Who are these guys? (Day 6)

Admittedly, I am pretty judgmental when it comes to baseball players. Or really, professional athletes of any sort at any level. I have preconceived notions of what to expect and I respond accordingly.

Now, I am not willing to abandon that altogether. There's a fine line when you're a female in a male-dominated industry between friendly and too friendly. So I like to keep my guard up at all times so no one could ever accuse me of the latter.

I've dealt with my share of douchebags and it's almost led me to the point where I have extremely low expectations for any guy in my own age range. I know plenty of great guys, but really, with the bar set so low, it's not hard for me to change my mind. So that's what makes me think my logic is sound. Really, it's quite rude. I am prejudging people and making assumptions that aren't really fair. But sometimes I feel that's just the way it has to be.

I used to think baseball players were the worst. But I've come to decide that I was too quickly jumping to conclusions. Really, there are a wide variety of young men who are the worst.

I don't want to insult any male readers here, but I just want people to realize that I work hard to try and keep my distance from everything, while still being in the thick of things. I've heard locker room stories that no mother could ever be proud of. I've been asked questions that are by no means appropriate but sometimes I just have to suck it up and laugh it off. I've been prejudged myself, with people most often assuming that I'm not really in it for the baseball. But if you've been reading and you have any doubt in your mind what my intentions are or where my focus is, I don't know what more I can say on the subject.

But the reason I am delving into this topic is because of two players who exceeded the expectations I had. It makes me feel bad for lumping everyone into the same category, but have no fear, I won't be letting my guard down anytime soon.

I was told to be at the ballpark around nine in the morning to start demolishing anything and everything baseball. So I decided to show up a little early and run some laps around the place first. The distance of that track is still an intriguing mystery but for now I will assume it's just as long as I want it to be, meaning that I haven't slowed down too much in my ripe old age of 25.

When I arrived early, Alan was already there. He is, according to the website, the Operations Manager for the Bandits. He tries to keep everyone organized during the games and is a helpful resource. He can be a little intense at times, and sometimes I think he stresses himself out a little bit, but it can be a tough gig to run, so I feel for him. I asked him if I still had time to do some laps and he told me to go ahead, so I did.

As much as I like running around the ballpark, the track was starting to look and feel a little bit repetitive. And every time I ran by home plate, where Steve, the one-man groundscrew, was hard at work, I felt like I was getting in his way. So I decided to run some sprints instead. I hate sprinting and I hate speed training so I am surprised I thought that was a good idea at all. But it was shortlived and after only maybe a half hour of running I went back inside to take instructions for my first task of the day.

Alan filled me in on what needed to be done and I set to work with a pair of wire-cutter/plyer-ish things. Tools aren't exactly my strong point but whatever I was using had the ability to cut zip ties and small wires and that was all I needed. I put my iPod back on and headed to work.

For awhile I wondered if anyone else was actually coming. I was on my own wandering the field, thinking that Whitey, Carl and Gonz were already late. They were in fact not late however, seeing as they never made it there. I saw a couple people make their way to the diamond while I was up around the top of the Showgrounds taking down the Australian and Bandits flags. I was actually having a lot of trouble, and was worrying I might possibly fall down to my death, so I was both relieved and embarrassed that they were there. I was relieved because if I did fall, someone might be able to at least call for medical attention, and embarrassed because, well come on, can't I just take down a flag without looking like an idiot?

I got 'er done though and as you might have suspected, I am still alive and well. Sleep-deprived, but well. So I went back to the field to continue working. With my iPod going full blast I was pretty ignorant to the rest of the world so you can imagine how surprised I was when someone was lurking behind me. And I only say lurking because I like the word. I just think the guy didn't know I was listening to anything.

And so I had my first idiotic moment of the day. Well, I hope it was the first because it was pretty early. The lurker asked what I was listening to. I hesitated and eventually admitted that I was too embarrassed to tell him. I was afraid he would make fun of me. His first guess was Katy Perry, and he admitted to being a fan of hers. Reluctantly I said no, informing him that while there may be some KP on my iPod, I was actually in fact listening to Down With the Sickness, by Disturbed. This may be as much of a surprise to you as it was to him, but he laughed and said it was nothing to be embarrassed about.

