The sun is a wonderful antidote. The warm weather, the palm trees, the hazy humidity . . . normally, it all serves as a splendid elixir for baseball fans, a brain eraser, the kind of thing that makes your troubles burst like bubbles in the fun of the sun.
It’s different this spring though.
On Florida’s east coast, there is too much lingering baggage to be completely forgotten, the Mets dragging all the detritus of three years of disappointments to Port St. Lucie. The last two Februarys, even with all the accumulated psychosis of back-to-back September swoons, there was still a feeling of imminent rebirth and renewal among Mets fans, the stubborn optimism that combats skepticism.
Do you sense that this year? I don’t. I sense loitering anger, and outrage, and cynicism. I sense a lot of fans adopting a Missouri stance of “Show me,” before they will be willing to pay for the privilege of being shown. I sense a fan base that has been beaten and battered and bruised and will not fall for the allure of 80-degree days and Mike Jacobs’ looping swing and Ollie Perez’s perpetual dance with potential.
As the Yankees return to Florida’s west coast, do you sense any angst amongst their faithful this year? I don’t. I sense appreciation at the 27th and one of the most satisfying of all the Yankees titles, one that was earned with a target on pinstriped backs for 162 regular-season games and 15 playoff games, one that finally included Alex Rodriguez, one that showcased the forever value of Derek Jeter and Jorge Posada and Andy Pettitte and only reinforced the rarefied resume of Rivera.
So as spring training dawns, we couldn’t possibly find our local nines residing in more disparate places, occupying more polar opposite geographies that extend beyond Treasure Coast and Gulf Coast. If anything, this restoration of the natural baseball order ought to serve as a warning flare to, of all teams, the Jets, whose coach blared recently about how his team was the best football show in town now, a statement that might have accurately reflected a moment in time but not time itself.
Remember, it wasn’t that long ago — less than four years — that it looked as if the Mets were primed to re-take a town it had owned, on separate occasions, from 1964-75 and again from 1985-92. Back in ’06, the Mets won easily and freely and looked to have the far brighter future. The Yankees were yesterday’s team. Fans packed Shea, there was a much-anticipated new home being built . . . it was a grand and glorious time.
Seriously. That’s how it looked.
Now? Now, the Mets go to St. Lucie hoping to glue themselves back together. The Yankees go to Tampa fortified with fresh memories of a fresh parade. One trying desperately not to suffocate from its recent past, one hoping not to drown in the hubris caused by its recent past. Two very different springs, indeed.
This baseball writer wouldn’t accept beat-down
This week we’re giving a shout-out to a fellow scribe who hasn’t let the recession — or his own newspaper’s shameful business decision — affect his resourcefulness.
So here’s to Mark Zuckerman, who worked at the Washington Times from 2001-09, who covered the Nationals there for the last five years, and who was one of many good people who lost their jobs when the Times made the horrid decision to drop sports coverage a few months back.
Zuckerman not only continued to cover the team on his blog (natsinsider.blogspot.com), he figured he would take the kind of chance too many people in this Internet revolution have yet to take: He asked his readers to put their money where his typewriter is, to help send him to spring training in Viera, Fla., hoping to raise $5,000 to cover seven weeks of lodging, food and gas, plus his travel down there.
And as of Friday, Zuckerman’s readers had responded remarkably: he had gained $9,431 in pledges. And counting. And so there will be an additional face and an additional notebook asking additional questions when the Nats gather next week, and if you’re a fan of the Nats (and journalism) that only can be a good thing.
Zuckerman is humbled by the support given this idea, which he modeled after a similar drive hatched by Trent Rosecrans, who covered the Reds for the Cincinnati Post before that esteemed paper went out of business last year and who also has raised enough money to cover the Reds at spring training for cnati.com.
The next challenge for Zuckerman is this: is it feasible to take the surplus and help turn it into what certainly would be one of the first self-financed baseball beats in the country?
“That’s the million-dollar question,” he wrote in an e-mail. “The truth is, I just don’t know yet. I do know that the cost of covering an entire 162-game season, home and away, is much greater than what I’ve collected so far, probably in the range of $30,000. And that doesn’t take into account the fact I’m not receiving a salary at the moment.
“Once April comes, I’ve got to be making some kind of actual salary, whether through this or through something else. I have a hard time believing it’s possible to raise enough money to cover both a reasonable salary and travel expenses. But then again, three days ago I wasn’t expecting to be going to spring training. So who knows what’s possible?”
VAC’S WHACKS
* It has been so long since a Knick appeared in either an All-Star game or a playoff game I just assumed they had been put on NCAA probation.
* I meant to mention this last week, and was too distraught, but now I feel I must: a “How I Met Your Mother” that not only features Jim Nantz but also Nick Swisher sounds to me like a show that’s trying to double-time its way to a date with The Shark.
* Sometimes, you hear Yankees fans talk and you’re not sure if George Steinbrenner spent his life more emulating Gandhi or St. Francis of Assisi, which is pretty funny if you’re old enough to remember Howie Spira, Billy Martin and/or the 14 playoff-free years between 1981 and 2005.
* I got my Sports Illustrated this week and immediately understood why it doesn’t much consume Andy Roddick to be stuck on one Grand Slam title. Roger Federer has lots of trophies. None as impressive as Brooklyn Decker.
Vaccaro’s book, “The First Fall Classic,” is in bookstores everywhere.