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dfroewrites, 14 Wood Sorrell Pt, Little Rock, AR (2026)

04/25/2022

Tap The Rock

I started reading Jay Wright’s ATTITUDE just a day or two after his basketball team lost in this year’s Final Four. I have never met him but I have been a long-time admirer of his Villanova basketball program, a school I attended for three years.

Last night I finished it, not at all expecting him to retire while I was reading this book.

Today, I’m going to go back to the pages I dogeared (there are many) to underline and retype the ideas that I really liked in this book that helps you ‘develop a winning mindset on and off the court.’

The one I don’t need to go back to is in the last chapter, when Mr. Wright talks about “tapping the rock,” which comes from the Villanova priest that travels with the team, Father Rob.

From the book; “It’s a line from a poem about a stonecutter. The message is that everyone recalls the strike that breaks a rock apart, yet no one remembers the multiple blows that seemed to do no damage. We tell our guys that each of those first five hundred or one thousand or ten thousand taps are important as the one that finally breaks the rock. ‘Stay focused on the process each day,’ we tell them, ‘even if there appear to be no immediate results.’”

I have not held a full time job since I voluntarily left my amazing job at Auburn University to support my wife’s career.

Part of it is because I am looking for the perfect job, part of it is because I love being able to be so much more involved in our kids lives.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t try. I would love to put my writing and public relations skills to work for the right organization, but I cannot seem to find what I’m looking for.

My ideal? A job I can talk and write about people and events, very similar to the communications job I had with Auburn athletics, maybe without the same hours.

So each day I will continue to ‘Tap The Rock’ with the hopes that the mountain crumbles in my favor.

10/28/2021

First there was George. He arrived on the scene in August of 1900.

Then there was Loretta. She was a few years behind George, making her grand entrance on New Year’s Eve 1907.

In June of 1929, George and Loretta became one, becoming the tree trunk to what I would call my family tree.

George and Loretta Froehlich would raise five children. In order they are: Nord, Ron, Lois, Carole and Charles.

Chip, as he has always been called by his family, arrived on the scene in 1947, a good nine-and-a-half years after Carole.

Some may call him a mistake.

I call him the greatest mistake. I also call him dad.

I don’t know if anyone really wants to have this distinction, but my great-grandfather, William Froehlich, has his own Wikipedia page.

Why?

Probably because he was the 16th Secretary of State for Wisconsin, “an American businessman and a Republican politician.” I believe his portrait still hangs somewhere in the Wisconsin state capitol building in Madison.

He was born in Jackson, Wisconsin, and also ran the Jackson State Bank.

And he also was jailed for embezzlement (the Froehlichs are scandalous!) and was pardoned two years later because the governor said he “did not have the criminal attitude to take advantage of people.” (Froehlich does translate to happy and cheerful after all.)

I have visited Jackson, Wisconsin. It is not a very big place. According to the old reliable Wikipedia, it is 34 square miles large with a population of 6,753 in 2010. In 1920, the population was 230. And though many have speculated, that is not where my oldest son got his name.

I always knew William was the Secretary of State, but that was really the extent of my knowledge of him. Sadly, he passed away in 1942 at the age of 84, five years before my dad was born.

My grandparents, George and Lori, lived in the greater Milwaukee area their entire lives. And my dad did too, until he ventured to the East Coast and big, scary, Long Island, New York.

As dad was the youngest of his siblings by a wide margin, me and my brothers are the youngest of the Froehlich cousins of that generation, and the next generation starts just one year and eight days after my younger brother. And that generation is having children of their own now.

Yup, George and Loretta’s tree has been producing limbs for a long, long time and the soil is still very fertile.

Two weekends ago I traveled north from Little Rock, Arkansas, for a mini family reunion in Milwaukee. My goal, to record some of my family’s history from the people that lived it.

My dad followed his brother Ron’s footsteps into the ministry while aunt Lois would also marry a pastor. But why did Ron choose that path in life? And did he know how much of an influence he would become on my dad, 17 years his junior.

As I sat in that pavilion, I didn’t want to disrupt the catching-up and reminiscing that was going on between family members; aunts and uncles, cousins and spouses; grandparents and grandchildren.

