all for the most part very friendly and approachable and very willing to accept drinks at the hotel bar and regale us with stories of glory days. They're regular guys who love the game and talk about baseball the way fans do. Lou Merloni was by no means a great player, but he made it to the big leagues for a few years and was a big fan favorite in Boston because he was from nearby Framingham, and he couldn't be more of a "regular guy." He rode in one of the cargo vans that shuttle players from the hotel to the training complex this morning and commandeered a detour to Dunkin' Donuts and went in and helped a camper make a run for coffee (granted, Lou held one coffee and the camper held six, but still, he slummed it with the rest of us in the van instead of in his own car). Butch Hobson is another guy who's not afraid to make eye contact with us and say hello and ask how we're doing. Just today, UL Washington encountered Adam in the locker room and asked him if he felt better than UL looked. UL was buck naked at the time. Spaceman is a strange cat, who signed my bat "Bill Lee, 2009, Earth" and tried to convince us that if Marilyn Monroe had married Henry Miller instead of Arthur Miller, she'd still be alive today. And, Oil Can, oh Oil Can; he can talk to anyone, anytime, anywhere. And you won't be able to walk away in less than an hour; he won't let you.

Other little details that I've previously left out include the action at the morning meetings we have before the games begin for the day. They are led by Ken Sanders, an older ex-player whose sole purpose seems to be to authorize all the fines for the Kangaroo Court, which is a haphazard misdemeanor court of law with random infractions such as leaving your back pocket untucked after taking out your batting gloves, agressively adjusting your jockstrap, and showing up late to meetings or games, along with many other ridiculous crimes meant to get a laugh out of us. Fines range from one to five dollars. Speaking of laughs, Dick Berardino is the resident jokemaster and his job seems to be to tell one bad joke at the end of the meeting to send us on our way to the morning stretch. Today, the managers of each team gave a brief summary of their team's performance from the day before, which was pretty cool. Ron Johnson (or RJ) singled out Adam as the team's Defensive Player of the Day for his work at the hot corner, which was pretty cool of him to do in front of all the coaches and players/campers.

During the games, RJ and UL are pretty relaxed, especially RJ. He's always got a smile on his face and is ready for a high-five at any time, though you do have to keep an eye out for his loosely-packed wad of chewing tobacco, which could end up anywhere, but usually just limits itself to the entirety of his face. In any case, I have no doubt that I could call him during the season and he would get me tickets to a Pawtucket Red Sox game and chat with me afterwards; he's just that way with everyone he lays eyes on. UL is a little more shy, but really nice and gets kicks out of little things. He was so amused to see me stand up at the plate lefty against him in the second game, his eyes nearly popped out of his head; when I got a base hit, he nearly fell over laughing.

After the games (there's one at 9:30 a.m. and another at 1:30 p.m., with about an hour and half break in between for lunch and autographs), we wait a long line in the trainer's area to get ice wrapped on whatever muscles are killing us, whether it be hamstrings, quads, calves, shoulders or elbows (or in my case, an oblique) and/or wait in a long line for one of the two ice tubs available to us, in which we dunk our aching bodies for 10-15 minutes at a time. Then we hit the showers and possibly encounter a conversation with a naked for major leaguer, some of whom seem to almost prefer to be naked than clothed. Today, Oil Can walked past me in the trainer's area in a towel to help himself to a handful of Vaseline, which he promptly ran through his hair while telling about 37 stories at once. After the showers, we get in a van or bus back to the hotel and relax in the hotel bar or get together with others to go out to eat at nearby chain restaurants (they're all chain restaurants here), or hibernate in our room, just hoping to feel well enough to play lousy again the next day.

Getting the arm iced down after a bullpen session

Jim Rice!

Adam and Oil Can Boyd, Talking Third Base

Tagging up from second, and the aftermath

Pinch-running after a batter had drawn a walk, I moved over to second on another walk and then inexplicably chose to tag up on a fly ball to right field. I was safe, not that I had any help from my third base coach, who gave me no indication how close the throw was to getting me out.

My first visit to the trainer's room, to fix my boo-boo.

Action from City of Palms Park

Me about to swing weakly at a pitch
Adam playing the field
Adam about to hit the ball and hobble to first base
Me and Adam at the ballpark.

Weiner Unis

Johnson's Jackals Split Doubleheader

Adam and I arrived at the training facility around 6:45 a.m. today to beat the rush at the training table, workout areas and breakfast lines. We found our laundry hanging in our lockers, including the dirty undies and under shirts, which is a big relief because I'm pretty sure I didn't pack enough of those for the week. In any case, I got in a little bit of a workout on the exercise bike to warm up, had some breakfast and then hit the batting cages for some hitting off a tee. Unfortunately, that workout didn't translate to success on the field.

