Let's Get This Show on the Road!
“Dig! Dig! Dig! Dig! Nice!” exclaimed TC as I ran out a bunt single in practice. “Good job Caruso!”
I smiled as I headed back towards the batting cage to a chorus of applause from the fans in attendance. It was Spring Training and I was just happy to be there in Port St. Lucie with the rest of the New York Mets.
“Lookin’ good Caruso!” a fan yelled from the fences so I turned and tipped my cap to him with a smile.
It was a refreshing moment for me after busting my hump for so long. Sure, I was with the Mets last season for Spring Training, but I knew I was just there to put some work in. This season though, with Jose Reyes gone I had an opportunity to earn my place and becoming a pivotal part of the Mets infield at shortstop.
The circumstances were surely steep. Playing in New York was like nowhere else. The pressure the media, fans and teams put on you is unmatched. If you fail, they will never let you forget it. But if you succeed, you’re a demigod in the eyes of all.
Of course, playing a position where the crosstown New York Yankees’ most legendary player, Derek Jeter, held down now for 17 seasons was a steep enough comparison to be faced with for potentially the rest of my career. Despite this, I was relishing at the opportunity.
“How you feeling kid?” Ricky Bones asked as he stood next to me.
I shrugged, leaning up against the fence as my competition, Ruben Tejada took some cuts. “I’m feeling good. I think we have a good team this year coach. Everyone’s underestimating us, that’s inspiring.”
He chuckled. “Inspiring?”
“When someone doubts you, there’s no better feeling than proving that doubter wrong. The media, the fans out there who don’t believe in us…it wouldn’t feel any better than making them eat crow this year.”
I made a face and nodded his head, placing his hands in his pockets and watching Tejada swing away. Tejada was a good prospect with Major League experience. I didn’t have that. He had 544 at-bats under his belt; I had 12. It was incomparable, but I wasn’t going to let that stand in my way. We were in a position battle and experience didn’t mean a damn thing as far as I was concerned.
Suddenly, the ball cracked the bat…TC—our manager Terry Collins—called for him to lay down the bunt and he did cleanly.
“Dig! Dig! Dig!” TC screamed.
A collective groan came from the crowd, however, as David Wright nailed him out at first.
“Good try, son! Good try!”
I just smirked.
The first day of Spring Training was a positive one and I felt good about what I was able to show. It was going to take more of that though to earn my place on the Mets opening day roster.
“Vinny! Vinny!” a group of kids waiting outside our Spring Training complex yelled as I exited the building.
I smiled, raising my sunglasses to the top of my head and placing my blue Mets duffle bag down. Taking one of the kid’s Sharpies I said, “What’s up guys?”
They were just happy to have my autograph, and that was a nice feeling. I’m fairly certain most of them didn’t really know me. Half of them were just tools for their fathers’ benefits, but I was okay with that. My crude stare at them as I signed their child’s item was indicative enough for them of what I felt about them. I couldn’t be bothered with people selling my stuff though—it is what it is.
“Would you sign this for me please, All Star?”
And then I froze. Before me stood a lovely vixen, her attire leaving little to the imagination. I did my best to keep the drool in my mouth. Her straight, dark brown hair flailed in the wind gently and her devilish grin sunk my heart into my stomach. She was tall, maybe 5’7”, but slender, with a pair of the best legs I had ever seen. Piercing ice blue eyes peered over the top of her sunglasses.
I smirked, taking her baseball and pen. But as I went to sign, I found someone else’s autograph already on the ball:
Missy Jane Robbins
407-440-1933
I looked up at her.
“I like sushi,” she said.
I chuckled, slightly nervous because this was an awkward situation, what with everyone standing there watching us. Without another word, she turned and walked away, leaving me more to admire.
I looked over at an older man standing there, possibly trying to read my thoughts, maybe even wishing he was me at the moment. I shrugged it off looking at the baseball in my hand again. And just laughed.
It was baseball season again.
