Sailor on “shore leave” enter the Sox’ southern domain.
Friday, 27 February
George makes the left turn off Daniels Parkway and rolls down the driver’s window to hear what the attendant has to say. As expected, the man with the orange flag in his hand and red “B” on his cap says, “That’s right, ya pahk ohva thaih.”
The Highlander passes cars with tags that proclaim “Live Free or Die,” “Spirit of America” and “Ocean State,” then rolls to a stop on the green grass just outside Practice Field #5, in the virtual shadow of Fenway South at Jet Blue Park (or is it the other way around?). Lest there be doubt, this is the spring training home of the Boston Red Sox.
Fox Sports analyst Ken Rosenthal hopes for inside info from Manager Farrell.
For fans of any major league team, there’s nothing like the atmosphere that surrounds spring training. Every manager likes his team’s chances in the division. Every batter thinks he’ll hit .300 with 30 homers and 120 RBI. Every pitcher plans to win 20. Nobody talks about August injuries. Every fan thinks “World Series.”
None more so this year, perhaps, than those who follow the Sox. These, remember, are the Sox of whom great things always are expected and, recent years notwithstanding, seldom realized. But in this especially cold, bleak New England winter, with Boston buried under snow piled higher than Big Papi, the Sox offer hope. The problem with the Bruins and Celts is that they are as much a part of winter as the nor’easters bringing ice and snow. Not so the Sox, Boston’s Boys of Summer! Any dispatch from Florida warms the heart of New England like a well-stoked furnace.
David Ortiz waits his turn in the batting cage.
Yes! There is hope. Winter will end. Spring will follow. An-dah, there will be cold Sam Adams on a sticky August night at Fenway.
This day, into the adoring throng, venture four intrepid sailors, three of whom no doubt feel as if they’re visiting a strange planet where no “R” is ever spoken, where all must wear navy and red.
“Oh, that Nava kid has a sweet swing,” says one of the natives. “I hope they keep him.” Others comment one of the “new guys,” Pablo “Panda” Sandoval, and the return of Hanley Ramirez.
Pablo Sandoval offers an opinion to Dustin Pedroia while “Skip” listens in.
“Pedey” takes his turn in the batting cage, then “Panda,” each swing examined and analyzed by manager John Farrell and fans clutching the chain link fence behind home plate. There’s polite interest but the entertainment value increases exponentially when “Papi,” David Ortiz, steps into the cage.
On his final turn this day, Ortiz rockets the first three pitches into the outfield. Then the fireworks begin. Boom! Bang! Socko! And so forth. Five straight pitches are launched deep beyond the right field wall. The crowd responds with cheers and applause. Papi smiles and bows from the waist.
The day’s work-out ends. Players disperse. Fans retreat, compare notes, share hopes.
Some no doubt leave to board a Jet Blue to Boston, back to the cold and snow to tell friends, “This is ah yeah,” words to warm New England hearts through what’s left of winter.
Opening day is just a few weeks away.
Go Sox!
Steadfast out.
At Sea with Steadfast 
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