While I was standing around in my locker getting dressed, Red Sox pitcher Jon Lester walked right past me into the training room to get on an exercise bike. If only I had slept in and hit the bike later! He kept his head down most of the time anyway; I get the feeling these guys aren't big fans of a bunch of wannabes invading their space, but at least they're not rude about it. Kevin Youkilis also passed through my locker area. And later in the afternoon, Theo Epstein walked right through a little conversation Adam and I were having with a teammate, on his way to do a workout in the training area. Very busy day of star sightings, beyond the old-timers who are around for the camp, which is a nice bonus.

After the obligatory camp picture, we got on the bus to head over to City of Palms Park, which is an immaculate spring training/minor league stadium. It was definitely cool to have an actual dugout as opposed to sideline benches. Our manager, Ron Johnson, set up a rather random batting order based on how well he knew us, so Adam and I batted near the bottom of the order. Fortunately, the batting order picks up from the person who was on deck when the final out of the game is made, so we don't get screwed out of at-bats every time. I ended up rotating between right field and second base during the game and played fine in the field. Fielded a couple of routine grounders at second, no big deal, even though I had never played second base in my life and I was slightly terrified of the ball being hit to me and not knowing where to throw it in certain situations, but it worked out fine. The batting was a different story.

I only had two at-bats in the first game, which we ended up winning 4-2. My first at-bat was a check-swing grounder to the pitcher, which was really annoying because I either shouldn't have swung at all or I should have gone all the way with it; it was a good enough pitch to hit. On my second at-bat, I got jammed a little bit inside and hit a line drive to the pitcher, which he caught. I was pretty frustrated with my hitting, which continued to the second game.

The highlights of the game were the excellent defense played by Adam at third base, snaring a liner that almost certainly saved a run, and seeing Oil Can Boyd smoking a cigarette in the opposing dugout. It was also kind of fun to just sort of shoot the shit with Ron Johnson and our coach UL Washington while hanging out in the dugout or on the field. Oil Can was coaching third base for the other team and came over to Adam while he was playing third and gave him some pointers. More on Oil Can in a later post; he may require a whole other blog unto himself.

During lunch, newly-elected Hall of Famer Jim Rice made an appearance, signing autographs and posing for pictures. He is still a big strong man, though he wasn't quite as enthusiastic to do the autographs as Frank Viola had been the day before.

After lunch, we played a second game, this time at the regular training complex. In the afternoon games, the pros pitch easy batting practice pitches to us, whereas the morning games are pitched by the campers, which is fun, but also results in a lot more walks. Nobody walks when the pros pitch; everything is pretty much right down the middle, 45 miles an hour. I again rotated between second base and right field and played well enough without making any errors, which is nice. As much as I'd like to play some first base, we have some guys on the team who really shouldn't be playing a position where they have to run a lot, so I don't mind taking one for the team and playing the outfield. I may not be able to catch the ball, but I can at least chase after it relatively quickly.

Batting-wise, I continued my frustration, popping up twice, before finally smacking a nice solid single to the left-center. I felt good about that, finishing the day 1 for 5 between the two games, which isn't great, but at least I improved. Unfortnately, we lost 5-4.

After the game, Adam and I joined a couple other players to throw off a mound in a nearby bullpen, just to get some practice in, in case we're called upon to pitch, which we've been promised will happen. So far, I feel my value to the team lies in my relative health, since a few players went down with minor injuries during the second game, so I don't feel like I'll be sitting out too many innings during the week. There are 12 players, but only 9 can play at a time (8 in the afternoon games when the pros pitch), so there's a natural overflow on the roster, but it seems there will always be enough guys who are hurt that everyone who is healthy will get to play pretty much every inning. No matter what, I'm having a blast.

Fantasy Draft Recap

The fantasy draft results were revealed tonight and unfortunately we were not drafted by the Spaceman. I feel deeply betrayed. However, we were drafted by Ron Johnson and UL Washington, two coaches who did not even see us play during drills or the evaluation game, which shows how impressive we must have been to the coaches who did see us play. In any case, we're excited to play and will do so with a chip on our shoulder to show all the other managers who passed on us in the draft what they missed.

Despite our disappointment in not getting two of the most colorful managers in camp (Spaceman and Oil Can), Ron Johnson seems pretty ripe for entertainment. He parades around in a cowboy hat and has a big, Texas-sized personality. He is currently the Triple-A manager at Pawtucket, so he must know what he's doing, even though he seems pretty laid back. I'm pretty sure we'll have a fun time playing for him.

Our first game is tomorrow morning and will be at the main field at City of Palms Park, which I feel is a good thing since none of us will be hurt for our lone appearance on the big boys field, except for the 3-inning game against the pros, and possibly the championship game. Adam and I are also hoping that we'll be placed in the lineup according to our youthful appearance and get more at-bats at City of Palms park before he realizes that we probably belong closer to the bottom of the order.

