My Dad Is Neifi Perez. And I Cried On the Phone.

I answered the phone with one word tonight: “Well?”

“Well I only caught one game and I am more sore than yesterday. But,” my dad said, “I am on the board.”

He described the morning game with the ebullience of a man just acquitted of murder charges. "I was catching, and our pitcher was throwing in the 80s. The other team’s pitcher was an offspeed specialist throwing in the 60s. I had trouble hitting because I was used to faster speeds, so I was way out in front in the first at bat and I chopped it to first base again.

“Then,” he said, pausing for effect, “I hit a soft little humpback over the second baseman into right center.”

I shared his relief but by now I wanted more. In his third at bat he grounded sharply up the middle for his second hit of the game. Strangely, the hard-throwing 35-year old that he was catching got lit up while the soft-tossing junk baller gave up only two runs, but I was more concerned with his base hits.

We hadn’t even gotten to game two and I could tell something was keeping him down. “Am I missing something?” I asked.

“You know, I went to breakfast with my arm feeling really good. I figured I’d catch one more game and if I could throw, maybe I could pitch tomorrow. But that won’t be happening now.”

The other team’s leadoff hitter had rounded third base too far, resulting in a rundown. My dad ended up with the ball and had to make a throw back to third base. He fired with everything in his left arm, the ball lollypopped into the air, and he knew it was over. He went back to rolling the ball to the mound and has given up the thought of pitching.

But his voice lifted when he told me about the afternoon game. After two flyouts, he came up with a runner on second in his final at bat. He got the meat of the bat into the first pitch and sent it to deep rightfield. “Just like yesterday,” he said.

Only this time he saw the ball sail over the right fielder’s head. It took one bounce and rocketed sharply off the wall toward right center. He was not running. That’s when he heard Jeff Manto shout, “Get your ass moving!”

For a 64-year old, well, he’s still pretty slow. He ended up chugging into second base on “what should have been the easiest triple of my life. I had about five minutes before anyone tracked it down. But all I could think of when I rounded first was, ’Don’t pull a hamstring here.’” On my end of the phone I closed my eyes and pumped my fist slowly.

“So you were sitting fastball?”

“Well, that is a relative term,” he said. “It was indeed a fastball by definition, but no one would have mistaken it for fast.”

They won the afternoon game, 15-5. With a 1-3 record, they’re not heading for the bonus game, but my dad is looking forward to the rest.

“Don’t get me wrong — I’d love to play in that game. But I also loved being the DH this afternoon!”

Before dinner he had a picture taken, standing in the middle of Pat Tabler and Cory Snyder. That should be fun to see. He said he was very impressed with Joe Charboneau, who, despite some whispers that he was a hard-living guy, is as gregarious as anyone in Goodyear. And before we hung up, he was standing next to Mike and Sharon Hargrove, who gave him some advice.

“Hey, Mike,” my dad said, “My son thinks we should come back next year and I should pay his way. But I have grandkids now. Shouldn’t I take care of them instead?”

“Your grandkids will be fine, Flip,” Grover replied. “Focus on your kids first.”

Yesssss.

Today my dad sent his friends and family his diary and recaps from Fantasy Camp. Considering the generously kind response I’ve gotten in this thread, I thought I would copy and paste for anyone who wants to check it out.

It has the following insights:

-what Pat Tabler said when my dad told him I copied his batting stance as a child
-what kind of injuries a 64-year old catcher can sustain
-which former ballplayers stood out
-other cool stuff about fantasy camp

It’s long. But if you’re ever thinking of going, or if you want the conclusion to this story that has made me very proud of my not-so-old man, here it is.

>>>

It has begun. Packed last night. Lots of jocks, socks, and t-shirts. Reminded me of packing for a baseball trip in college. The weather promises to be cool in the mornings and evenings, and 75 during the day. Packed for both but had to leave enough room in my one piece of luggage to bring home my two new uniforms and accessories, plus a bat, awaiting me in Goodyear.

