The lie about spring training is in its name. It doesn’t happen in the spring, at least not most of it. Spring training begins when pitchers and catchers report in mid-February. That’s the dead of winter for most of the country, and that’s the real reason people find excuses to visit baseball camps.
Forget all that prattle about the crack of bats and the snap of a baseball in a catcher’s mitt. Your body is smart. It knows when it’s supposed to be cold. When you treat your body to unexpected warmth, your body likes you for it. This is the secret behind the attraction of spring training. It’s an excuse to get warm, in a place that does warm very, very well.
A handful of major-league baseball teams train in Arizona. There’s nothing wrong with Arizona. Let’s be clear about that. But going to Arizona for spring training is like going to Cleveland to understand rock ‘n’ roll. Just because they put a museum there doesn’t mean they have the feeling right.
No, baseball spring training belongs in Florida, so that’s where we’re headed. The best thing about it is, being a baseball fan is absolutely not a prerequisite to having a good time. In fact, you can have a very good time without setting foot inside a ballpark.
Still, the recommendation here is that you give it a shot. If you haven’t seen baseball in its natural environment, that may explain why you aren’t a fan. Once you do, you’ll have at least an appreciation for the craft major-leaguers practice at the highest level.
My own sorry tale begins in Philadelphia, where the Phillies play in hideous, sterile Veterans Stadium. The Vet is what’s known in the biz as an all-purpose facility. Like Three Rivers in Pittsburgh, Riverfront in Cincinnati and Busch Stadium in St. Louis, it was built to house baseball and football teams, and it serves neither particularly well.
Growing up, I saw baseball as a pointless exercise, played far away on a carpet of artificial turf. From the Vet’s 700 level, a fastball doesn’t look any different from a slider; a pop-up looks exactly like a home run. The poetry of the game, annoyingly written by such folks as Tom Boswell and Roger Angell, was lost on me.
It still is, pretty much. But the fact of it is, the game played on gorgeous fields in Florida’s Class A ballparks bears little resemblance to the game you may have casually observed from the 320th row in some old concrete stadium. Even the new, retro parks sprouting up all over the country can’t compare with the intimacy of scale you find at Al Lang Stadium in St. Petersburg. Here, you get close, very close, to the game, and to the men who play it.
That isn’t always positive, to be sure. I once saw Phillies outfielder Lenny Dykstra blow off a man who’d brought his 10-year-old son to the park for an autograph. “I’ll get you tomorrow,” Dykstra said, never looking up as he bolted toward his really expensive car.” Hey!” the father shouted back. “I have a freaking job! I can’t be here tomorrow!” He had a good point, good enough to stop Dykstra in his tracks and bring him over to the fence to sign.
The Phillies train in Clearwater, a pretty little beach town on the Gulf of Mexico, just west of Tampa. It is, without a close competitor, the best place to visit if you’re heading to Florida for spring training. The Phillies have tradition (they’ve been training here since 1947), a cool little park (Jack Russell Stadium seats just under 7,000) and location, location, location.
Many fans aim themselves at the site of their hometown team. If you follow the Yankees and that takes you to Tampa, swell. If you love the Kansas City Royals and you wind up in Haines City, then God help you. So: Base yourself in Tampa or nearby Clearwater. You’ll be driving distance from a number of towns and ballparks, and you’ll be right in the middle of some of the best areas in Florida.
Let’s not fool ourselves. The No. 1 appeal is the sun. Indeed, outfielders hate playing in spring training because it’s tough to judge fly balls. Reason: The sky is so high and so blue on the average perfect day that it hampers your depth perception. The sky seems to go on forever, straight up. This is bad for outfielders. For someone fleeing the slush and misery of, say, Cleveland, this is good.
But there is plenty more to do in the Tampa/St. Pete/Clearwater area. If you’re looking for Don Johnson’s Florida, go down to Ft. Lauderdale. If you want excellent food, good night life, a music scene and even some culture, stick with the Gulf Coast.
