Despite Nationals' hilarious flubs, Tigers get the last laugh

Nationals second baseman Willie Harris and the umpire share a chuckle after Harris caught a popup on his fourth try.

Tigers batters slap hands after scoring on a two-run home run, which gave Detroit a 3-2 edge over Washington, and eventually the win.

Without alcohol, it's sometimes difficult to stay occupied throughout a nine-inning baseball game. Especially when it's the Washington Nationals.

But the perennially bottom-tier team found a way to entertain fans Monday at its last spring training game of the year at Space Coast Stadium in Viera. And it was by shear ineptitude.

Willie Harris of the Nationals, who more frequently plays outfield now, started at second base, where he has played much of his career. Maybe his time away from the position played into his performance.

The first mishap was when the first baseman went after a popup in foul territory. Harris rushed to get behind Adam Dunn, called him off - I got it, I got it, I got it - and proceeded to miss the ball. It should have been Dunn's catch. At the end of the half inning, Dunn jokingly tossed Harris a popup. Harris squared his body, and caught it. The crowd cheered.

In the fourth inning, on probably the highest-hit ball of the day, Harris misjudged the popup, which fell to the grass behind him. Harris also fell (above), but after getting a checkout from a trainer, he stayed on the field. He was charged with an error. The crowd applauded.

Meanwhile, the fans showed skill, catching foul balls left and right (above). Most of them could have pulled off a "Rookie of the Year" moment and taken Harris' slot at second base.

In the fifth, Harris chased a popup near the first-base line, but it went over his head, again hitting the ground in foul territory. He wasn't charged with an error, but it was a catchable ball. He bent down, ripped up some grass and threw it into the air, checking for wind speed and direction. But that's something you would more often see Tiger Woods doing. The crowd laughed. I stood up and yelled, "Apparently, third time isn't a charm."

Finally, on a high popup to shallow right-center field, Harris tracked the ball through its flight (above) and actually caught the thing. The crowd gave him a standing ovation. The umpire laughed. Harris gave a bow (below). After the inning, Harris lifted his arms for a curtain call as he headed into the dugout.

But, yet again because of the Nats' ineptitude, opponent Detroit Tigers got the last laugh. They won, 3-2. Fortunately for Harris, none of those runs were a direct result of his defensive issues.

Adam Dunn had two strikeouts on the day.

The boys of summer and the lazy days of summer - in winter

Mr. Pitcher No. 35 attempts to catch a ball.

Massive crowds harass a player as he tries to leave one of the Nationals practice fields in Viera.

I had a good idea to write about laziness and my attempt to snap out of it, but it fizzled with two grapefruit-juice disasters as I sat down to type.

Yes, let me tell you about my grapefruit juice. I love mixing it with Sprite. The citrus flavors are complementary; they're natural companions.

But crisis No. 1 came about when I shook the juice bottle, inadvertently rattling the cap right off. My power surprises me sometimes. Unfortunately, Barack Obama could do nothing about this crisis.

Then, after the previous mess was wiped clean, my fingers slipped across the condensation of my glass, which sent it tumbling onto my clean apartment carpet and my clean apartment walls. I ran for the paper towels to soak the bubbly mess off the floor before its surface tension broke.

With some Resolve, a damp old T-shirt, 30 minutes of TV-watching time and some resolve, I beat the mess. All that's left are cursory scrub patterns in the nap of the carpet.

Pink stains and drawn-out, recession-like crisis averted.

But the other result is less visible. After my brief housecleaning stint, I was winded. Those violent scrubbing motions stole my breath. Much of it has to do with that laziness I meant to tell you about.

I spend most of my spare time in the depths of my couch's cushions, soaking in what my new high-definition television puts out. I'd be better served if I got out once in a while. Watching maintenance workers pound their hammers into the roof of the apartment building on the other side of the parking lot might teach me more about life than "The Office," "House Hunters" or the Monday night movie on FX.

That's why I hoped Monday morning was going to snap me out of the lazy bastard blues.

As longtime Offlede patrons know, I frequented workouts of the Washington Nationals and the Los Angeles Dodgers during spring training last year. I even fought crowds to get autographs.

Monday was my last chance to catch a Nationals practice, before the preseason got under way. I woke up at a reckless hour: 9. I knew it was a bad idea to go to bed at 6.

My first glimpse of the Carl Barger Complex, a system of training fields in Viera, was reassuring: I'm not the only lazy person in Florida. There were only a handful of cars in the lot and just a smattering of kids behind the outfield fence trying to catch home run balls during batting practice. It was probably 30 percent of last year's spectator levels, if I were to put a number to it.

Just like last year, the players walked among the fans as an air horn prompted them to scurry from one field to another, where the next drill awaited them. Just like last year, players were willing to sign a ball, a card, a bat or a hat if a little girl or an old man asked them to.

Unlike last year, there weren't many people to ask for autographs. And I actually felt mildly creepy when I tried to take photos of the players, because I was joined by no one. Attendants, many of whom I recognized, walked around with their hands in their pockets.

"I might get a hot dog, and put it in my pocket here," one told two others. "I'll rip off some and eat it once in a while. There's nothing else to do."