Col took me to the airport Saturday morning, gave me a hug and kiss and reminded me I am going there to have fun, not show the Pirates they made a mistake in 1964. I agree. Stay tuned.

The flight has many of the 120 campers and some of the staff and players. It is a laughing, loud, and friendly group. Foreshadowing the fun to come I hope. I am sitting next to Pat Deville from somewhere west of Cleveland. He works for a cable company which is an affiliate of Sports Time Ohio. Like me, he is a first timer. Age 61. He said he hasn’t played baseball in 45 years (junior high school) and the only preparation he did for this trip was to buy a bat and swing it in his house. Oops. He is going to be an ice bather for sure.

The only person I know going to camp (other than a group I met while working out) is Ara Bagdasarian, a friend from Travel Centers. This is Ara’s second camp. I have known for years of Ara’s love for baseball. When the Major League All Star Game was in Cleveland in the mid 90’s, Ara went with me to watch from the Calfee seats behind home plate. He and his wife Leslie are the primary organizers of the local Fragile X Foundation and have done a wonderful job raising money for this nasty infliction that effects children, including their two.

Two hours into the flight. Two to go. I have been listening to my Shuffle loaded with the Ed Kuhn repertoire of great music from the time when I really could play baseball. Len Barker is sitting behind me talking nonstop about hunting and fishing. Pat Tabler, Joe Charboneau, and Kevin Rhomberg spotted on the plane thus far.

When we land we are put on buses to go to our hotel. The weather is great (75). Our hotel is about a 40 minute ride from the airport and immediately next to a football stadium, where the Super Bowl was played last year and where the Cardinals play now, and an arena where the NHL Phoenix Coyotes play. It is all part of an area that someday will be another Crocker Park or Easton. Now it has several restaurants and a movie theatre but not much else. I took a walk and ended up talking to my friend Bobbie DiBiosio, VP of Communications for the Tribe. Soon we were joined by Charlie Nagy, Carlos Baerga, Jeff Datz, and Davey Nelson. Nagy, Datz, and Nelson are all very reserved and Baerga is constant motion and chatter (not all of it in English). Everyone, though, is friendly and it appears they enjoy being here with the campers.

Got lucky with my roommate. 50 year old stay-at-home dad from Wadsworth. Four kids 10 to 2 and wife is an accountant. Plays a lot of softball and thought he would give this a try.

Just got back from our opening evening dinner. All the scheduled former Indians are here except Greg Swindell and Jeff Manto is here in his place. It was a lot of fun. Rick Manning is the leader of this activity and he does a very good job. Lot of funny lines. It was cool looking up at the head table and seeing Cory Snyder, Brook Jacoby, Rick Waits, Pat Tabler, Mike Hargrove, Joe Charboneau, Davey Nelson, Carlos Baerga, Jim Mudcat Grant, Charlie Nagy, Joe Azcue, Kevin Rhomberg, Gary Bell, Max Alvis, Rick Manning, and Scott Bailes sitting there and knowing they would be watching me play baseball all week. A little heady maybe, but cool nonetheless.

It was interesting to watch the returning campers welcome each other. Clearly this is a place where friendships are made. We all had to introduce ourselves at dinner. I know there is at least one guy in his 70’s here. Lots of younger guys, too. Mostly from Ohio but there are also people from California, Florida, Arizona, Pennsylvania, Texas, Maryland, Nevada, Oklahoma, and Colorado. One guy is here for the 12th time. Many are here for at least five times. More than half are here for at least the second time.

We are told the first van leaves the hotel for the ballpark starting at 6 in the morning. They run on the half hour until 8. Tomorrow we spend the morning doing skill drills so the former players will know who they want to draft (or not). In the afternoon we play some scrimmages. Tomorrow night is the draft. Manning had a very good opening line. He said, "Welcome and know this is the best you are going to feel all week." Taking it to heart, I am hitting the rack. First day has been great.