My taste in music varies and what I listen to depends on what I am doing. I like to listen to songs like that one when I run and work out and then I like to blast songs that I can sing along to when I'm in my car. There are different musics for different time. Yeah I said musics.

I introduced myself after this awkward first meeting and Jon Durket did the same. He immediately asked if I was American to which I quickly responded in the negative. And when I told him that I'm from Canada, he wanted to talk hockey. The California native is apparently a big Sharks fan. I didn't want to disappoint him and tell him that I'm not really into anything that happens on ice, unless it's a cold pour, and my hockey knowledge is enough to get by any American without question, so I let it ride.

Durket is a southpaw reliever with big dreams and a heart for baseball. I feel for him. He came to Australia to play club ball, to which I haven't thought of anything comparable in Canadian English, so just know that it's a lower level of play than the ABL. The club he came to play for, which I think might be Redlands, but I wouldn't quote myself on that, flew him to Australia and set him up with a host family, so that was a pretty sweet start to his trip I would think.

From his explanation of things, he played for the club team, but really wanted to get a chance to play for the Bandits. And when Redlands (or whoever) was placed into the bottom of two divisions for lack of winning, he was more than happy when he made it onto the Brisbane roster. Prior to being in Australia, Durket was playing in the independent leagues after a college career in Ohio.

When I told him that I work with the Blue Jays, he said something about me making it to the bigs. That was pretty much when I changed my mind about him and in my head he went from the aggregate to the individual. He was genuinely happy for me that I had made it to my highest level of play possible and even had some questions for me. What a guy.

Working on the field with us was another guy, whose name I believe to be Andy, helping us with the takedown. I'm not really sure who he was but he had driven Durket to the park and stayed to help as far as I know. Since Durket was put with a host family when he came to play for Redlands, his location is not as fantastically close to RNA (Ribonucleicacid?) as mine. I think he said he has a 45-minute drive or train ride into the facility. But as much as he wants to be closer to the field he doesn't want to upset his host family by leaving them.

Just when I was thinking we were on our own for the day, Gonzo's truck pulled onto the diamond. He got out wearing jeans and a nice shirt and I told him he didn't look like he was ready to work. I was right. He wasn't staying to help us out. He had other things to do. He'd come to drop off Alex Maestri who did indeed come to lend a hand.

Maestri is the first Italian-born pitcher to have ever been drafted by an MLB team. He was signed by the Cubs and played in their organization for several years until he was released this April. We didn't discuss this but I knew this beforehand because I had been trying to check out the roster to learn as much as I could before I came here. I didn't get very far, but I knew a little about the Italian.

At one point, I asked him if he had been in Toronto for the 2009 World Baseball Classic, to which he answered in the affirmative. I then mentioned that he was playing for the team that defeated Canada, and in combination with the Canadian loss to the US, it put them out of the tournament. And with two straight losses, Canada now has to qualify for the next WBC. I told the right-hander that I place full amounts of blame upon him for this travesty. After all, I don't know anyone else on the Italian national team that I can discuss such things with.

We all spent the day cutting things, folding things, tearing things down, moving heavy things (them with heavier tasks than mine) and talking baseball. About halfway through the day Maestri stopped and asked me if I liked baseball. I didn't really know how to respond. I laughed at first because I thought he was joking. But he wasn't. I started to say no, but Durket responded for me and made my case. I didn't fly all the way out to Australia to wear a mascot costume and do physical labour on the field because I don't love the game.

It may sound like I am complaining, or what I now know to be called 'wingeing' (I don't know about the spelling but that was the only way I could make it look like it sounds, with a soft G), but really I'm not. Or at least I'm not trying to. I love everything I've been doing. I love every minute of it. I wake up excited to head to the park and to see what's in store for me. I don't really know my job title, or if I have one, or if I'll ever get one...but at this point I would love it to be "Doer of all things baseball". I like to get my hands in on everything, even though I make fun of some of the things I've been doing. I am having a great time doing it though. Just to make myself clear, I love it.

