Aside from the obvious enjoyment derived out of visiting new places and watching baseball with good company during my recent Florida excursion, there were two moments that stood out a little bit higher than everything else. Or more specifically, two baseball players, who took my light-hearted ribbing and ran with it, much to the enjoyment of myself and everyone around me.
One of the biggest appeals of Spring Training baseball is that it’s supposed to be a relaxed environment for all parties, but mostly the players, so they can ease their bodies back into playing shape, chip off some of the rust that built up over the long winter, and get used to the motions of playing baseball on a regular basis again. The results of spring games do not matter, and it’s more important that they go through the reps and fortify the physical motions to make sure that everything’s working right.
Even still, a month of playing games that don’t matter takes its tolls on players, mentally, because frankly after so much time, a lot of them are beginning to get bored. They’re itching to hit the golf courses, hang out with family or friends, or basically do anything that isn’t playing in inconsequential games. That being said, when the itch begins itching, there are players that are will focus intently on doing what they’re there to do, but then there are some willing to let their guards down, and try and make the time pass by faster by actually interacting with the fans that show up.
Getting back to the point, there were instances at both games I went to, where I had a little fun with a few guys. I don’t heckle often, but I typically stick to a clean route, although sometimes it might become ironically deliberately nerdy, to see if citing advanced metrics can get a rise out of a player. But their willingness to acknowledge and banter back made it fun for not just me, but for those around me. And for that, these guys hold special places in my baseball heart, and it’s hard to say that I’d really have anything bad to say about them as a result.
Torii Hunter is a guy that’s been in the league for quite some time now; he made his name out in Minnesota where he was known as mostly a defensive stalwart outfield who was capable of robbing guys of home runs and made seemingly impossible catches possible. It didn’t hurt that he was also a pretty good hitter throughout his career, which is basically why he’s still employed and active today.
Now I know that Hunter’s perceived as one of the league’s nicer guys, but I’d never really taken a shot at heckling him, but being so close to him, it was worth trying. I called him Tori Spelling, watched him intently to see whenever he dared to take his eyes off of the infield, and immediately called him out on it, and told him to stop thinking about golf, like many veteran players tend to do during this time of Spring Training. All of which were met with laughs, playfully dismissive waves and smiles, which elicited tons of laughter amongst the people around me, knowing that we got him to acknowledge and look over.
Give a kid a little attention, and he keeps doing what elicits it: so then, I decided to start digging out Torii Hunter’s history, and proclaimed that certain flyballs would be home runs at the Metrodome, or that if this were Anaheim, he wouldn’t have room, and so forth. At this point, it’s obvious he realized that I know my stuff about him, because from there it was more laughter and smiles. I compared him to Willie Mays Hays for daring to hit a flyball, and ordered him to do some pushups, to which he responded with the fact that he was hitting .300 in spring, to which I snapped back that spring stats don’t matter.
But not to just rag on him too much, I had a little fun at the Braves’ expense too, like when I pointed out to Hunter when Kyle Wren stepped into the batter’s box, that he was the Braves’ GM’s kid. And that if he hits a flyball, catching it would condemn him to never having a future with the Braves organization, EVER.
The bottom line is that the Braves lost the game, which isn’t anything new for me whenever I travel to see them, but I frankly didn’t care. The game didn’t matter anyway, but walking out of the stadium and to the parking lot with friends, all we could talk about was how much Torii Hunter ruled.
When my friend and I went to Port St. Lucie, we really had one objective as baseball fans: to heckle Scott Hairston. It’s a long story why this was the case, but we had discussed for weeks prior to the trip what we would say and how to execute. The irony in all this was that Scott Hairston is a bench player, and with the Nationals having sent a split squad to Port St. Lucie on the day we were there, there wasn’t even a guarantee that he was even on the premises. Our objective was in question before we even stepped foot into Tradition Field.
Despite being a split squad, it was clear that the Nats had sent the A-squad to PSL, because most of the marquee Nationals players were starting, putting into more doubt that Hairston would even be present. Resigning to the fact that we might have failed, we did what most rational grown men would do when disappointed: we drank like fish.
Eventually it came to my attention that Livan Hernandez was sitting in the Nationals bullpen. Now even before this trip, I’ve always had a fascination with Livan Hernandez. Despite the fact that he had just recently officially retired, Livo had made a career out of having an impossibly durable arm, capable of hurling 200+ inning seasons without end, probably because he threw no harder than 80 mph at any point of his life, and for whatever reason, could only pitch effectively for the Nationals. Seriously, he bounced around a lot in his career, but only whenever he wore a Nationals jersey, he pitched well.
Aside from his career, there was something about him that always made me interested in him. So I learned a ton about Livo, and know an inordinate amount of things about the guy, based on obscure newspaper or magazine articles that have ever been written about him. A few years ago when Livo was of course, on the Nationals, I managed to flag him down and got him to sign a tube of racquetballs, because I found out that he got In The Best Shape Of His Life by playing racquetball one winter. Being a Braves fan, he tried to no sell it, but I persisted and explained that I knew about the story, and he eventually relented.
Anyway, once it was confirmed that Livan Hernandez in the bullpen, my objective instantly changed. Baseball players, especially those on the visiting teams, typically have to understand that they’re easy targets for hecklers, because they’re visiting the beloved home team’s fans. As a result, I imagine that they take a little more effort in trying to tune them out, so they can focus on the product on the field, which is their job. Ordinary heckling, like making fun, or telling them they suck wouldn’t work on a seasoned veteran like Livan Hernandez. So I had to get creative.
Based on a controversy a few years ago that involved Livan Hernandez’s name that I was aware of, I hollered onto the field that I was with the FBI and that I was here to investigate the money he owed SunTrust Bank. Immediately, Livo got out of his chair and turned towards the crowd. It didn’t take him long to notice two drunk guys busting out laughing at knowing they got his attention. LivOwned.
From there, it was all laughter and fun. Eventually, since at Spring Training games, fan mass exoduses are common when the starting and marquee players are all pulled out to give minor leaguers and prospects a few reps on the field, so it was a perfect opportunity for us to get down to the very front row and get right behind Livo and start chirping in his ear.
At this point, Livo realized that he was dealing with guys who knew him pretty darn well, so he was cool and jovial to speak with us a little bit about racquetball, dumping sunflower seeds on ballboys, and how we thought he retired too early and that we knew his rubber arms still had some bullets left in them. What’s funnier is that the minor league pitching coach, or whatever assistant coaches or special coaches that were with him on the bench didn’t even know these stories, and at one point, it’s clear that he had to give them the low down on this heckling material that got his attention.
When the game ended, I didn’t even care about Scott Hairston anymore. It turns out that he was in Port St. Lucie that day, and he checked into left field in the later innings. It was irrelevant, because left field at Tradition Field is an area designated for private functions, so we wouldn’t have been able to get there anyway. We were more content hanging out with Livan Hernandez anyway.
After the game, Livo signed my boy’s beer fist, adding his name to a list of Nationals players past and present. But it was how he did it that was special, because he didn’t approach the rail like players typically do, because that would cause hordes of children to swarm, and he would have to stick it out for 15 minutes signing balls and programs and ticket stubs for kids who have little idea of who he actually is. Instead, he beckoned out for the fist to be tossed to him so he could sign it a safe distance away. There, he LivOwned the fans.
Both games were enjoyable experiences in their entireties, but a bonus takeaway from both were a newfound admiration for Torii Hunter, and a renewed sense of understanding of how much Livan Hernandez rules, all because they were two chill veterans who get the appeal of Spring Training, and were willing to give back a little bit extra to fans that were there to see them.