Sunday. What a day. Up at 6 and down to the lobby hoping to catch an early van to the ball park. I just miss one leaving but Charlie Nagy and Jeff Manto are leaving in their car and ask me if I want a ride. I agree and offer to navigate since none of us knows where we are going. Mistake. We get lost and go back to the hotel to wait for the next van so we can follow it. This should have been a warning of troubles to come.

It is a 20 minute drive to the baseball complex if traffic is light. The new Indians’ spring training facility is spectacular. Absolute state of the art and one of the best, if not the best, in all of major league baseball. The new stadium where games are played is about half a mile away. Interestingly, the White Sox and Dodgers are building new complexes about 20 minutes away from the new Tribe facility. Also, Cincinnati is building its new spring training complex very close to the Indians’ new complex and they will share the main stadium with the Tribe starting next year. The Tribe practice facility is six full big league fields perfectly manicured, plus two infield only-fields perfectly manicured, separate indoor and outdoor batting cages, a large fitness center, a minor league cafeteria and a major league cafeteria, re-hab and trainer facilities, class rooms, video rooms, a press room, and major and minor league clubhouse areas. We are housed in the minor league clubhouse area.

I walk into the minor league clubhouse and there is my name on a locker with two uniforms hanging there with DAWSON on the back, plus other goodies including a very cool dugout jacket. I have arrived.

We change into uniforms before getting breakfast. Then we gather as a group for 30 minutes of stretching which Rick Manning leads like a drill sergeant. We are next split into four groups to go to different skill practice sessions (outfield with Snyder, infield with Hargrove, Tabler, and Baerga, pitching with Waits and Nagy, and hitting with Charboneau, Jacoby, and Rhomberg). I remember my plan to take it easy. No injuries! Everything is going well and I am having the best time, but my arm starts to concern me during the pitching drills even though I am taking it easy. We break for lunch and I get ice for my elbow. My first session with a trainer.

After lunch we are randomly split into ten teams to play three inning games so the coaches can observe us. I start pitching for my team. Bell, Waits and Hargrove are watching. After two batters my arm is screaming at me and I take myself out of the game. I wasn’t trying anything stupid or throwing too hard. But it was like my arm weighed forty pounds and my elbow was really hurting. Fearing a serious issue, I decide not to pitch anymore that afternoon and maybe the week.

After the game I go and get trainer treatment, primarily icing. I will repeat the trainer treatment tomorrow morning before the start of our regular schedule. At this moment I know I probably won’t be pitching anymore but have no idea what I will do. Probably play first base or the outfield.

At 5:30 Sunday afternoon they list the ten teams for the week. They allow you to ‘buddy-up’ before the draft and Ara Bagdasarian and I do that so we will end up on the same team. I am on the team being coached by Brook Jacoby and Jeff Manto. At 6:00 we go out for dinner as a team to a local sports bar. It is a lot of fun and we actually bond pretty well. No one too serious even though we have a couple of youngsters. We go over who plays what positions. Turns out I am the only one who can catch. Three others claim to be pitchers. Should be interesting.

At 8:00 Sunday evening, after our team meal, we have our first Kangaroo Court session, an event at which campers and coaches get fined for any number of "infractions" (not wearing shower sandals, looking like some celebrity, being late for morning stretching, smoking during a game, talking on a call phone during a game, just about anything). This is to raise money for Cleveland Indian Charities. I avoided any fines tonight. Bob Feller is now here. Standing ovation.

I leave a 5:45 a.m. wake-up call so I can get to the ballpark early and go see my new best friends, Mike, Jeremy and Teddy, the trainers.

It is now 6:00 p.m. on Monday and I am back in my room after Day 1 of real baseball. First, the highlights. None. We lost both games today. I am 0 for Goodyear so far. I caught both games from start to finish. I can barely move. And yes, I visited the ice tubs after the second game. A five minute soaking in 56 degree water. They said the record for in-and-out of the ice tub is six seconds. I stayed the whole five minutes. Supposedly my legs will feel better tomorrow. I sure hope so. Crouching down for every pitch to 21 batters a game is not easy for someone of my tender years.

