Ain't no training this spring

DeJuan C3PO
Fly Scribe

Bitches, it is some kind of hot in Arizona. And it gets hotter when ain’t nobody around.

That hobo Marv sent me on another assignment this week, and I was damn excited about it – Spring Training in Arizona! I was going to hit up all the finest hot spots – Scottsdale, Flagstaff, Phoenix, etc., and hopefully find some beautiful tanned belles with whom I could explore the desert wildlife. Dog, I figured they would be flocking to me, cuz I would be a ballplayer! You know how these journalists all go to spring training and pretend they’re on the team, riveting us with those first-hand accounts of flyball drills and wind sprints? Well, that is what DeJuan was ready to do.

Problem is, there is nobody here. I reported to camp on time at the buttcrack of dawn, 6:30 a.m. to the California Angels camp in Tempe, with my baseball cap, socks, glove, cleats, aluminum bat, flip-down shades, hoodie, bag of 15 baseballs, packet of Big League Chew and extra set of flip-down shades. Do you know how early 6:30 a.m. is? And I had to wake up at 6 a.m. so I could get there on time. It was the worst day of my life.

I expected to be among a fleet of non-roster invitees doing the meet and greet with a bunch of famous superstars, but all I got was a damn uncomfortable physical exam and some sit-ups with a bunch of Double-A cats. Dog, do I look Double-A to you? I am at least worth three to four A’s.

I was hoping people would mistake me for Vlad The Impaler Guerrero or Reggie Willits and ask for my autograph. Shit, at spring training, nobody knows if you’re a real ballplayer or not – they just ask for your autograph if you’ve got a jersey on. I figured some of those Arizonan beauty queens would want me to sign their midriffs, and I would comply, on many lovely conditions. I was going to be fawned over and loved upon. Instead, nobody was even there – not even the damn grounds crew. I couldn’t even get into the utility shed to take a joyride on the infield tractor thing.

I thought maybe I got the wrong time, so I waited around until 6:30 p.m. hitting baseballs off a tee into the Tempe afternoon. I’m not gonna lie, bitches, I got lonely. DeJuan does not do lonely. Chasing after those 15 balls got damn annoying after a while.

So forget this. I’m flying back to Cali where I can follow Spring Training in the newspaper just like everyone else. Now that I know all baseball players are lazy and don’t actually report to Spring Training when they’re told, I think my opinion of the game has changed. Screw that. It’s NBA All-Star game for me, bitches.