Well, The reason I have neglected you, the Bellhorn faithful, for so long is because I was busy down in Florida meeting the man himself.

The whole weekend was incredible. For a girl like me, three days of nonstop baseball is nothing short of nirvana. I love baseball. I love baseball. I don't know how else to put it. From the first time I stepped into Yankee Stadium at the age of 6,(that was my first ballpark, but the sox were playing, so calm yourselves.) it has always stirred so much emotion. The feelings haven't changed, and won't. I was just as excited stepping into the trop last Friday as I had been the first day at the stadium and (the countless other games I've attended in the last twelve years). I subscribe to the philosophy of Annie Savoy and the great Bill Lee that walking into a ballpark is like walking into a church. Baseball is a religion.

But enough about my philosophies, there were some baseball games played! The first game, as you all know, was the game of the infamous Perez homer after the Sox had climbed back into the game a half inning earlier. It was a great game until that point, but on the meeting players front, the night was uneventful. The big pre-game event of the night, much to my dislike, was being hit on by a middle aged FSN Florida reporter. Bellhorn had a good night. He actually had a great weekend, save for Sunday.

The second night, now that was an incredible night. Pre-game I made my way down to the sox dugout where I watched the boys take batting practice (which Mark doesn't seem to do...ever...maybe it's time to start). As the boys returned form sprints and stretching Mark saw that I had his jersey up on the dugout (I had put my stuff up there.) He smiled and waved and all was great. My knees got a little weak, I have to admit, but hey. I didn't expect him to pop up in front of me, and ask for a pen my jersey, while flashing me a rare (and very nice) grin. I obliged and gleefully handed the shirt over to him. We talked for about a minute before people caught wind of there being a ballplayer in the vicinity. He only signed one more thing, for a little girl, thanked me for "supporting" him, kept on grinning and ducked back into the dugout. It was then that I was kicked out of my seat, and when I retreated back tot he terrace box clutching my jersey, everybody I was with got more excited than I seemed. It was kind of surreal, but after the fact, thinking back, I'm suprized I wasn't reduced to a puddle of goo. Now when I think about it I get excited, then I was just shocked and happy. He was a sweetheart though and I was so happy he wasn't a jerk. Thats what seems to happen with athletes, or so I hear. All the players I've met have been very very sweet. This should be bigger, but I met Kevin Millar as Bellhorn went back into the dugout. He was incredibly friendly and incredibly personable. Probably the friendliest ballplayer I've met. He just seems perpetually happy and upbeat. I like that. He told me one day he'll have Bellhorn smiling like he had been talking to me all the time. "My new project," he said.

On the third day, I found a seat by the dugout and was able to stay the entire game. That was the day of the brawls. Let me tell you, being so close to Nixon with that bloodthirsty look in his eye is quite the experience. He's like a wild animal out there. But hey, If Brazelton clawed my face, and I were as big as Trot, I'd have gone after him too. That day I had a chat with Gordon Edes (of Boston Globe fame). It was short, but as an aspiring journalist, it was kind of cool. After the game I got to talk to Dale Sveum and Billy Mueller. I had met Mueller before. He's really a nice nice guy.

The sox won game three, and all was good. I went to the hotel and left for Providence the next morning and that was all she wrote.

Until next time,

Cheers