Every part of me is sore. I have two baseball imprints, one on my left thigh and one on my right wrist from getting hit with foul balls. Nice. This is the first day in my life I have worn a cup for 10 straight hours. Not nice. Here is a hint on how sore I am: remember riding in a car for five straight hours and then you get out of the car and your whole body is stiff and sore? Well, that feeling would be a welcome relief. Have I said how much fun I am having?

I actually am. Honest. Just this afternoon as I was walking naked through the locker room with 117 other naked guys I was thinking to myself, "Is this a great country or what?" OK, maybe my brain is a little sore too, but I really am having a blast.

I have been taking pictures. I plan on having 700 by week’s end and I want Deb Bork and her kids to have to come over and see every one of them (inside joke for Col and Dino).

Kangaroo Court is at 8 so I am going to get something to eat before it starts. I know my reporting is getting shorter, sloppy and disjointed but, under the circumstances, it is the best I can do. Dave Burba has arrived in camp.

Monday night Kangaroo Court goes well for me. No fines. Before court they do a nice thing. One of the coaches from each of the ten teams reports on his team’s performance for the day and awards an MVP for each game. Even teams like mine, with two losses, manage to get some highlights. Then they announce two daily awards, the Golden Rope (for outstanding play) and the Brown Rope (for the opposite). Some camper who had 12 runs batted in in two games got the gold one, and Kevin Rhomberg got the brown one (can’t remember why). Both winners have the responsibility of keeping their respective ropes (about six feet long) secure and bring it to the next court or, supposedly, face big fines. Following court there was a "bull session" with Bob Feller (Hall of Fame and best pitcher in Tribe history for the uninitiated). He is 90 and remembers everything from the 40’s like it was yesterday. He talks about pitching to Ted Williams and Joe DiMaggio and other Hall of Famers. Fun.

Went straight to bed and fell asleep before I could get the light off.

Day two (Tuesday) and two more games. I get to the ballpark about 7:00 a.m. so I can spend some quality time with the trainers. Mandatory stretching isn’t until 8:30. I go first to the hot tub (supposedly gets your blood circulating) and then have my left big toe drained. Oh, I didn’t tell you about getting stepped on? All in the life of a catcher. Next it is thigh rubdowns and wraps and, of course, my elbow treatment. More than half the campers are doing something similar. It is quite a scene in the trainer’s room.

Game one today is more of the same (we lose) but I get my first two hits of camp. I am no longer 0 for Goodyear. I catch the whole game. Game two and the world is suddenly right again. We finally win our first game. I go one-for-three but the one is a one bouncer to the right field warning track. Did I tell you we are playing on fields with the exact dimensions of Progressive Field? Eat your hearts out, boys! I DH this game.

After our incredible victory, I get my second ice bath (48 degrees). The trainers say my legs will feel so much better for having done these two ice baths. If this is true then my legs might have just fallen off if I hadn’t done the two ice baths, because they feel like lead bars.

Now that we are a winning team we have decided to go out for dinner together to plan our next victory. Charlie Nagy had to leave camp today as his daughter is in the hospital back in San Diego. More later.

Well surprise, surprise. After dinner we went to Kangaroo Court. Remember I told you that the first thing that happens at court is the coaches review their team’s play for the day and award MVP’s for each game. Well, this scribner got the MVP award for game one.

No fines for me at court. The gold rope went to a teammate and the brown rope to a camper who hit the casinos last night but couldn’t get to the ballpark today. The bull session tonight was Burba, Baerga, and Manto who talked about playing for the Tribe in the 90’s. Again, fun.

Have I mentioned that there are two women at camp? Both have been here before and both can play some. One of them, Heather, is on my team. She is 65 and a former teacher and school administrator. She caught a very high fly ball in fairly deep right field yesterday. Pretty cool. She got a standing ovation.