Another Nats employee, a rather old fellow, pointed at the batting cages and showed another attendant where the fans lined up for autographs last year.

"I can't believe this (stuff)," he said. (He didn't really say "stuff.") "Where are all the people?"

This Maryland guy and his wife, whom he apparently calls The African Queen, was there to chat with players and write about them on his blog. I saw him last year, too.

I talked with a man from Merritt Island who was there, like me, to take photos and not be lazy. His last visit was when the Montreal Expos still existed. But I had a Nikon, and he had a Canon, so that was the end of our conversation. (Think Mac and PC.)

There was no line at the concession stand. The field-side memorabilia store wasn't even open. And the bleachers, well, they were empty.

As I twitched - it's a thing I do when I'm tired - on down the main palm tree-line walkway that runs through the heart of the complex, I let out a hearty yawn. A Nats worker asked, "Pretty boring, isn't it?"

Spilling grapefruit juice was the most exciting thing to happen to me lately. Sure beats the Grapefruit League.

Bunting practice!!!! So exciting!!!!

This child had the run of the house.

Fielding ground balls. Fundamentals first.

Fence. Awesome fence.

The walk of fame, with nobody to watch. ... The walk of shame.

Stars come out for Rays: Hulk Hogan, John Cena, Barry Melrose, Jared Fogle root, root, root for the (losing) home team

Hulk Hogan, 55, readies for a kiss from girlfriend Jennifer McDaniel, 20 something.

FormerInactive professional wrestler John Cena downs a beer, kept cold by a cozy that says "Betty Ford Clinic Outpatient."

Updated: I caught Hogan in a similar pose as Cena above.

Update: This post was copied by J-Cena.com and Cena-Everything.com, two fan sites.


St. Petersburg is no New York. It's no Los Angeles. It's no Boston.

Even so, it has its share of characters who showed up for the first game of the Tampa Bay Rays series against the Boston Red Sox.

Resident reality TV star Hulk Hogan, his 20-something girlfriend and another wrestler, John Cena, sat in the luxury box behind yours truly.

The Offlede scored some press-level seats for Game 1. They were purchased at a slight discount from a journalist from Clearwater who needed to unload some of the tickets included in his 20-game package.

There's something about indoor baseball at a place like Tropicana Field that isn't right: Indeed, a homer by the Sox's Jason Bay hit the ceiling and never came down. That's just wrong.

But there's something about sitting in comfortable seats, soaking up the air conditioning and watching replays on big-screen TVs nearby that is just exhilarating. The concessions on the press level were never crowded, though the same ripoff prices were still applicable: 5 bucks for a Pepsi. Ouch.

But having celebrities sit behind me dulled that pain.

Hogan and his girlfriend canoodled and drank alcohol most of the time. When the Rays hit some home runs later in the game, they clapped a few times.

During stretches between innings, I would unknowingly glance behind me. I happened to have a camera in my hands, so I snapped a few shots.

Cena chatted up a few young women as he drank a beer with a cozy that said "Betty Ford Clinic Outpatient." I'm sure it's just for decoration, but I seriously wouldn't doubt it.

Barry Melrose of hockey fame, currently as the head coach of the Tampa Bay Lightning, threw out the first pitch: a lame dribbler that would embarrass a T-ball player.

My personal favorite, Jared Fogle, gave away some Subway sandwiches to section 216. I was in 207. I had a Cuban sandwich for dinner anyway, so I wasn't hungry.

Meanwhile, there was a baseball game happening. My team, the Sox, nailed homers throughout the game as Boston pitcher Daisuke "Dice-K" Matsuzaka mowed down the Rays hitters with an arsenal of sliders and fastballs.

After a Sox batter was hit by a pitch in the first inning, the umpire warned both benches that nonsense would not be tolerated. In the vertical photo, umpire Jerry Meals serves up a dish of caution to Sox manager Tito Francona.

Of course, the teams have a long history of violence. It's funny: The Sox show their hatred to the Yankees by beating them; they show it to the Rays by beating them up.

The only thing I needed to see to make the game complete was an all-out brawl. It didn't happen, but having WWE wrestlers sit behind me somehow made that need go away.

Hockey superstar Barry Melrose throws like a hockey player. It's not a puck, Barry: You can't slide it to the plate.

To allow fans to get free Subway sandwiches, Jared Fogle answers baseball trivia questions, the answers to which were on the back of a pair of oversize fat-man pants like the ones he wore before his miraculous transformation.

The ugly Rays mascot, Raymond, gets into a pointing contest with Sox fans.

Jacoby Ellsbury violates Jason Varitek after the catcher hit a rare home run.

David Ortiz, after a blast of his own, walks by the cameras.

My view from the press level. Not bad, eh?

Video | My first regular-season Red Sox game

This is the first video I've done with the new camera, which I have yet to blog about. That will come soon, along with another video, probably of Nibbler the guard dog.

I shot more video than photos at the Red Sox game last week because, as I said, Tropicana Field is too dark for good images taken through a telephoto lens.

There's definitely much to be improved upon in this video.

