The Swells

Seven seasons of Baseball Road Trips, and not once have I written to all of you about how sore my body is. Sure, I've walked miles to get to ballparks and to hotels, but my experiences today make all those pale in comparison. I was tested to the point of physical exhaustion, but it was actually kind of fun.

It was the day of the swim. My mom was doing an open-ocean swim in Newport Beach from the Balboa Pier to the Newport Pier. A few weeks back, I had agreed to paddleboard with her the two-mile swim even though I had never done it before. I figured that if I knew how to kayak, I could get the hang of paddleboarding pretty easily. Heck, I watched a few YouTube videos, researched some Wikipedia articles, what else could you need?

Anyways, we left our hotel here in Santa Ana and drove to the infamous Newport Beach and the Newport Pier. It was a cloudy and overcast morning, so my only concern, really, was the water temperature. When we got to the pier, I saw that the water was a balmy 68 degrees, so that was no longer the problem. However, I immediately felt a sense of dread when I looked out and saw the seven-foot tall swells breaking on the beach. No Wikipedia article could have prepared me to conquer those things. My heart sunk and I became really nervous. 

About ten minutes before the swim started, we all got our boards, but no paddles. Apparently these type of paddleboards don't have a paddle, making them essentially a modified surfboard. I wasn't sure of I had the physical stamina to literally paddle two miles, but I'd figured I'd give it the best shot that I could. 

Then the first swell hit me. BAM!!! I was knocked off my board with a face full of salt water. I lost my hat and my sunglasses. I tumbled around like a load of laundry in the washing machine. I recovered just long enough to take another shot from another swell with the same result. As I was underwater, I calmed my mind and came to the realization that if I didn't figure this out quick, I was never going to make it out past the pier. I buckled down, gave it every effort I had, and managed to get out past the swells about 100 yards from the shore. 

I started to paddle parallel to the beach, but then I looked in the distance and saw the finish line shrouded in fog two long miles away. I was already burned out from getting out here. My arms were burning and my legs were cramping up. I had swallowed enough sea water to last me the rest of the year. I decided to paddle until I ultimately couldn't, then use the surf to take me back towards to the beach. I would walk the rest of the way. I got about a mile down the course before calling it in and using those same swells to deposit me on the beach like some shipwrecked survivor. 

As I began the walk to the finish line, I felt like such a Southern Californian. There is a concrete path that goes along the beach that is lined with million dollar houses. This path was very popular this particular morning with bike riders and walkers. I fit in just fine in my bare feet, shirt off and carrying a surfboard. If only my tan weren't so deficient, I really think I could've passed as a local. 

Walking back actually turned out to be a good thing because along the way, if you can believe it, I ran into somebody I knew from my old track days at the UO. He was out for a morning run, passed me, we recognized each other, and we ended up talking for about ten minutes. Now, if it hasn't been for those damn waves, this would never had happened. Who says karma doesn't exist on Baseball Road Trips?

I finished my walk back to the finish line, met up with my dad who was waiting for us to finish, saw my mom out of the water finishing the race race, and then walked back to our car. I was plum wore out, my feet hurt from walking a mile on pavement with bare feet, but I had a smile on my face. My last time in Newport was a little disheartening, but this experience more than made up for it. 

After getting cleaned up at our hotel, namely washing out the acrid taste of saltwater using Sierra Mist, we made our way to Fullerton to see some relatives and have lunch with them. I hadn't seen this set of relatives in a very long time, and it was great to catch up with them. 

Even up to this past Wednesday, I had planned on going up to LA to see the Dodgers play the Rockies. However, after considering the drive, and the brutal traffic I fought yesterday, I was a bit soured on driving up. I did a little research and found that there was a collegiate summer league team playing in Whittier, which was about twelve miles from Fullerton. I had never been to a collegiate summer league game, and since it isn't professional, I can't enter it into the logbook, but I figured, what the heck? 

At around 4:30, my Mother dropped me off on the campus of Whittier College. The two teams playing were the Bakersfield Sound and Southern California Catch. When I went up to the tent to pay admission, the usher said I could just walk in. This ballpark was tiny, holding maybe thirty people. Consequently, every seat was super close to the action. The seating and ambience I the stadium reminded me of a youth league game I would umpire, but that's where the similarities end.

This particular league is for exceptional college players a place to play with the intention of building talent, but also attracting Major league scouts. Bottom line, for both teams, all these players were specimens. You're getting the "best of the best" when it comes to ballplayers. Case in point, the Bakersfield third baseman was 6-5, 215lbs with a swing that made the ball just jump off his bat. While he went 0 for 2 when I was there, he hit one foul ball that cleared the thirty-foot tall outfield fence, the street running past that fence, onto a been on the other side. It had to have been a shot of 460-feet. The thing was, however, all of the players looked and played like that. To be honest, after sitting through a professional game last night in Rancho Cucamonga that had seven errors, this game was better. 

I was sitting next to a father of one of the players during the game. He explained to me the whole idea of the league, where the players came from, why they were doing this, and how these leagues are structured. Once again, I gleaned some great anecdotal information, established a cordial relationship with the stakeholders of the ballpark and made the experience more enjoyable.

I got to the ballpark at the top of the fifth, but, lucky for me, the game went to extras with the home team SoCal Catch pulling off the 6-5 victory over the Bakersfield Sound in thirteen innings. 

The key phrase to describe today has to be Unique Experiences. Whether it was fighting off the swells or doing that collegiate summer league game, Baseball Road Trips have taken on a life of their own that goes way past ballparks and hot dogs. 

Here is the plan for tomorrow: we will sleep in to a normal hour. I will most definitely jump into the hot tub here at the hotel considering that my feet and upper body are super sore and tired. I'm meeting up with a friend from college at noon for lunch, then we'll make our way out to Lake Elsinore. My parents are dropping me off at the Lake Elsinore ballpark for the game, then picking me up. It should be a busy day, but one that allows for us to get caught up a little bit. 

So, until tomorrow...

Always take on a 3-0 pitch ;)