Spring Training 2019: The profligate life

By Ed Piper

This is my third day home from Spring Training, back to the thud of reality, but my first attempt at writing about it.

I spent 10 days--with two of those under pouring rain at least part of the day--my longest of 18 springtime treks to date, going back to 1972 at the Giants' former rickety facility at Phoenix Municipal Stadium.

Hanging over me for the last two days was the need to compose a coherent article on my experiences for the La Jolla Village News. Wanting to sit at the keyboard somewhat rested, recovered enough to think with clarity and try to convey, not just facts, but feelings and the euphoria of the retreat-like experience, I put things off until now.

Moments ago, I completed 500 words for LJVN--a tough limit for me to condense 10 games, 1,600 miles, and four visits to Native American ruins into--and now feel freed to bug you, my loyal blog readers, with tales of agility fields, click Sharpie pens for autographs (no cap--makes it easier), and a glimpse of Manny Machado right after his initial press conference as a Padre.

The last event came Fri., Feb. 22, at 10:30 a.m. or so when the signee of a $300 million, 10-year contract with San Diego burst out of the double doors at the Peoria Sports Complex, surrounded by his handlers, and in short order disappeared into a black SUV that whisked him away.

Manny was wearing a white Padres uniform, with matching cap. The jersey was buttoned all the way up (we used to leave the top button unbuttoned), and someone told me later that the shortstop/third baseman had gotten rid of the braids (thank God) and now sported a flip hairdo.

I was standing with a man from Japan and his wife, there to see national hero Ichiro Suzuki with the Seattle Mariners, who share the facility with the Padres. The Japanese man clicked a perfect shot of Machado with his 70-200 lens, showing it to me, while I fumbled with my tiny point-and-shoot and only got a photo of the vehicle that Manny ducked into to exit the premises.

Earlier, at 9 a.m. practice for the local club, with conditions rainy and low 40's--freezing for me, despite sweatshirt, jacket, and uncharacteristic long pants--a couple from San Diego who had just driven in the day before and I considered the potential success of the player's professed desire to "mentor" San Diego's younger players.

"What's he going to mentor them in?" said the woman, "How to be a jerk?' We all chuckled, in view of Machado's well-publicized kicking of an opponent as he crossed first base in the postseason, and numerous other incidents earlier in his career. "I'm not Charlie Hustle. I'm not going to change," said an immature, poorly-spoken star after he failed to run out some balls last year for the Dodgers.

But he is an extremely effective player on the field, and that is the hope for Padres faithful.