Giddy in Baseball City

Sporting News, The, March 15, 1999 by Joe Posnanski

In a camp of no-names and old names, of has-beens and wannabes, the Royals are conducting a spring training like it used to be

Here in Baseball City, Fla., I'm witnessing a great camp. That's no joke. We've all been around spring training for years, been around great teams and mediocre teams, been around intense spring trainings run like Marine boot camps ("All right, you outfielders, shag those flies carefully. I have placed a land mine out there somewhere.") and mild spring trainings where guys mostly played catch and (if they felt like it) took a little batting practice before afternoon naps.

But this is something different entirely. This is a blast. The Royals are learning how to play baseball again. In the bullpen, George Toma has strung together some chicken wire to form little strike zones for pitchers to throw through. On each of the four fields, coaches gather players around and just talk to them about baseball. Everybody's chattering and running and catching and throwing and hitting, all at once, most of them no-names, dreaming still of playing in the big leagues.

This is the game I fell in love with.

"Takes you back, doesn't it?" manager Tony Muser says. "It's fun to see the game played with a little joy, isn't it?"

You know, the Royals have never had a spring training like this. They have 69 players here trying to win jobs, a crazy mishmash of veterans and kids, has-beens and wannabes. They have a former World Series hero (Scott Leius), a Venezuelan kid with a 98-mph fastball (Orber Moreno), a switch-hitting catcher with $40,000 worth of plates and screws in his shoulder (Chad Kreuter) and a guy the Royals drafted, traded, traded to get back, let go and then traded for once more (Tim Spehr).

It's a wild scene. Muser has sliding on one field, bunting on another, covering first base on yet another. Sometimes, he gathers them around, just to tell them a great old baseball story. It's beautiful.

Here's a scene for you: Before camp on one recent day, Muser marked one of the baseballs. At the end of the day, when the players are supposed to gather up all the baseballs, they are told the player who brings in the marked ball gets a crisp $100 bill from Muser.

So, you can see it, a bunch of crazy kids rushing through the outfield, shoving each other out of the way, gobbling baseballs, searching for the magic one. In the middle is George Brett, furore Hall of Famer, knocking down players, diving for balls, screaming his head off. It's enough to make you cry. Incidentally, a 21-year-old catcher named Jeremy Hill ended up with the marked ball and Muser's C-note.

"I'm going to go broke," Muser says, shaking his head. "But we're going to have some fun out here."

This is what baseball used to be, what baseball can still be, a kid's game. Muser gathers together some pitchers and tells them to take off their spikes. They're going to practice sliding on one of those sliding sleds. Now, at another camp, you would get a bunch of guys rolling their eyes, pulling out their contracts ("See, Section 22, no sliding."), asking out loud, "Hey, we're American League pitchers. We're never on base. Why are we doing this?"

Here, they just do it. They're too young to know better, or they're old guys on their last gasps, so they take off their spikes, and they practice sliding. And you know what? It's fun. Look, Muser doesn't care if they're pitchers. He's here to make ballplayers, and he doesn't want one guy on his team who can't slide. Alvin Morman, a 30-year-old pitcher trying to make his fourth major league team, announces he has never slid. So, they stop practicing for a moment, and everyone watches Morman try his first slide.

"Not bad, Al," Muser says. "It's about time."

Erik Hanson, a 33-year-old pitcher who nine seasons ago won 18 games for Seattle, slides wrong and scrapes his knee. The exchange afterward is pure Muser.

Hanson: "Hey, look. I ripped my pants."

Muser: "Good for you."

Hanson: "I had reconstructive surgery on that knee."

Muser (looking a bit unnerved): "Oh. Are you OK?"

Hanson: "Yeah. I'm all fight."

Muser (pauses): "OK then. If you slide fight, you won't hurt your knee."

Yep, it's old-time ball. Rub a little dirt on it. Play with joy. Run, don't walk. Laugh a lot. Listen to George Brett and Frank White. This is fight. This is good. This is how you or I would play baseball, if given the chance. It might not make a bit of difference. The Royals don't have the big names. They don't have the big-money players. And in time, Rico Rossy may crumble, Steve Gibralter may tumble, the Royals indeed may finish last as so many predict.

But, I've never been so excited about a team. Some of these kids, such as Carlos Beltran and Jeff Austin, really look good. Some of the older guys might have a little something left. And the rest are running around in the outfield like school kids, scrambling for a baseball worth 100 bucks. That's what I call a good spring training camp.

Joe Posnanski is a columnist for the Kansas City Star.