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Thursday, Mar. 21, 2002 - 7:04 p.m.

Spring training: That Florida weather

This morning I was up at 8 a.m., but didn�t feel like it, so I was back asleep and up again at 9 a.m. Much better. I showered, ironed the wrinkles out of the shorts I�d dug out of my stored summer clothes only on Sunday, and left for breakfast on an overcast day. Legg suggested Lenny�s last night, a popular place next to two hotels where many of the minor leaguers stay, but it looked packed, so I drove a little further to McCabe�s, a cafe owned by an Irishman where I�d eaten with Dave, the BlueClaws� photographer, last spring. After my huge, fluffy pancakes, McCabe asked in his thick Irish accent if everything was OK, which it certainly was. When I walked back out to the car, the sun had broken through and would spend the rest of the day playing hide-and-seek behind the clouds.

Tom, the photographer from my paper who is down here to shoot not only the Phillies minor leaguers, but also the Mets, Yankees and Phillies major leaguers, was already at the Carpenter Complex when I arrived, and we followed the bus over to Tampa, where the lower teams were scheduled to take on their Yankees counterparts in the shadow of Raymond James Stadium, where the Tampa Bay Buccaneers play. After the first inning, though, the one dark cloud above the fields let out a downpour and the players from four teams huddled under the few awnings and overhangs that provided shelter from the hard, driving rain. As quickly as it started, it ended, and the players took the field. When it happened all over again half an hour later, the Phillies said, �That�s it� and ran for the bus in the downpour. Five minutes later, the rain ended again though the fields remained rather wet, and I followed the bus back to Route 60. By the time we reached the causeway across the bay, the road was no longer wet, and back in Clearwater the higher teams continued to play on dry fields which showed no sign of the downpour that touched Tampa.

The lower-level teams were given the rest of the day off, and I left to satisfy my growing hunger. I sat down at the bar of an empty Don Pablo�s Mexican restaurant and enjoyed tacos, chips and salsa and a large Dos Equis before one final stop at the complex. Now back at the hotel, I�m catching up on the stories I need to research down here, figuring out what the hell I�m going to write about for Monday�s paper, and contemplating dinner. I royally pissed, though, because I logged onto the computer system at work to check my messages and saw one from my editor asking for a story on Sunday for Monday�s paper. Great. I would have no problem with it if HE HAD ASKED A WEEK AGO WHEN I WAS IN THE OFFICE. He�s known for A MONTH that I�m coming down here, and all along the purpose has been to gather information for the season preview issue. I�m not thinking in a daily frame of mind. And it�s the way he asked, �Hi. I need a story from you Sunday for Monday, BlueClaws,� only without any capitalization. I didn�t even acknowledge him; I needed to call an assistant editor anyway (who also had messaged me with the story request), so I talked with him, and it�s up to him to pass on the message. While talking with Eric about the story list for the preview, I realized that although I plan on getting many of the pieces done while I�m here, there will be some I need to research and write when I return, only I won�t be given any time to do them while I continue to work on the desk and edit. So I�ll have to insist on overtime, which they�re very reluctant to give out. But fuck �em.

The worst part is, they�ve managed to take what has been the best part of my job since I started three and a half years ago, and remove most of the fun from it. I love covering baseball, and when I�m at the ballpark for four straight days, I can even forget how much I hate to return to the desk during the team�s roadtrips. But now I don�t even want to be at the ballpark when I have better things to do. I�m heading to South Bend for a friend�s wedding May 11, and I don�t care that I�m missing a weekend�s worth of games for it. Casey just got tickets for Howie Day on April 29, a Monday on which I would normally be off, but the team plays the last game of a homestand that night and I won�t be able to miss it, considering that weekend in May. And I�d rather be at the concert. Were I given what I want, what I think I�ve earned -- a summer free from editing, devoted to covering minor league baseball in and around New Jersey -- I would have more pride and responsibility with what I cover and requests from my editors. But because I�m getting a raw deal here, I don�t care. It�s made me realize again how much I�d rather have a slightly less desirable job that pays better and allows for nights and weekends off than one I enjoy thoroughly. But right now, it�s not even that.

The Sweet 16 starts in half an hour and I haven�t decided if I�ll order a pizza or head out to a bar for dinner. But I�m looking forward to just eating, relaxing and thinking about anything but baseball for tonight.

Previous page: Spring training: The trip down
Next page: Spring Training: Getting down to business

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