Living a dream on the field

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Baseball is a sport defined by seasons.  Spring training in February allows us to turn the page from the dreary, gray-skied days of winter, to think about the warmth and lush greenery of spring.  In a typical year, the season would take us through the hot days of summer, and conclude with the World Series as the leaves change color, fall off trees and usher in those cold winter months. 

 

Although my professional baseball career ended at age 12, the sport has always held a special place in my heart, and has always been the sport I have most enjoyed. I remember frequent daydreams of playing for the Philadelphia Phillies, my hometown team, and running my hands over the grass at baseball palaces like Fenway Park and Wrigley Field. I would dream about stealing second base, and kicking up dirt with each step on the perfectly manicured infield.

Reality would soon kick in. I stopped growing, and worked in my parent’s deli, high school, college, career and family all took on much greater importance. Aspirations of playing on professional fields, in a major league uniform, continued to exist, but only in my dreams.  Until January.

Last year I was watching my beloved Phillies lose again, when one of the television broadcasters started reading a promotion for Phillies Fantasy Camp, an opportunity for those over 30 to spend one week in Clearwater, Florida, at the Phillies spring training complex. There, participants learn the fundamentals of baseball from former Phillies players and coaches, and get to play baseball. I immediately went online, got more information and called my dad. In addition to the player experience, there is a fan experience. It would be such a better experience with him there, given that he passed on his love of the sport to me. With his agreement and permission from my family to leave for a week, I signed up.

This program is for players of all abilities, but the organizers were clear that preparation was key to avoiding injury. I shifted my workout routine, incorporating more stretching, and I made sure I got to the batting cages a few times. By mid-January I was ready, spending most of my time working to avoid a freak injury that would sideline me.  On Jan. 22, I boarded a plane with my glove and cleats, eager to live out my childhood dream.

I met my parents at the airport (my mom joined as well), along with the other players and their fans, and our adventure began. It started with a rookie workout so the coaches could evaluate our skills, and build equal teams.  It was there I learned a few things. First, hitting a ball thrown by a person is very different from hitting in a batting cage. Second, no matter how nice the field, a ball can still take an errant bounce and hit your knee instead of your glove.  Despite the pain and the embarrassment, I finished that initial practice feeling good about my performance. If nothing else, I knew I was going to have a great time.

Nothing could have prepared me for day two, which began by walking into the clubhouse and finding my locker. As I went down the row from Goldstein to Greenburg, and finally to Greenman I really felt like a ballplayer. Seeing the jersey, with my name and number emblazoned on the back, freshly pressed and ready to wear was truly a dream come true. I took a minute to savor the experience, then donned the socks, cleats, pants, jersey, and hat, grabbed my glove, and headed out to my first practice.

Meeting my coaches, two pitchers from the 1993 National League Champion Phillies, was surreal. These childhood heroes are regular people, down to earth, funny, self-effacing, and there to make sure you experience the dream they lived every day during their careers.  They gave us a few pointers, and we played the first of six games in three days.

My moment had finally arrived, running to the outfield with the joy and the energy of a 12-year-old, under a cloudless Florida blue sky. I stood in right field marveling at the beauty of baseball, and at the same time hoping that the ball was hit to me and hoping that it wasn’t. Ultimately, at least in that moment, it was not. I had my first chance to hit in the bottom of the third inning, and like mighty Casey, I struck out. I had not faced a curveball in nearly 30 years, and it showed. Thankfully, I got my first of six hits later in the game – in front of my parents.

And that is how it went for the next three days. Free from the distractions of the outside world, I played baseball with men and women I had just met, bonding together over a shared love of the game. For those five days in January, I was a baseball player, and the bonds I formed with my teammates are friendships that will last a lifetime. Our team finished with a record of 4-2, and I was happy to have contributed to that success.

Like all dreams, this too had to end. But on Sunday, before we all caught our flights back to reality, we had a chance to play a three-inning game against the coaches, all former major league players.

The thrill of hearing my name announced by Dan Baker, longtime Phillies public address announcer, as I came up to bat, and seeing my photo on the Jumbotron, is now seared in my memory. As is making contact off a former major league pitcher, 30 years removed from his prime, but still with the tools that made him a star. 

For many years, I have found the parallels between life and baseball: the long season a metaphor for life itself, the peaks and valleys and highs and lows that come from winning and losing. For one week in January, I got to experience the metaphor as life, and to make a dream reality.

Adam Greenman is president and CEO of the Jewish Alliance or Greater RI.