He missed the forest for the raindrops

My brother’s yearly accounts of his trips to baseball spring training in Florida always arrive here in Maine like a breath of early spring, a much-needed ray of sunshine that cuts through the gloom of late winter.

But as he told me on the phone from New Jersey the other night, this year turned out to be a real bust. The rain started the moment he, his baseball-mad young son and our sister had landed at Port St. Lucie, home of the New York Mets training camp. Torrential, he told me. It rained most of the time they were there. They couldn’t even watch the players go through their drills. What a disappointment.

That’s tough, I said.

It got so bad, he said, that while the three of them were sitting in a restaurant and watching the rain fall sideways in the night, the poor youngster put his head down and began to weep silently. The trip he’d looked forward to for months was turning into a disaster. But just then, my brother said, Carlos Beltran, the Mets’ new star outfielder, walked by. He was alone, and had just finished dinner. He said, sure, he’d be more than happy to wait while my brother ran out to the car to get a couple of baseballs for him to sign. Beltran hung around for a while, in fact, just chatting away about baseball and brightening the boy’s day immeasurably.

That’s pretty cool, I said.

It was, my brother said, but it was all downhill after that. The next day, wouldn’t you know it, the rain came down in buckets and forced the ballplayers indoors, where the fans aren’t allowed. His son was crestfallen.

Bummer, I said.

You’re not kidding, said my brother, who then told me how lucky they were to have met a longtime equipment manager for the Mets, a real great guy who kindly gave the boy an official team ball cap. Later, a nephew and his buddy, who are in their 20s, also showed up in town to catch a few spring training games. My brother introduced them to the equipment manager, who asked them if they would like to serve as bat boys for one of the Mets games. So they got to sit in the dugout between Beltran and Mike Piazza, the catcher, and hear all the insider stuff.

Fantastic, I said.

But the rain was truly depressing, grumbled my brother, who said pretty much the same thing to the TV news crew from New York.

You got on TV?

Yeah, he said, and we were interviewed for a Florida paper, too.

That must have been interesting, I said.

It was, he said, although a little sunshine would have been nice. But meeting Pedro Martinez was fun.

You met Pedro?

Yeah, said my brother. The former Red Sox ace was walking along with his security people around him as a large crowd of admirers trailed behind, shouting his name. My brother said his son just ran through the crowd and right up beside Pedro, who smiled down at the kid. Pedro was wearing a blue fielder’s mitt – he used to wear a red one when he was with Boston – and he held it out so the boy could reach inside and take out the baseball, like a jewel, while all the other fans cheered and snapped pictures of the moment. It was like a scene from a movie.

What a great memory for a kid, I said.

Definitely, said my brother, except that it started raining again an hour later.

I feel for you, I said. You are planning to go back next year, right?

Of course, he said, but I hope the weather is better. I couldn’t stand having another trip ruined by rain.