Gardner WebLog

After another unplanned hiatus, we’re on track with the blog again.  Between road trips, weird schedules, and off days, sometimes dedication to the blog suffers.  Apologies.

We’ve started the second half of the season, which for fans means that we start all over again with a new record, and for players means that we’ve crested the peak of the mountain and are now on the way down the other side.  We won the first half of the season, ensuring us a spot in the playoffs, which was great as well.  A few guys have been called up, and the brass was out at our three game series in
Visalia, making us think there could be some more moves in the near future.

We had a minor meltdown on the Visalia road trip because the hotel there refused to provide us with ‘getaway rooms’—rooms where players can stay after the checkout time before getting the bus to the field.  This meant that as a team, we were ruthlessly kicked out, into the street, at about 11.00am, with our game not scheduled to start until 6.30pm.

What to do?  Everyone piled onto the bus, and we headed for the outlet mall.  For about an hour and a half, we all forgot our impoverished status and spent money we didn’t have.  I picked up a great pair of plaid shorts—good for endless ridicule in the clubhouse, I’m sure.  After the outlet mall we stopped at a strip mall with a few restaurants around, but by now it was so hot outside that nobody really wanted to do much.  I wandered around Albertson’s and watched my friend get his back waxed.  Gross.

Hair removal is also a much noticed but rarely commented upon facet of minor league life.  I’d guess that most baseball players spend way too much time worrying about hair growing on their bodies.  Many guys shave their arms and legs, and somebody’s getting a haircut every day in the clubhouse.  The Latin players groom themselves daily in the mirror, letting the hair fall everywhere, and creating a wonderful (I think artistic) mess.  My friend was so rattled by the ‘random back hairs’ that were coming in on his back, he absolutely had to go get it taken care of.

Between anxiety over hair removal and the high school drama conversation topics in the bullpen (John likes Carrie but Alex heard that Jenny can’t stand Mandy, so who’s going to call Joe after the game?  Not me, I’ll tell you that), I am now able to say conclusively (thanks to Minor League baseball) that there is very little difference between the sexes!

One last thing.  If anyone has seen the previews for the new movie “Wordplay,” I am anxiously anticipating it’s release and think it could be an early Oscar season winner.  Crossword puzzles are miniature shots of life that test our wits and hone our minds.  Jon Stewart, Bill Clinton, and Mike Mussina all agree.

The front office has been getting better and better with the jumbotron screen in right field.  My favorite between-inning spot is the “Kiss Cam.”  They train the camera on random couples at the stadium, play hokey romance music, and flash “Kiss Cam” on the board, trying to get the couples to kiss.  Over the last few nights, I’ve seen some of the oldest people literally make out like teenagers (my dad would call it ‘sucking face’), two girls kiss each other (a real hit in the clubhouse), and some really awkward moments between people who either don’t know each other or just really don’t want to kiss.  They just sit there and look at the screen out of the corner of their eye and silently count the seconds until their public humiliation ends.  The tension in the stadium is palpable.  Whatever happens, the best part comes at the end where, after 4 or 5 couples have already smooched on screen, they put the camera on two random guys on the other team, in the visitor’s dugout.  They’re just sitting there, and then one will notice that he’s on screen, nudge his buddy next to him, and then they both laugh really hard.  Last night one guy on the team ran up during the end and actually kissed his teammate on the cheek.  It was hilarious.  I laugh at it every night.  It never gets old.

Today we went to an elementary school to have lunch with the kids, and sign some autographs.  We showed up and it turned out that one 4^th grader had won a raffle and so he and 5 of his friends got to have pizza with two San Jose Giants players!  I spent the whole time trying to make him feel like it was a prize, not just watching two dudes he didn’t know chow food across the table.  They were pretty excited though, and we found out all about little league drama.  “Did you know that there was a kid last year in Majors that hit 18 home runs?  In 17 games?”  I remember those Little League legends.  Adam Alderson—if you’re out there you scared me a lot when I was l0.  Anyway, it was the second to last day of school, so everyone was just running around crazy.  All the boys were playing tetherball, basketball, and kickball, and the girls were signing each other’s yearbooks.  I got to sign a few—haha—remember when signing yearbooks was a huge deal?  I just signed my name and then felt bad because I didn’t include some witty or thoughtful remark.  So we ate lunch and then played ‘pickle’ with the guys for a while.  It was awesome—they were stoked that we were there, and we got to play pickle for the first time since maybe 4^th grade!  I did dominate the young chaps—there’s no excuse for being a sloppy base runner—even in 4^th grade.

SO, things are still fun out here in
San Jose, as we fight to clinch a playoff spot by winning the first half of the season, and anxiously await the all-star break.  I’ve never been so excited for a three-day period in my life.

