I think I am clinically depressed.
And no, it’s not because the words don’t flow into this Sports Blog as effectively, or more important, as frequently as I would like. It's because the season I love more then life itself is all but over.
The 2010 summer has passed us by!
Sure it doesn’t officially end until September 21st. But truth be told, you can stick a fork in it! The last grilled hot dog has been consumed, the final firework observed. The brutal humidity that is almost too much to handle, has casually vanished, and it’s dark by 8:00pm again.
One of the very few things that bring me comfort this time of the year, is to look back and reflect on the season that has just past. Certainly one of my top 10 moments of the summer was my trip to Anaheim for the 2010 MLB All-star game.
It was there that I had an autograph experience for the ages.
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I had all but given up on receiving any autographs in Angels Stadium.
The Old Man and I have been buyer’s, hunters, and collectors of autograph baseball memorbilia for almost twenty years now. We had received some very good autographs the day before at the All-star Fan Fest at the Anaheim Convention Center. (Autographs from Fan Fest included: Bob Feller, and Rollie Fingers) Coming into Tuesday, we were hungry for more. However the pageantry that was the All-star game provided no such opportunity for the fans to mingle with players and acquire personalized memorabilia in an All-star experience.
The players did arrive by way of red carpet before the game. Yet only four, of the some forty players and coaches, stopped to sign anything for any of the fans. They were: Robinson Cano, Alex Rodriguez, Ryan Bruan, and Andre Either. (Cano and A-Rod only signed for about a half dozen fans.) Restricted to our seats in the upper deck, TOM and I had no player access during batting practice. It didn’t matter much anyway; none of the players were larking anywhere near the stands.
The game was a fantastic display of Major Leagues Baseball’s very best efforts to produce a ball game. The pre-game ceremonies, the lineups and introductions were all fantastic to watch in person. The game was...well, a microcosm of the “year of the pitcher”. No real offense was to be found anywhere, as power pitching ruled the day. As the 81st annual All-star game ended with a 3-1 National League victory, it was Brian McCann’s two run double that proved to be the difference.
When the game was over, TOM and I found more of the same with regards to player access. Police and security had made fan contact to the players virtually impossible. Plus the players had other obligations. Travel arrangements, meeting with family, and post game logistics were all high priorities. Autographs and fan friendliness was indeed on the very back burner.
The Old Man and I departed from our seats in the upper deck. As we exited the Stadium, we had made the decision to make one final walk around the outside of Angels Stadium. Our objective was to let the crowd clear out, and to avoid traffic. Plus we were still soaking in this once in a lifetime baseball experience.
We made our way around the stadium to the right center field exterior, where the Angels player’s parking lot is located. It was there that we witnessed first hand the madness surrounding the players exit. Fans of all shapes and sizes were present. A fan represented every team. Every jersey from every team could be seen from the well over 1000 fans waiting at the player’s lot. The Old Man and I had just sort of stumbled into the madness. Surround by bodies, screaming, and general disarray, I had seen enough and had turned 180 degrees around. The Old Man didn’t object to my change in course setting. If we were going to continue walking the Stadiums perimeter, we were going to have to bypass the crowd, and the barricades.
We began walking around this temporary alunimum mesh fence that was set up as an extension of the VIP parking lot. The fence’s entrance and exit were the only interest to the fans trying to catch a glimpse of each player. As soon as TOM and I moved toward the far end of the fence, the crowd thinned out immediately.
As we approached the far end of the fence, emerging in the darkness was what looked like a batboy signing autographs from within the fence.
I couldn’t see real well.
The darkness was strong, as we were well removed from the lights of the stadium. The parking lot had its share of street lamps, but for whatever reason, the area TOM and I found ourselves in, with this batboy kid, was very dark. Still, a small group of fans were swarming to the fence to get an autograph.
This skinny rail of a young man, looked like he was no older then 13-years-old, and was maybe 115 pounds soaking wet. He was not standing next to an insanely pimped out sports car. He wasn’t wearing a designer suit. He had no gold Jesus chain, or diamond ear rings. He didn’t have on a giant expensive set of headphones. There was no entourage with him. No crew of girlfriends. No wife and children.
These are all things I look to observe as a ball player comes and goes from the ballpark. This kid had none of those things.
He wore a pair of tight dark jeans and light gray sweatshirt with the hood covering his head. He had a burlap bag hanging off his shoulder and at his side. Standing right next to the fence, with just a single security guard, this young-man was taking baseballs from fans, and signing his name to them.