Instead, I wanted to listen and observe.

Two of my cousins, Nancy and Cheri, had driven north from Kentucky for the day, stopping at rest stops that they used to stop at on trips back to Wisconsin when they were younger.

I also learned that day, as they did as well, I believe, that their father (Nord) met their mother (Grace) in the church choir.

And while this four-hour gathering was taking place, me ingesting bits and pieces of family history by simply eavesdropping, my grandfather’s old home movies were playing on a loop, the sights (but no sounds) of simpler times;

My aunt Lois swinging a bat during a baseball game at the family picnic, which my dad would tell me was an annual event that everyone attended;

My grandfather, who me and my brother’s would call pop-pop when we were younger, horsing around with a knife - no a machete - in his mouth;

My dad’s aunt, uncles and cousins all enjoying each other’s company as one big happy family.

The Froehlich side of my family has always been special. My goal now is to record and tell their stories so that the present and future generations will know just how special their roots are.

06/07/2021

On most Sundays the doors at CrossFit Midpoint in Little Rock, Arkansas, are closed. But on Sunday, June 6, Chris Summers, owner and head coach, was more than happy to open them for Aidan Malinowski and Jordan Suarez, a pair of college kids from Port Jefferson, New York, who together formed WOD-USA.

The sport of CrossFit has always recognized the heroism of those in the military, naming numerous “Hero WODs” after those members of the military killed in action. The most famous of these workouts is “Murph”, which is almost universally programmed for Memorial Day weekend.

But Malinowski and Suarez didn’t want to just do a workout and move on, they wanted to take it a step further. So they pointed their Mazda SUV west and headed out on a 29-day, 48-state journey across the US, dropping in at one CrossFit affiliate in each state in the continental United States with the goal of raising money for the Wounded Warrior Project.

“Ever since we were 17 years old and got our (driver’s) licenses we wanted to travel the country,” Suarez said. “We saw people run across the country for charity and we thought if we traveled the country we might as well do it the right way.

“We picked a foundation that is close to our hearts in Wounded Warrior Project,” Suarez said. “Both of us have veterans in our family and it really hit close to home.”

With each gym given the freedom to program whatever workout they wanted, Summers, who served in the US Navy and spent two deployments overseas, programmed the Hero WOD “Falkel.” As it was, WOD-USA happened to drop in on the 77th anniversary of D-Day, when Allied Forces invaded northern France via beach landings in Normandy, giving the time in the gym a little more meaning to Summers and the members that came to support the cause.

CrossFit Midpoint was Gym number 34 on day 21. The previous stop had been CrossFit McAlester in McAlester, Oklahoma and the next stop was CrossFit Trivium in Brentwood, Tennessee.

“We left Long Island on May 17th,” Malinowski said. “Our home box is CrossFit DHP in our hometown of Port Jefferson. We started there with a big kickoff at 6 a.m. and it’s been smooth sailing since then.”

Wounded Warrior Project is a nonprofit organization whose mission is to honor and empower Wounded Warriors. WWP serves to raise awareness and enlist the public’s aid for the needs of severely injured service men and women; help severely injured service members aid and assist each other; and provide unique, direct programs and services to meet their needs.

To donate, visit WOD - USA on Facebook.

05/25/2021

Everyone Needs a Hype Squad
By Dan Froehlich

Back during my first year at Auburn, one of the teams I worked with was the women’s tennis team. Their head coach, Troy Porco, is, undoubtedly, one of the greatest humans I have ever come into contact with. Kind, funny, easy-going. As a first-year, full-time employee, he was the perfect guy to work with.

In this instance, I, unfortunately, also worked with the swimming and diving teams. I say unfortunately only because since swimming and diving was always off winning nattys, the season always ran long and I would miss at least half of the tennis season.

Now, I am not at all complaining about my work with the swimmers and divers. They, to this day, remain some of the greatest individuals I have ever had the pleasure to work with. They too were kind, funny and easy-going while also being some of the most accomplished, dedicated and hard-working people I have ever met. They were scholars. They were athletes. They were Olympians. And they welcomed me with open arms into the Auburn swimming and diving family quickly and fully.

But, that did limit my time at the tennis courts.

