The original plan was just to spend a long, relaxing weekend in Mesa, AZ, cheering on my pals as they played out their final games at Randy Hundley's Cubs Fantasy Camp, and enjoying dinner and drinks with them afterwards. And then, two days before I was planning to hit the road, the injury reports started piling up in my inbox. "Wheels, bring your uniform," was the basic gist. "Everybody's getting hurt. We might need you to fill in!"
And so it is that Miss Howerton and I set off across the desert on Thursday morning, Boston and the Bee Gees blasting from my iPod (with some Flying Burrito Brothers on deck for the Joshua Tree-adjacent section of our trip), and my regulation Cubs home and road jerseys hanging in the window. The drive from LA to Mesa is, for the most part, a total pleasure. I think, with the right company and proper soundtrack, I could probably drive across the desert forever. The passing mountains, rock formations, and (in Arizona, at least) silent armies of saguaro cacti never fail to put my heart and mind in a state of peaceful contentment.
Other than a brief detour outside of Cabezon for gas and snacks, and a couple of bathroom breaks, our only real driving break comes in Blythe, CA, where we stop for lunch at the Courtesy Coffee Shop, which was highly recommended by my friends Gerry & Ante. (Thanks, Wendels!) A down-at-the-heels Googie-style diner, the place was probably a real knockout in its day, but still retains plenty of faded period charm...
Good sandwiches, too, though their fries have clearly fallen prey to the same "coated and seasoned" plague that has afflicted so many restaurants, great and small, from coast to coast. Should've ordered the onion rings instead. Ah, well... The other great thing about the Courtesy is their "Cocktail Lounge" sign, which is missing an "o" — I take it as a good omen, since we'll probably be doing a fair amount of cocktail lunges before the weekend is over.
The last 90 minutes of the drive — which involves fighting our way inch-by-inch through Phoenix-area rush hour traffic — just intensifies the need for one of those aforementioned cocktails. Happily, we arrive at the Dobson Ranch Inn just in time for the annual camp BBQ, that time of the week when the coaches man the grills and cook up a mountain of burgers, brats, Italian sausage, chicken breasts and veggie patties for the hungry campers...and there's always plenty of liquid refreshment on hand, as well.
We say hello to quite a number of my old pals from 2010 (including coaches Bobby Dernier, Ron Coomer and Pete LaCock), and all the conversations pretty much hit on the same two points: The list of casualties from the week thus far, and how this year's "Celebrity Team" — whose roster includes Pearl Jam frontman Eddie Vedder, actor John Cusack and retired hockey star Chris Chelios — held a massive karaoke blowout at the hotel bar last night, in honor of Chelios' 50th birthday. Other guests included Cubs hurler Ryan Dempster and actors DB Sweeney and John C. McGinley; by all accounts we missed the party of the year, or at very least the surreal spectacle of Chelios (who looks like he's about 30, btw) and Dempster serenading Vedder with his own songs...
It isn't too surprising to hear the litany of injuries currently afflicting the campers; as I discovered during my week-long baseball fantasy camp foray in 2010, the fantasy camp experience will definitely blow your mind — but it may quite possibly blow your hamstring, as well. You play hard, at least 14 innings a day; and even if you're in decent shape and/or lucky enough make it through the week relatively unharmed, you may still find your body increasingly refusing to co-operate with your desire to play. ("Dive for that ground ball? Fuck YOU, pal.")
This year, however, two of my favorite teammates from 2010 are already relegated to the DL. Scotty Marks, always one of the fastest guys in camp, took a tumble on Tuesday while trying to beat out a groundball, and wound up having to have extensive surgery on his hand; by the time I make it to camp, he's already gone home. Jerry Cook, who anchored us at third base in 2010, has locked up his back so badly, he's decided to head home Friday morning to see his doctor. Larry Malcolmson, our catcher and team leader, isn't hurt, but he also has to leave on Friday due to some pressing business appointments.
With Jerry and Larry splitting town, their team is now down to eight players — and since the camp games are played with a four-man outfield, this leaves them at a one-man disadvantage, even with team coach Rick "Big Daddy" Reuschel taking over in the field at first base. (Glenn Beckert, the team's other coach, is in no shape to play.) Jerry, Larry and Big Daddy have arranged for me to fill in as a "late-season call-up," playing the last two games of the camp session for the Reuschel-Beckert squad. However, there's a slight, er, catch:
"I hope you brought your cup," says Big Daddy, "Because you're catching tomorrow."
Oh, shit.
outstanding. can't wait...
Posted by: stu | February 06, 2012 at 02:55 PM
MORE! Please sir, can I have some more? Tantalizing.
Posted by: LDQ | February 06, 2012 at 06:57 PM