Two more games tomorrow. See you then.

Wednesday is the day when teams that have a chance to go to the Championship Game Thursday night under the lights get more serious. Not an issue for us. I am up at 6:30 and get to the fields a little after seven. My routine now is I just roll out of bed, put on some shorts and a t-shirt, and go get in the van. I will shower and shave after the second game and trainer visit. Also, I don’t need to take other clothes with me because I can put the shorts and t-shirt back on for the ride to the hotel before evening activities. I took way too many clothes with me. You could easily get by with a few t-shirts, a few nice shirts for going out to dinner and Kangaroo Court, and something nice to wear for the closing banquet. The rest of the time you are in uniform. Also, on day one you get a really nice Cleveland Indians jacket to wear whenever it is chilly.

You have probably been wanting to ask, "What about laundry?" It gets done for you by the clubhouse staff!! I assume it is in self defense because we are so sore and tired most of the time it wouldn’t otherwise get done.

I play first base in game one, get two hits, but we lose. My batting average is slowly creeping up even if our winning percentage isn’t. My infield play is unspectacular except for the pop-up I lose in the sun that drops right in front of first base as the runner runs past it. We are now 1-4. In between games we get lunch and see the trainers if necessary. It is also a good time to take pictures. The Pros are very accommodating about posing with you. Also, you can sit with them at lunch and talk about anything you want. Today I sat with Grover (Mike Hargrove) and we compared kid stories.

In game two we are back to our winning ways. I catch. Fun, tight ball game that has the tying run stranded at third in the last inning. No hits for me. This catching thing is fun but leaves you dead legged and tired. I now have a lot more respect for catchers, especially those that can hit. I have a purple abrasion that covers my entire left thigh. My right calf muscle is so tight I need a 20 minute rub down after my third ice bath. My catching hand (I decide to use my regular glove to catch today because the left handed catching glove I have been using is so new the ball is always popping out of it) turns almost purple it is so beat up from catching fast balls. And I am loving it.

Winning requires we go out to dinner as a team again. I sit next to Bob Santelli who "works for a museum in LA" (how he introduced himself on opening night). He is an Indians fan because of the seven years he and his family lived in Cleveland when he worked at the Rock ‘N Roll Hall of Fame and Museum. He was in Cleveland the perfect time to start following the Tribe – ’93 to ’99. Turns out the museum he works for (partly owns) in LA is the Grammy Museum, and he is one of the producers of the Grammy Awards Show that will be televised in early February. He spends half the dinner talking on his cell phone to Michael Jackson’s manager about whether Michael will appear on the show. Also, he is a former writer for Rolling Stone Magazine. The real reason he is in camp is because he is writing a book about "the nine things every true baseball fan must see or do". One of them is attend a Fantasy Camp. So he is here doing research. Nice guy.

Kangaroo Court is next and, again, no fines for me. The gold rope winner from yesterday who is a teammate asks all of us to throw in $10 so our team can set the bar for other teams in making a contribution to Cleveland Indians Charities. Rick Manning guesstimates that more than $2,500 has thus far been raised through Kangaroo Court. The bull session this night features Manning, Datz, and Bobbie DiBiosio talking about the current Tribe. Fun and interesting. I get lots of pictures before getting to bed. Note this, my roommate and I are so tired at night our TV has not been turned on a single time since we arrived.

Thursday is a fun day. We enter the day with a 2-4 record. We are scheduled to play a team with an identical record (the team with a lot of the players that won it all last year and the one all the guys I have been working out with before camp play on, as well as my roommate). Needless to say when I come up I get plenty of ribbing. Well, he who laughs last… Well, sort of. I do get two very solid hits but we lose the game 9-8. I play both first base and second base. When at second one of my new workout friends hits a grounder right at me which I cleverly let go under my glove to entice him tol try for second where our right fielder throws him out. This is a play that takes a lot of practice and should only be done with proper adult supervision.