Starting with the baseball thing, there are several teams training in this area. The Phillies are at Jack Russell Stadium in Clearwater, the Toronto Blue Jays in nearby Dunedin. The Yankees are in Tampa, the Tampa Bay Devil Rays are down in St. Pete. It’s not more than a 45-minute drive to Haines City (Royals), Lakeland (Detroit Tigers), Bradenton (Pittsburgh Pirates) and Sarasota (Cincinnati Reds).
With all those parks, a team you want to see is bound to pass through sooner or later. Let them come to you. Beware of the split-squad game, though. Signified by the abbreviation “(ss)” in the schedule published daily in the local papers, the split-squad should be billed thus: None of the veterans made the long bus ride.
Actually, that’s a risk at any spring training game. The road team almost always leaves one or two star players at home. To the players, it’s almost a joke. To fans who drove three hours to godforsaken Port Charlotte, it’s not. So beware.
All of this is covered by one piece of advice: Relax. Spring training games don’t count. They are exercises, chances for pitchers to get in a couple of innings, for hitters to work on their swing, for fans to sit up close, drink a beer or three and get some sun.
It doesn’t matter whether you’re buff or a butterball. At a spring training game, you’re entitled to sit in the grandstand with no shirt. Cheer good plays, if you feel like exerting yourself, but for crying out loud, don’t break out your imitation of a Bronx bleacher bum. Booing at spring training games is like heckling a junior high musical. No one’s going to be on your side. Hell, by the fifth or sixth inning, all the players you’ve heard of are out of the game, anyway.
If you consider your ticket price (from $5 to $12 for a box seat) an investment on which you expect full return, you might be offended by this. If so, you’re still missing the point. See the insertion to the lineup of prospects in one of two ways: as a chance to see young up-and-coming players, or as a chance to beat the traffic and get your ass to the beach.
We advise the latter. Remember, you’re in Florida, where the average citizen is 73 years old. Their driving technique is best described in this way: Cut somebody off, then let the car roll at about 30 mph the rest of the way. The bad news is, they cause a lot of accidents. The good news is, they’re always going so slow that nobody ever gets seriously injured. Fortunately, since you’ve been swilling ballpark beers for the last couple of hours, you’re on an even playing field.
So where do you go? This is where your wise decision to hit the Gulf Coast comes up big. If you’re in St. Pete, don’t miss the Salvador Dali Museum. Even if you have little interest in art, the Dali is well worth a stop. The man was nuts, and his paintings are as much fun as one of those displays of optical illusions.
Of course, there is always the beach. Clearwater has some of the most gorgeous you’ll ever see. As a bonus, you can watch the sun set on the Gulf of Mexico, something everyone should do at least once before they die. Watch from the beach or from a strategically located restaurant like Frenchy’s Rockaway Grill or Julie’s Seafood and Sunsets.
Once the sun is down, it’s your call. Clearwater is a popular destination for spring breakers, so plan accordingly. If you want to wade into that scene, hit any of the very popular bars and clubs along Gulf-To-Bay Boulevard. If you want to avoid the crowds, come during the week, when things are slightly calmer.
To get the full baseball experience, go to the original Frenchy’s Cafe, where you can eat a grouper burger and, by closing time, see a bunch of baseball writers’ heads bouncing off the bar. In Tampa, you should find your way to Seventh Avenue in Ybor (That’s pronounced EE-bore, not Eye-bore) City. Although it’s been beset by the same chainitis that’s infected the rest of the country — Fat Tuesday’s, etc. — it’s still a fascinating place that grew around Tampa’s cigar-making Cuban community. You can find a decent plate of red beans and rice at any of a number of neighborhood spots.
And pick up a copy of Creative Loafing, Tampa’s weekly paper. It will tell you who’s playing at Skipper’s Smokehouse or the Blues Ship, the hot spots in Tampa’s surprisingly active music scene, or down at Jannus Landing in St. Pete. Once you’ve limped home, set your alarm for an early wakeup. Shower, wash that awful taste out of your mouth and go take a nap on the beach. When you wake up on your own, go to the ballpark.
Or don’t.
Shit, man, you’re in Florida in March.
