I have a confession to make: I don’t like baseball. I don’t get any pleasure from watching men swing a wooden bat at a leather-covered, five-ounce ball with 108 red stitches on it. I’m not interested in the difference between a slider and a curve ball, and if I’m going to watch a sporting event for three or more hours, there has to be something more interesting going on than nine people standing and waiting for someone to hit a ball with a stick. Sure, when I was younger (and much lazier), I watched baseball with my dad, but it was a passing phase, and my attempt to reacquaint myself with the game by going to Yankee Stadium last spring ended in disaster. There was no beer in the bleachers, I was freezing, and the hot chocolate and coffee both sucked. All in all, it was safe to say I wasn’t planning to attend any more baseball games in the near future.
So when my mother informed me, quite politely, at the end of August that I was going to go watch my brother play in a fantasy baseball camp game, I was less than chipper and certainly not thrilled.
You see, my brother likes baseball — well, at least he doesn’t dislike it as much as I do. Given the opportunity to participate in a camp where former pros like Ken Griffey, Sr., would teach him (and his friends) how to play baseball, he jumped and for the second year in a row became a “fantasy camper,” wearing an Oakland A’s jersey when he stepped onto the field.
The game turned out to be hilarious. After three innings of watching fantasy campers I didn’t know get demolished by old guys and minor league coaches, my brother’s team got a chance to demonstrate its inability to defeat the veterans.
Perhaps the best moment of the game was when Dana “Hollywood” Bromberg stepped up to the plate, and every pro except the pitcher lay on the ground to show their belief in his inability to actually hit the ball. A close second for top play of the afternoon also involved Hollywood, as he displayed a distinct inability to pitch, walking what seemed like 20 batters in a row.
Thinking back, though, a great moment actually involved my brother, who after trotting to center field, was actually called on to make a catch. He did, after the ball hit him in the head. This was incredibly funny for my parents and me, though I’m not sure my brother saw the humor in the situation. However wounded his pride may have been, he didn’t have any problem letting my sister and me onto the field so we could meet Griffey. He was kind enough to pose for a picture, but I think my brother’s head wound caused some damage, as he ended up taking a video at first.
Despite my black mood heading in the gates that afternoon, I actually had a good time. Maybe baseball isn’t so bad … well, the fantasy kind, anyway.
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