After the game our Pro’s Assistant, Joe Katzenstein (former Sand Ridge member and good friend of Jay Fairfield), asks me to vote for our team MVP. I thought three of our guys played really well all week, Ara Bagdasarian, Bob Senkar, and Steve Kline. I vote for Klein. He is a banker from Texas who grew up in the Wooster area and is here with his father, also on our team.

So now we are one of the four teams with the worst record (but not the worst). There are no regular games scheduled on Thursday afternoon. The two teams with the best record will play for the camp championship Thursday under the lights.

The four worst records get to play a "game" against the Pros Thursday afternoon. This includes us, and this is really fun. First we get introduced individually and line up on the third base line. Then the National Anthem is sung. The Pros take the field: Alvis at third, Snyder at short, Baerga at second, Jacoby at first, Manning in center, Charboneau in right, Tabler in left, Azcue behind the plate, and BOB FELLER on the mound. Yes, 90 year old Bob Feller is pitching and he can still throw the ball 60 feet 6 inches for strikes. He pitches to our two weakest hitters and then Dave Burba takes over. All twelve of us get to hit regardless of the number of outs. Halfway through the order Jeff Datz takes over for Burba just as I come to the plate. My name is announced over the PA. A quiet comes over the crowd. "Could this really be the kicker?" First pitch the umpire calls a strike and the crowd is all over him. I raise my hand to calm them down. Two called balls follow and then there it is, the perfect pitch, the one I have trained for, a super heater right down the middle just above the knees. I make the perfect swing. The flashbulbs momentarily blind me. I see the ball arching beautifully out to center field. Manning takes several steps in to catch it and I walk back to the dugout. Very, very, very, very cool.

I stick around the complex in the late afternoon waiting for the Championship Game to start. I watch Ryan Garko, Asdrubal Cabrerra, and Josh Barfield working out. They really work hard. Garko looks 30 pounds lighter.

The Championship Game is cool. It would be a real treat to play in a championship game someday. The team coached by Davey Nelson and Dave Burba, with four very good players from Texas, wins the championship.

Since my baseball games are now over I clean out my locker and carry everything back to the hotel. I am not planning on returning to the facility Friday.

Thursday night I make plans to go out to dinner or a movie with my roommate and Pat Deville. I jump in the hotel hot tub for thirty minutes first and then lie down to catch a quick nap before dinner and wake up at 8:25…………..the next morning!!

When I wake up on Friday it takes me all of 30 seconds to decide that the first thing I am going to do is get my butt back to the training camp to see Teddy, Mike, and Jeremy. My left big toe is getting redder and it is tender to the touch. Also, a rub down might just be what I need to start feeling human again before heading home Saturday. Teddy tells me I will lose my nail and in the meantime just soak my foot twice a day for 15 minutes in Epson salts and peroxide. I also get a rub down which is painful because the muscles are so tight.

The six teams with the best winning records get to play the Pros today so I stay and watch. Evan calls me just as the first game is starting so I give him a play-by-play whenever the Pros are batting. A Pat Tabler double in the left field corner and a Cory Snyder home run over the left field fence are the highlights. Snyder also pitches a couple of innings and had to be throwing in the high 80’s or low 90’s.

Throughout the week there have been opportunities to get a tour of the new facilities to see what the major league team has in the way of accommodations (we have been using the minor league accommodations). I always missed these tours because of my attachment to the trainers. Bob DiBiosio had lunch with me and asked if I had taken a tour. When I told him no he gave me a personal tour. Very nice.

Friday afternoon I spend at the hotel pool. It is our best weather day. Many of the campers are there and I am in a small group with Jacoby, Bailes, and Tabler. Tabler is now the radio voice of the Minnesota Twins, Jacoby the hitting coach for the Cincinnati Reds, and Bailes a businessman and elected official somewhere in Arizona. All genuinely nice guys. I tell Tabler that a son in high school imitated his batting stance (hands in front of the face) and Tabler says, "I’ll bet he hit about .205." Jacoby says he remembers neighborhood kids (Drew and Evan would have been among them) playing in his backyard when he lived in Settler’s Landing in Westlake.

