March 19, 2008
Getting Your
Game Face On In Tucson

Pure fun.  How many times in life does one lean back and savor a moment with, “Whatta kick.  No pressure, no strain, it’s just hits and giggles.” 

To achieve a level of consciousness best described as the “mellow” zone, it’s tough to top a visit to the Arizona desert. What’s not to like?  There’s the lush early morning green of golf course fairways, (so appropriate for a St. Patrick’s Day weekend), unhurried evenings spent dining on restaurant patios in the cool Tucson evenings and afternoons spent sprawled on a sunny bleacher seat witnessing major leaguers go through the ritual of baseball’s spring training.   

Last weekend the “son-in-laws three” and I reveled in a momentary escape from winter by heading down to Tucson to check out this year’s edition of our National League Champion Colorado Rockies (how sweet that sounds), rouse the golf clubs from their winter hibernation, and pay not one lick of attention to the number of calories consumed.  Unfortunately, the Sunday Rox game was rained out, but even that rare occurrence couldn’t spoil our weekend adventure. 

“Languid” best describes spring training baseball.  It’s a chance to watch the world’s best players in tiny jewels of a ballpark (the game, after all, is played on a diamond).  The stars perform not far away as when witnessed from the distant seats of the monster stadiums in the regular season, but in venues where even the top row is almost on top of the action.  

And while the games are indeed a delight to watch, it’s also true they require no emotional commitment.  Whether your team wins or loses matters not because come the start of the regular season everybody’s favorite is tied for first place no matter how dismal their spring training record. 

This was never more true than watching the two Chicago teams, Cubs and White Sox, spending last Saturday competing in the Arizona sun.  The only available seats were in right field, on the grass.  And while the baseball was terrific, Jim Thome of the White Sox hit a shot with two runners on that must have come down somewhere near Nogales, the ambiance of the crowd behind the right field fence made people watching the main attraction.  

It was readily apparent the Midwesterners surrounding us were escaping a long winter where their bodies had experienced minimal exposure to the sun’s rays.  The skin on display gave a whole new meaning to the word pale. And as a group they, ahem, were not exactly waif like in appearance. Somewhere in Tucson, there’s an all you can eat buffet waving the white flag of surrender. 

It’s also true, based upon personal observation, a blue Cub T-shirt worn in combination with a tartan green kilt falls far short in the favorable fashion statement department even on St. Paddy’s Day. 

But those of us in right field at Tucson’s Electric Park now know what an Irishman wears under his kilt.  Boxer shorts with “Go Cubs” printed across the seat.