Forgot to mention earlier, but we met Kevin Youkilis today between sessions. I didn't have anything for him to sign, but I did get a nice firm handshake from him. Not a tall man, which continues a trend I've noticed among a lot of the ballplayers past and present at camp. Baseball is not a sport in which height is necessary. If you're 6'1", you're a giant. In any case, it's good to see that Youk has reported two weeks early to Spring Training, getting his hacks in, etc.

Off to bed with prayers that my legs feel as good in the morning as they do right now.

Hitting the Tubs

After a long day of baseball, I iced down my aching muscles in this near-freezing tub. I iced down my hand and throat, too, as you can see.

Frankie V and the Hooters Girls

Coincidence that Hooters girls were brought in for his appearance? You be the judge...

Me and Sweet Music Viola

Frankie V stopped by to sign some autographs and regale us with tales of his playing career. He is one big, tall man. Nice guy; I got an autographed baseball from him.

Adam's New Best Friend

Adam gets worked on by the trainer- before any physical activity has taken place at the camp. He made no fewer than 3 trips to the training room on the first day. He's having some quad issues that will hopefully clear up.

The Locker Room

Day One, Day One, I'm Barely Making Sense

One would think that being around former major leaguers would be intimidating, but once you've had a pat on the back from Oil Can Boyd, showered with Butch Hobson and seen Frank Malzone's 80-year-old bits and pieces, there are no barriers anymore. What a first day of Red Sox Fantasy Camp.

The day began with a 6:00 a.m. wakeup call, barely scrounging enough energy after the Super Bowl to get dressed, and getting on a 7:00 bus to the Spring Training complex. It had just stopped raining and we were worried that we would be stuck in the clubhouse all day losing money playing poker to more experienced guys. Thankfully, the weather cleared up for most of the day. We arrived at the complex and were ushered into the clubhouse, where we found our lockers with our names on them, along with freshly washed jerseys (also with our names on them) hanging there, waiting for us. It was a little bit surreal. They also mixed in the pros with the campers, so some people had former major leaguers changing right next to them. The aforementioned Butch Hobson and Frank Malzone were in our row. Adam and I had adjacent lockers. He's wearing #14 (in honor of Nanny's birth year of 1914 and possibly also Jim Rice) and I'm wearing #42 for Jackie Robinson, who I admired greatly even though he was never a Red Sox. Mo Vaughn also wore #42, but that's just lagniappe.

After changing into our uniforms, we helped ourselves to breakfast, which consisted of bacon and eggs, as well as lighter fare such as cereal and yogurt. I opted for the cereal and an apple to go along with my coffee. No sense weighing myself down with the heavy stuff. We then had a sort of introductory meeting where we split into groups alphabetically and then rotated around 5 different skills stations for minor instruction and evaluation:

1) Baserunning, led by Dick Berardino, George Thomas and Rich Gedman. This was held indoors and they used my glove as a demo base. Former pros have stepped on my glove. Swoon.

2) Pitching, led by Spaceman Lee, Oil Can Boyd and (nominally) Luis Tiant. El Tiante didn't do much, but Lee and Boyd taught us how to throw a fastball properly (which I had apparently been doing wrong my entire illustrious career), and Oil Can taught us how to throw a slider. Kinda cool to get hands-on instruction from those guys.

3) Infield, led by Lou Merloni and John Valentin, which challenged our quads, but was mostly valuable for Merloni and Valentin's evaluation of local strip clubs and the former players who frequented them. Classy.

4) Outfield, led by Butch Hobson, who didn't really seem to want to be coaching outfield, but did it anyway. I made a nice running catch on a deep fly ball, so that felt good. Afterwards, Adam and I rubbed in the Gator football victory over Alabama in the SEC Championship game (Hobson's an Alabama alum).

5) Hitting, led by no one in particular, but I ended up in a batting cage with Chad Epperson, a minor league manager and hitting instructor, who gave me some pretty good tips. I might have gotten a little overconfident smashing balls gently lobbed toward me, as opposed to the 65-70 mph fastballs I was barely making contact with back home.

After the last drill, we had a lunch of salmon filet and salad and a pb&j sandwich (on quite possibly the worst bread ever), as well as an autograph session with Frank Viola, who mostly made his mark with the Twins, but also pitched a couple of years for the Sox toward the end of his career.

After lunch, we stretched and then split up into teams, again alphabetically, for evaluation games. Adam and I were of course paired up on the same team, but that didn't help our team's cause much. I played a sorry rightfield, with two balls going over my head, and popped up to the infield on all three of my at-bats. Adam helped turn my last pop out into the rare double play by getting doubled off first base after going too far off first. I batted righty on the first at-bat and then lefty on the last two, but it didn't seem to make a difference. There was a hellacious wind blowing in the entire game, but that's no excuse. They were crappy at-bats. I definitely fulfilled Spaceman's desire for me to "shit the bed" during the evaluation sessions, so we'll see where we get drafted later tonight.

Adam and El Tiante