Friday night is the closing dinner and awards ceremony. Dress up for the first time. Before dinner starts we spend an hour talking to all the new friends we have made and getting any pictures and autographs missed during the week (I take pictures but don’t bother with autographs). Tables are set for eight but our team crowds in extra place settings so we can get all sit together, including Jacoby (Manto had to leave Thursday night to go to the White Sox training facility where he is the minor league hitting instructor). Team pictures are passed out and we each sign the others. The awards ceremony is very nice. Each team is introduced by its coach, who says something nice about each member of the team (some real stretches here), and we each get our own bat signed by all the Pros. Jacoby said of me, " A .333 hitter who caught almost every game. Pretty good for a guy his age." Each team has an MVP and ours is Steve Kline. Good choice. We also get a t-shirt saying "I survived Fantasy Camp 2009". There are four major camp awards given out (Silver Slugger, Gold Glove, Bob Feller Pitching Award, and MVP). All appropriately go to the young-and-still-able-to compete crowd.
And so Indians Fantasy Camp 2009 is over. We initiated the brand new Goodyear facilities. Only 120 can ever say that. I have no serious injuries and have had a wonderful time. Both objectives fulfilled. We have to be on buses for the airport at 5:45 Saturday morning. It is 11:30. Good night and thanks for all the encouragement.

I am now flying home. 9 degrees in Cleveland the pilot tells us. Thought I would set forth some random thoughts as I reflect on the week.

- The camp exceeded my expectations in terms of the quality of the entire experience. It was extremely well organized in every aspect (Joe Bartelone gets most of the credit). All 120 campers knew when and where to be every day. The trainers, the food staff, the clubhouse staff, the Pro’s assistants, the daily newspaper reporter, the photos and videos crew, the umpires, the professional baseball players, plus the quality of the equipment and uniforms all were first rate. I never felt this camp skimped on a single thing.

- Where I fell short on my expectations was in my ability to perform. Not that I had unrealistic expectations; rather it was the lack of cooperation between the brain’s command and the body’s execution that surprised me. Always a fraction slow. And in baseball that’s a problem. I always felt I knew what I was supposed to do. I just didn’t always do it timely.

-There was every quality of player at camp. Of the 120 campers there were 25 or more in the "still controlled by testosterone" age bracket and then everything else up to age 71. There was very little arguing or complaining among the players. No one did anything intentional that could have hurt anyone that I saw or heard about. Over half the camp were returners and many of these had been teammates in previous camps. A lot of long time camp friendships were evident throughout the teams, including people on the teams you were playing against. Almost every camper cheered the success of all the other campers, not just teammates. There were bankers, car salesmen, lawyers, doctors, funeral operators, a retired school principal, restaurant owner, a retired teacher, business owners, an author, a veterinarian, a radio personality, and many others. The common denominator was a love of baseball. There were ten teams, but in a way all 120 were teammates.

- Bob Feller. I have never been much of an admirer of him as a person. Nothing happened at camp to change my mind on that score. But, and a very big but, he is a truly incredible specimen. He is 90 and could easily pass for 70. Still solidly built and very sharp mentally. He started all ten of the camper vs. Pro games throwing from the mound to either two or three batters. A full 60 feet 6 inches and he threw strikes. Amazing.

- There is a group of volunteers that goes to camp every year to help Joe Bartelone. They drive vans, act as assistants to the Pro coaches, keep all the stats, and do all the set-ups. They are up at 5 every morning and finish around 7. Very hard working and they do it because they love baseball. They are professionals and business people. So much that is enjoyable about the camp is because of them.

- Would I like to go back? Absolutely.

- I take each of you back to Bob Santelli, the Rolling Stone writer, Emmy producer, and book writer. "If you truly love baseball, there are several things you need to do at least once in your life, and one is attend a Fantasy camp."