We’ve been shuttling back and forth between Modesto and San Jose for the last few days. So called commuter trips, they’re really brutal because you have to be at the field earlier, to catch the bus, but you don’t actually get to the field until later, and you’re all rushed to get work in before BP. It’s really quite stressful. Haha.

 Today it was our manger’s birthday so we sang happy birthday to him in the clubhouse before BP. It was slightly weird, and horribly off-key, but in the end a good team-building moment for the club. The best was watching the Latin players sing—they knew the tune of the song, as well as what the words sounded like, but had no idea what the words were or what they meant. Our manager’s wife also made us all brownies, and the bullpen catcher’s mom brought cupcakes, which added to the ‘tee-ball’ feel of the day.

The promotion tonight at the stadium in Modesto was one I hadn’t seen yet: speed dating. As fans trickled in before the game, those interested in finding their soulmate at a minor league baseball game were instructed to “register for the speed dating session, scheduled to begin around the 4th inning at the picnic area out by the bullpen.” We watched as nervous, awkward people filed into the picnic area, and tried their hardest to find the one and only among the (I’m assuming here) slim pickings in Modesto, California. Unfortunately, several of my distinguished bullpen colleagues added a few choice phrases of ‘encouragement’ if it looked as though two people enjoyed each others’ company enough to leave together. I thought it was a good idea to get people out to the park, anyway.

We also had another great surf morning out at Santa Cruz the other day. I taught my new roommate to surf, which was fun. He’s lived in Denver since he was young, so he was thrilled to master the most sacred of California traditions. Aside from a slight confrontation with an older local surfer, things went well, and my roommate stood up a couple times. The best part of surfing is pulling into the players’ parking lot at the stadium with a longboard hanging out the back of the truck, and rinsing your wetsuit off in the clubhouse showers! Everyone understands that it’s all part of a highly engineered training regimen for relief pitchers. Watching the waves (stress relief), combined with paddling around in cold water (shoulder and upper back workout), and exposure to the sun (Vitamin E), make up what some say is the best way to prepare for a relief appearance.

Keeping things light out here is a good way to cope/process a less-than-ideal statistical season…professional baseball still involves getting paid to play a kid’s game.

I think one day I’ll look back on bus rides as being one of my favorite parts of playing baseball.  During the day, you put on your Ipod and just listen to music and watch America fly by on the freeways, and at night, sit and watch a movie before dozing off.  We’ve been playing Stockton these last few days, and because it’s only an hour and a half away, we bus there and back each day.

In the first ten minutes of each bus ride, friendships are ruined and seniority rules, because everyone’s trying to get his own seat.  It might seem trivial, but having two chairs to yourself on a tour bus is a world away from being holed up with another guy, possibly drooling all over you for a torturous journey back home.  There are a few sure fire ways to get your own seat on the bus.

1. Be older than everyone else.  The older veterans, we’re talking like over 26 years old, always get their own seats.  Because they’re so old, however, they usually get there early and stake out their area.  We’ve got a few on our team.  Not to be messed with in the ‘awkward time,’ they can trump anyone’s argument for a seat simply by saying ‘I’m way older than you are,’ and everyone else agrees.
2. Arrive early, set up camp.  This strategy requires significant material possession and the effective positioning of one’s personal property.  If you can get seated and spread everything you could possibly need for the trip all over your two seats, people are less likely to request to seat next to you.  Popular items are fully booted laptop computers, half-eaten meals, blankets, etc.
3. Arrive early, go to sleep.  If you’re able to fall asleep after claiming a seat and setting up shop, you’re probably in the clear.  Bring a pillow, get under a blanket, and just zonk out.  Nobody will mess with you.  I have, however, seen the ultimate awkward interaction, where at one point one guy sat down next to an already slumbering teammate, only to be ruthlessly booted from the seat after sleeping beauty woke up and pulled the seniority card.  Some guys will call bluffs, however, if they don’t think a teammate is really sleeping.  You’ve got to be totally out for this strategy to pay off.
4. Set up camp ‘for two.’  Also called ‘The Gardner,’ I will frequently place belongings in both seats, so as to create the appearance of two people already claiming the same two-seat area.  I’ll get there early, put my backpack and maybe a Gatorade on one seat, and then my laptop back with another (carefully selected) beverage on the other seat.  Guys walk up, see two drinks and two bags, and continue down the aisle.  I’ve patented the move and it works most of the time.

Basically, if you’re on your game and have been around for a few seasons, you’re almost assured to get your own seat on the bus, and a serene ride to your destination.  For those unlucky souls who are forced to ‘double-up,’ though, may the transit gods have mercy on them, and help them hone their seat nabbing skills for a later road trip.