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.

At ballgame, getting money's worth is a matter of opinion

Nationals teammates greet Brad Eldred, who hit the game-winning home run.

Fans celebrate the end of the game.

In an effort to do something constructive with my time off - in other words, to stimulate the economy - I took in a Washington Nationals spring training game against the Houston Astros.

And man, did I pay.

I'm a huge fan of baseball but not of watching it from cheap seats. That's why I sprang for the $20 box seat on the third-base line. That, of course, is after the $5 parking fee.

And that's when one realizes that, in a time of great economic hardship and declining consumer spending, who in his right mind would pay $20 for a ticket to an exhibition game?

Lonely me, that's who.

Yes, I went alone to Space Coast Stadium and sat in the third row for the nighttime game. I didn't drink beer. I didn't eat a hot dog. The only conversation I had was when a woman sitting two seats down said, "Well, that's one way to do it," when I climbed over the seatback from the empty row behind me, the easiest way to access my pricey hard-plastic folding chair. I said, "Yep."

And that was that. Not a word out of me from then on.

With the Nationals scoring five runs in the first inning - including some power hitting - and the Astros scoring throughout the game to catch up, I thought I might be getting my money's worth.

When the action slowed - the Nationals only scored one more run in regulation - two drunken fans behind me provided comedic relief. They didn't know each other: One called the other "The Cuban," apparently because he was somewhat Hispanic, and The Cuban called the other "Ankiel" because of the Rick Ankiel Cardinals jersey he was wearing. Their banter boiled down to a bunch of "your mother" jokes and climaxed with The Cuban using Ankiel's cell phone to call Ankiel's mother. I needn't say more.

But like most acts these days, their comedic stylings were profane. They drove off the young family sitting in front of me. "We've got a baby here," another mother said. And after multiple ushers and the sheriff's deputy gave them warnings, the cursing funnymen were kicked out.

After they drove everyone else from my section and after the drunkards themselves were ejected, the reality set in: I had paid $20 for a game in which beer was more important than baseball. Before he left, The Cuban said he paid $8 for a ticket and found an empty $20 box seat, where he carried on his drunken ramblings with another drunken ticketholder.

I had been duped.

But then the Astros scored in the ninth inning, forcing the game into overtime. This is promising, I thought. I was getting more for my money.

Then, in the bottom of the 10th, Washington's Brad Eldred, a native Floridian, cranked a pitch into the left-field cheap seats. The 2-run walk-off homer gave the home team an 8-6 win.

The rest of the Nationals greeted Eldred at home plate, gave him high-fives and jumped up and down. How exciting. Well worth the 20 bucks.

But I couldn't avoid thinking that someone who paid $12 less caught that ball.

Man, I was taken for a ride.

The third-base umpire makes small talk with Astros outfielder Darin Erstad.

Astros outfielder Darin Erstad makes small talk with the third-base umpire.

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.

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