It didn't seem like Durket or Maestri minded too much either, placing them closer into the category of normal people than where they had started. I know there are all kinds of different people in baseball. I mean look at Sam Fuld vs. Kyle Drabek for example. Sam Fuld of the Tampa Bay Rays is a Stanford graduate and was an intern with Stats Inc., before he ever made it to the big leagues. Kyle Drabek, of course a Toronto Blue Jay, was drafted out of high school and with a Cy Young Award winner for a father, I assume he had money and prestige long before he knew what to do with it. I don't know either of them personally, though I have met and spoken to Drabek. But I know it's not fair to put guys like these in same category. And I do it anyway.

But the two pitchers were working hard and so was I. Maestri joked at one point that this was the first day he'd ever actually done any work in his life and while I thought that comment was funny, I wouldn't doubt it to be true.

We talked about places they had visited already with their time in the land of Oz. Maestri made me want to head to the zoo, so hopefully at some point I can get there. I don't know where it is but I do know it's where I will find a platypus. And I have been wanting to see a platypus ever since I had a teacher from Australia in third grade, giving us the ins and outs of the place. And the most intriguing part about this continent for me seems to have been the presence of platypi. The guys also told me about the beaches on the Gold Coast, where Surfer's Paradise happens to be. They talked about some of the clubs and bars in the area, but I wasn't really retaining much information. Too focused on finding a platypus.

At the end of our long day, with our bellies full of pizza, I think we all just wanted to head to our respective homes and pass out. For me, this wasn't going to happen. I needed to find a place with Internet so I could write my stories for Baseball America on this year's Bob Freitas Award winners. My deadline was today, but since I am a day ahead here, I have some wiggle room. Have no sympathy for me though, because Durket had to go straight from the Showgrounds to coaching kids for five hours. The thought was not very appealing to me.

So I started my long journey back to my place (a good five- or 10-minute walk I'd say) and got in the shower. The tan I thought I had started on my legs washed right off. Stupid deceptive dirt. I then called Whitey to see if he might be able to help me out with getting the Internet. They have Internet sticks here which are the equivalent to phone cards but for your computer and he'd said to me that he would get me one at some point. I felt bad asking and if I knew where to find one of these magical sticks on my own I would have done so. But instead of just giving me a location, people kept telling me they would just do it for me. Whitey was busy with something and said he would get back to me.

I must have immediately fallen asleep, lights on and everything, because I woke up again when he called me back. Unfortunately though, no luck with the Internet. And I didn't know where to go for it. I had earlier mentioned my dilemma to Carl though and he offered his place for me to do my work if I needed it. I decided to see if the offer still stood, but I felt bad about it. The guy finally gets a day away from me, not having to deal with my problems and take on tour guide duties, and I call him to see if I can come over.

And so I invaded his space once more. I took my computer and headed down the road in a $20 cab ride. Cabs are expensive here. Well, everything is expensive here. I really need to start making some money. But the stories for BA have the potential to make me some money back, so it seemed very worth it. I need to start learning the public transportation system though. Another day.

Not only did I have to use Carl's house and his computer because mine wouldn't connect to the wireless router, but I also made him proofread my work. I'm so demanding. Invading someone's personal space and making them help me with everything all the time in just the first week (not even) of being here is probably not ideal. This could be a very long three-month relationship.

I finished both of my stories in decent time though and sent them away to BA. I also mentioned that if there were anything I could do for BA about the ABL or just anything more I could do, please let me know. I just love writing about baseball.

If you're interested, the Bob Freitas Award winners are to be announced on November 28 (that's in Eastern Standard Time too, don't forget). You should be able to read my stories online or in the magazine so get a copy. Please.

If you've gotten this far, you obviously like my writing. So keep on keepin' on.