When we arrived at the baseball complex, my taxi driver asked, “Are you a trainer?”
“No,” I replied, “I’m a catcher.”
Over the next four days, I tagged two runners out at the plate.
The second time, I caught a one-hop relay throw from shallow right field from former Oriole pitcher Dave Johnson, turned, and made the tag.
Then I took the ball out of my glove to show the umpire that the runner’s slide had not jarred it loose. But I did it so quickly that the other bench yelped that I had made the tag with my glove while the ball was in my hand.
I may be relaxed behind home plate, but I don’t catch throws from the outfield with my bare hand.
The ump correctly signaled “Out.” A reverse Elrod!
The economy and the Orioles’ 11 consecutive losing seasons made this the smallest Fantasy Camp I’ve attended. There were enough players for only four teams, compared to 12 teams at my first camp 15 years ago.
So our post-season contest on Sunday morning for the Division 2 title would determine which team finished third in a four-team league.
After batting .200 in the six-game regular season, I singled to right with two out in the seventh, driving in a run that put us ahead, 7-5. By my next trip to the plate, leading off the bottom of the ninth, the score was tied.
I walked on five pitches. After a station-to-station trip around the bases, I scored the game-winning run on a single up the middle.
On this day, I was Mr. February.
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Two Yankee Stadium stories from the former Orioles at the camp:
With Dave Winfield batting in the eighth inning, Rick Dempsey signaled fastball to starter Mike Flanagan, who shook him off. Dempsey again put down one finger. Flanny threw a fastball that Winfield deposited in the upper deck.
The next day, the busts of the Yankee greats on the monuments in left center were still upturned towards the flight of Winfield’s ball.
In his first appearance at Yankee Stadium, pitcher Bill Swaggerty got signaled into the game from the bullpen by Earl Weaver. Swags hops into the pick-up truck that transports the pitcher to the dugout, but the driver doesn’t move.
He finally says, “You should roll up your window unless you want to get wet.”
On the drive in, they’re pelted by cokes and beers.
If you can soak them there, you can soak them anywhere…
