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.