The loud cheers by the crowd were often too loud, which creates that crackling sound you hear at times. I need to explore the capabilities of my microphone.

I'm still figuring out how to hold the camera steady, and, no, I didn't have room for a tripod at the game (but it would have been nice). Carrying around my Nikon digital SLR and my video camera (brand to be named later) has given me a newfound respect for "backpack" newspaper photographers these days.

I also seem to have forgotten the importance of details. They make for good B-roll. But then again, this video is pure B-roll.

And, of course, I wish I had my own video server instead of relying on Viddler and YouTube, both of which introduce graininess. This file is about 280 megabytes after compression and was shot in high definition. It looks great on my computer, but it's quite lacking on the Internet.

Anyway. Just watch it. Humor me, will ya?

New York Mets' Marlon Anderson gloves, dips, dives, recovers

New York Mets first baseman Marlon Anderson did a little tumble once he caught a pop fly Monday during the St. Patrick's Day game with the Washington Nationals.

Play through the above video to see my photos of the occasion.

The wind was blowing fiercely toward the outfield, blowing a ball, which at first seemed bound for the stands behind the Nats' dugout, back into the field of play. Anderson had a difficult time judging exactly where it would come down.

He had the beat on it the whole time and made the catch. But he was backpedaling when he did. And we all know New Yorkers have very little balance when it comes to important things, especially when they get back into a corner (see Eliot Spitzer). So he got tripped up, went to the ground and did a backward somersault on the turf.

But fortunately for the Mets, he held on. Unfortunately for the Nats, he held on.

The Boys of Spring home

Spring training day in photos: I forgive you, Aaron !@#$&% Boone

Aaron Boone looks at me like I'm stupid. He wants to say to me, "Are you serious? I'm trying to sign this bat. Stop taking photos! Let me concentrate! Does this look easy to you?"

Aaron Boone plays catch with Dmitri Young.

Aaron Boone does fielding drills with inferior teammates.

It was day two for me at Washington Nationals spring training. It was day one with my new 18-200mm zoom lens ... with vibration reduction. Some shots came out all right. Others did not. I've learned a lot I can do differently tomorrow.

The position players arrived today, and the workout started a bit late - at 10 a.m. instead of 9:30. I was there for the entire thing. And boy, was it great.

The weather has been warmer than usual, but it isn't humid as it usually is, so it felt like a hot summer day in Maine. It was bearable, but I now have a red face and arms because of it.

The first player I noticed was Aaron Boone, the much-hated former third baseman for the New York Yankees. Much-hated, that is, to Red Sox fans. He was the one compared to Bucky Dent and credited for perpetuating the Curse of the Bambino when he cranked an 13th-inning homer over the left-field wall to give the Yanks the American League Championship over the Sox.

Live and let live, though. He's not working for the Evil Empire anymore. He's a good guy now.

Players split into four groups and scattered first to the batting cages, then to four separate practice fields for situation drills in fielding, hitting and base-running. It reminded me of my high school glory days at second base: The professionals get the same couching in the fundamentals that I did.

Some drills take tremendous mental sharpness. As catcher Johnny Estrada hit, the couch tossing the easy cheese barked out situations, demanding that the hitter react in a matter of seconds and do the right thing with the bat.

"Man on third, nobody out." He drills a fly ball to center field.

"Man on second, nobody out." He grounds a sacrifice to first base.

"Man first, two out." Base hit, right field.

The concessions (above: workers smiling because I befriended them) were surprisingly cheap. Two bucks for a hot dog. Two bucks for a soda. I would rather not pay two George Washingtons for a Diet Coke, but the hot dog was worth it.

As the players were walking off the field, fans again swarmed around them. Mostly, they were bugging Barry Larkin, above, the former Cincinnati Reds star shortstop who works for the Nats in some capacity. I was taking a lot of photos, but I wasn't interested in autographs. But I asked myself, "Why not? Duh, you only live twice. You might as well."

So I paid $8 for a Nats logo-emblazoned baseball and got signatures from Larkin, Boone, wannabe first baseman Nick Johnson (both photos above, also a former Yank), wannabe first baseman Dmitri Young, right-fielder Austin Kearns and shortstop Felipe Lopez.

Man, if I got that many autographs of that great quality, imagine what I could do if I actually tried.

The best part of Friday was when a local ABC sports reporter from Washington asked Young, above, about the meaning of playing in D.C.

"New York is a nice city and everything. That's where all the money is," he said. "But Washington is our nation's capital. There's nothing better than our nation's capital."

Well, it's a close second behind Maine.

Christian Guzman plays toss with a special, nearly pocketless infielder's glove meant to facilitate quick and easy transfer from glove to throwing hand.

Lovable catcher Johnny Estrada models his tats.



Catcher Paul Lo Duca says, "Ball. ... Ball ball ball ball ball ball. Yaayyyyy. Ball."

At least one of the fans at the fence was suspicious of the clicking behind him.

The workout wasn't very physical, but these players found the need to jog. Slow down, guys. You're gonna have a heart attack.

Uh, it's a basket of balls on one of the practice fields.



This is the souvenir trailer where I dished out the eight smackers for a ball for autographs.

The Boys of Spring home