Frances and I made our annual spring training trip to Scottsdale, Arizona March 15th for a week. The flight time from San Jose,Ca to Phoenix, AZ was one hour and 45 minutes.
The weather in Arizona was warm and the nights were so nice you could walk around with out a sweater.
There are 15 Major League professional baseball teams in the greater Phoenix area.
- The San Francisco Giants, Arizona Diamondbacks and Colorado Rockies play in Scottsdale,AZ.
- The San Diego Padres,and the Seattle Mariners play in Peoria,AZ,
- The Milwaukee Brewers, Los Angeles Dodgers, Chicago White Sox,and the Oakland A's play in Phoenix, AZ.
- The Texas Rangers and Kansas City Royals play in Surprise,AZ.
- The Cleveland Indians and the Cincinnati Reds play in Goodyear, AZ.
- Last but not least the beloved Chicago Cubs play in Mesa AZ.
The freeway system in the greater Phoenix area allows you to reach any ball park within an hour by car. We were able to see 6 games and 5 were in Scottsdale,AZ.
It was good to see all the baseball fans and to enjoy the food, a cool beer and all the loud noise. When the baseball games were over we stopped by a local bar to have anther cool beer and and to talk with other fans. Then it was time to clean up and rest before going out again for dinner.
The week went by so fast, and it was time to pack up, and fly home to recharge our batteries for our next trip.
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Baseball has been a life long favorite of mine and whenever I've see a game, played on the field or on television, the poem by Ernest Thayer, Casey At The Bat, always lurks in the back of my mind.
Mrs B.
Casey At The Bat
Written By Ernest Lawrence Thayer, circa 1888
The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;
The score stood four to two with but one inning left to play;
And then, when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go, in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which "springs eternal in the human breast;"
They thought, If only Casey could but get a whack at that,
We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat.
But Flynn procede Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a no-good and the latter was a fake;
So, upon that stricken multitude grim meloncholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.
But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despised, tore the cover off the ball,
And when the dust had lifted and men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second, and Flynn a-huggin' third.
Then from five thousand throats and more threr rose a lusty yell,
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell,
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face,
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the croud could doubt `twas Casey at the bat.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tounges applauded as he wiped them on his shirt.
Then, while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.
And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there,
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped --
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire said.
From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill him; kill the umpire!" shouted someone from the stand;--
And it's likely they'd have killed him had not Casey raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew;
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two."
"Fraud," cried the maddened thousands, and the echo answered "Fraud,"
But one scornful look from Casey, and the multitude was awed.
The saw his face grow stern and cold; they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.
The sneer is gone from Casey's lip; his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.
Oh! somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light.
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville -- mighty Casey has Struck Out.
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