I thought to myself: “This is some kind of joke. There is no way this is an MLB All-star.”
As we got closer the crowd started to dissipate.
This was when I heard a fan who had just left the fence turn and say:
“Thanks for the Autograph Tim… Go Dodgers in the second half!”
His quote was met with a series of boos from the small crowd. Siding with Tim the crowd did not appreciate the fan’s snub.
I quickly asked another fan standing near the fence: “Who is that?”
The fan confirmed what I already knew.
It was San Francisco Giant All-Star Tim Lincecum.
I acted with lighting fast speed and pinpoint accuracy, pulling a baseball from one of the lower pockets of my cargo shorts. It was finding the proper pen that had stalled me. I began to panic as I saw Tim finishing up with the last fan at the fence.
As I have seen a million times before, a player will dictate the terms of his voluntary niceties at his own playful whim. If he decides he is all done signing autographs and you’re a seven-year-old kid crying your eyes out cause you didn’t get an autograph, well then too bad for you. If I was going to get a Tim Lincecum autograph, I need to work quickly before he decided to stop signing and walked away from the fence.
Finally, I was able to retrieve a Sharpe from my pocket. I handed Tim the baseball with perfect symmetry from the pervious fans exchange to mine. I could tell right away that Tim was different. He wasn’t signing autographs out of some imposed dutiful obligation. He wasn’t righteous or egotistical. He was signing autographs and talking to fans, because he wanted to. He was there because he wanted to be there, and because a rapport with the fans was important to him. He was so down to earth; I didn’t know what to make of it!
“Thanks a lot Tim! I’m a big fan.” I said, as he was busy touching my Sharpe to my baseball.
“You bet.” He replied.
“Can you sign one more for my dad?” I asked him.
Tom was struggling with the same issues I was, in trying to get his balls together in a very impromptu situation.
He gave me back my baseball and took the one from the Old Man.
“Were you eligible to pitch tonight Tim?” I asked him. I figured why not strike up a conversation with San Francisco’s pitching ace. After all, it was just Tom, Tim, a random security guard, and I clustered around the fence.
“Yeah I was. I just didn’t get called on. Wasn’t my decision… wasn’t my call.”
Was his reply.
“Well thanks again for the autograph. It’s really generous of you. And good luck in the second half. I really like your team to win the division."
As if I had to tell Tim!
It was so surreal! There's always this disconnect between my writings, my predictions, my conversations with friends and family. I talk about this stuff like I know something, but have no real contact with it at all. Yet here I was telling this baseball player, living and breathing right in front of me, that I liked his team on paper. Those closest to him, those that he calls teammates,… I like their numbers. I like them to collectively do great things.
Really…as if I had to tell Tim!
Just then, the Old Man replied. “Yeah he has you on his fantasy team.”
I was a flat out lie. but that’s just Tom. His comment annoyed me, and Tim could tell that I didn’t have him on my fantasy team. I could tell just by Tim's reaction to the expression on my face. To his credit, he just smiled and nodded.
“Well good luck to you Tim, and thanks again!” I said, as Tom and I began to walk away.
I wanted to say so much more! Suddenly I wanted to be Michael Kay. I wanted to be sitting in a YES studio in a comfortable chair, quizzing Tim Lincecum for a Center Stage interview.
I wanted to ask him so much more!
“Talk to me about growing up with your father teaching you pitching mechanics?”
“Tell me about your nick name the Freak. Do you even like it?”
“Where do you see yourself within the game within the next five years?”
All these questions eluded me while back in reality. I was stuck frozen in the moment. Trapped by my insecurities and struggling to reach out and push myself, I let the moment pass. Maybe it was the spontaneity of the whole scene. Maybe it was my struggle to still believe this was Tim Lincecum. (Based on my description, I would imagine you could see my struggle.) It was while all this was going on in my brain damaged mind, that I turned around and began walking back toward the fence.
“Hey Tim?” I called out.
“Do you mind if I get at picture?”
“Of course not.” He said, as he smiled for the camera.
“Thanks Tim… to be honest, I’m still a little star struck.”
I thanked him yet another time, before finally turning around to catch up with Tom.
The rest of the night was spent having Tom reassure me that it was indeed Tim Lincecum.
We looked at our signatures over and over. I looked up photos of his autograph on- line. And of course I looked back at his picture on my camera over and over again.
I will let you be the judge, as my photo of Tim concudes this Blog, and my baseball story from Anaheim California at the mid summer classic.
It was the last time I was truly happy!
