It takes too long sometimes with each game report to write about every little thing. So here are some of the outtakes from the Spring Training trip.

At the Peoria Sports Complex watching the Guardians play the Mariners, we were sitting in seats 23 and 24 in Row GG. Just a few minutes before the game was scheduled to start, a guy dressed in full NY Mets gear comes walking down the row, and as he gets closer to me he's counting the seats out. He gets to my seat as he says "23", and then announces with what I unmistakably identify as NY arrogance, "You're sitting in my seat, man!" I look at him and realize I've seen his type at Yankee Stadium numbers of times. So I say to him, "I don't think so, man," with the same exact NY arrogance, something I don't ordinarily use. He then proceeds to go on a rant about how he usually sits in seat 1 or 2, but today for some reason they put him over here on this side of the row, as he proceeds to pull out his ticket. Meanwhile I am getting out my phone because my tickets are digital. Before I've managed to get my phone out, he's got his ticket out, and he proceeds to put it in front of my face, saying, "This is my ticket, man. Can you read that? What does it say right there?" The sense of triumph is clearly in his voice. I look at the ticket, smile, and say, "Yeah, I can read that man. And it says you have seat 23 in row HH. This is row GG." He stops, looks at the ticket, says "This is Row GG?" "Yeah man, that's right. And you're in Row HH. Says so right on the ticket." He looks at the ticket again, and then gets all flustered, makes about 5 excuses as to why he got it wrong, but finally says "I apologize." I say, "No problem, man. There's your seat right up there. Enjoy the game." In the end he actually goes up one more row so as not to sit directly behind us (the section was pretty empty). He doesn't say another word the rest of the game. What can you expect from a Mets fan?
I mentioned at the Athletics/Rangers game the two families in front of us traveling together who consumed a lot of food. At one point in the game, a foul ball came over the net, and I yelled out "Can of corn over there." The woman sitting in front of me between her two boys turned to me and said, "What does that mean 'can of corn'"? I explained to her that a can of corn was baseball slang for an easy pop fly. She smiled and said, "I like that!" Of course, the teacher in me was unable to resist explaining to her the origin of the story. Grocers in the late 19th century used to tip the cans of corn stacked on the highest shelves with a hook or stick and then catch them for customers. The phrase didn't make it into baseball slang until around the 1930s. Made her day. She and her friend then went to participate in the pony jumping race in the 4th inning. She lost.
Just to emphasize how bad the vibe was at Tempe Diablo Stadium, the only good thing about where we were sitting was the proximity to first base. Traditionally, after warming up the other infielders before the start of an inning, the first baseman will take the ball he's been tossing to the other infielders and toss it into the stands. The same is true if the third out is recorded by the first baseman; generally he will toss the ball into the stands on his way to the dugout. Two balls came my way, but each time when I though I had it, it got snatched away. The guy in front of me who was there with his wife and father got the first one after it ricocheted off his wife's hands. The second one was right at my feet, but as I went to grab it the lady next to me got her hands on it as well. The gentleman in me let her have it rather than pulling it away. I probably would have found a kid to give it to anyway.
The best meal we had while in Chandler was at this little hole-in-the-wall Mediterranean Greek place we found completely by accident. We tried to get into a place called Florendino's near downtown Chandler. It was a Monday night, so we did not think it would be too bad, and didn't make reservations. When we got there, the place was packed with seniors - I mean wall-to-wall. All these people looked like they just came back from a round of 18 or the pickle ball court. I hadn't seen so many typical "gated community" retirees in one place before, so I was taken aback. I went inside to check on the wait time, and it was 50 minutes. I made the assumption that was probably not going to be the case, so I left and went back to the car. We had traveled about 7 miles to get to this place from the hotel, and it was coming on sundown. We saw this small Mediterranean place on the map, so we decided to head there and take a shot. It was the size of your average mall deli, but it was empty. We ordered at the counter. AML loves gyro, so she got that, while I got the grilled lamb kebobs. Delicious food, generous portions, served with a nice salad (a little too much dressing maybe) and a side of rice or fries. The food came within 15 minutes. There must have been 6 or 7 Door Dash drivers who came in to pick up orders, so it's clear the place survives on takeout. AML raved over the gyro - thin sliced, tender, flavorful. The lamb was well grilled with red and green peppers. Quite a lucky find for us!
In the hotel we stayed at (the worst Hampton Inn I've ever been in), there was this older gentleman whom I noticed every morning at breakfast. He walked with a cane, slowly, and appeared to be there alone. Dressed in a black-and-white checkered flannel shirt and jeans, he had his cell phone on a clip attached to the back of his belt. I believe it was on the third day, heading for the Freeway Series, as we were packing ourselves into the car, that he came up to us and asked, "You Yankee fans?" He had noticed the NY Yankee license plate holders I had on the car. I said that we were, and that we were taking in some spring training games. He said, "I'm a lifelong Red Sox fan," to which I said, "Well you can leave now if you want before it gets ugly up in here." I laughed, he laughed, and we had a great time talking about the "best rivalry in all of sports" and going through all our favorite players from years past on both teams. On the day we left, I dropped my sweatshirt on the ground outside the main entrance as I was leaving for the car. He was out there, had picked it up, and was trying to find out who it belonged to. I came up to him to claim it, and as I approached him, he realized it was mine, and swiftly put it behind his back. "I'm not here to do any favors for Yankee fans" he declared. I smiled and had no comeback at all but to laugh. As he gave me my sweatshirt back, he asked about the game I had seen, and I gave him all the gory details. While we were talking, I could not help but notice the twinkle in his eye as he listened. All I wanted to do in that moment was take him out to lunch and have a few beers and chat and learn about his life. I had a hunch he was actually living in the hotel, but I didn't ask him. Perhaps it was better for him than assisted living, as he got to see new people every day come and go, and probably managed to strike up conversations with them. Plus free breakfast every morning. I left hoping that, in another 10-15 years, I could be as alert, active, and content as he seemed to be. Sharing a few baseball memories with another old-timer is, to me, what this game is all about. Baseball is life.