As such, I had to have a student help me in the coverage of tennis, and I was fortunate enough to have a young man by the name of Chris Rushing as my guy.

Chris was a quiet kid when I first met him. He never caused trouble, was as reliable as anyone I ever met and he was always willing to learn, to listen or to just plain BS with me.

Working with a sport for the first time on his own, Chris really took to the tennis team. Troy Porco and his squad of women grew to love Chris back.

As was his nature, when the team played on Valentine’s Day, Chris went on his own and purchased flowers for each of the girls on the team. I do not know how they reacted to it as I wasn’t there when he gave them the flowers, but I do hope they saw the kindness and goodness in his heart.

I guess you could say that Chris was the tennis team’s one-man hype squad.

Sadly, Chris would pass away on Christmas 2012. Talk about a tough one to swallow.

But this is not about Chris passing away, but rather one of the greatest conversations and ideas we ever discussed.

It was early in the 2003 tennis season and I was still helping Chris navigate the world of being “the guy” as a media relations contact.

We were out at the old tennis courts on Auburn’s campus, guiding a young Plainsman writer on how to properly cover the team.

As tennis goes, there is a lot of time to sit back, relax, and enjoy the people and conversation around you.

Well, on this day, I came up with a theory, one that I still hold true today.

Behind us in Beard-Eaves-Memorial Coliseum, the women’s gymnastics team was nearing the end of another season. I cannot recall if it was a good season or a bad one, but that is besides the point.

So the three of us, Chris, the Plainsman girl and myself, started musing on the scoring of gymnastics and the reception by gymnasts and their teammates after a routine.

The gist of it was this.

If life was like a gymnastics meet, everyone would be a much happier person and the world would be a much happier place.

Why?

Let me explain, as I did that February day.

In gymnastics, it seems no matter how good or how poorly you did on your routine, or vault or whatever event you were in, you were almost guaranteed to score at least a 9.0 out of 10.

Think about that for a second.

No matter if you did excellent or terribly, you were guaranteed a 90 percent score.

Who doesn’t want a 90 percent on something? I’d take a 90 out of 100 on every test I ever took, every paper I ever wrote, every athletic achievement I ever sought.

And, to top it all off, after you’ve gotten that 9.0, your teammates mob you with hugs and pats on the back, and, it seemed to me, they were always giving out bouquets of flowers.

Who doesn’t want that? You’ve just had a terrible performance but instead of being down, the crowd cheers, you score at least a 9 out of 10 and there are flowers and hugs waiting for you on the other side!

There is no way you could be upset about that.

Like I said, everyone would be happier. You have your own hype squad.

And that takes me to part two of this story.

Two weeks ago I put myself out there in a way I didn’t think I ever would. I entered a CrossFit competition.

Granted, it was a small, local-ish competition for people ages 30-and-up, but for me it was a big step.

It was not a team competition, so there was no one to cover up my weaknesses.

It was strictly me against me and the other people in my division.

There were three events per division, regardless of how many people were in each division.

For the 45-49-year-old bracket, there were four of us fighting for the top spot on the podium.

Event one was a decent one for me. I finished third in the first half of it and second in the last part. I was disappointed in my third-place showing, but very happy in my second-place effort.

Event two was the event I worried about. It featured two movements I am not very proficient in and I knew I was going to struggle to finish. And I did, coming in fourth out of four - and it wasn’t really close.

Going into the last event, I had become friendly with one of the other guys in the division, one that I was chasing, Steve. He had been scoreboard watching and he mentioned if I won the event, he would drop down from first place to a tie for first place.

And event three was a good event for me. It was five moments that I was good at, especially with the weight that needed to be moved.

Steve and I were at opposite sides of the gym and the way the competition was set up, we would be facing away from each other the majority of the 10-minute workout.

With about 90 seconds left, I was able to glance over and see that I was just slightly ahead of Steve, and well ahead of the other two competitors. But that was the last I saw of him. For the last 90 seconds it was all on me to keep him at bay and come away with the W.

What made this competition so great was that the other competitors did a great job of cheering everyone on when they were not competing. And that seems to be part of the CrossFit community, and one that I have grown to appreciate. Yes, we are ‘competing’ against one another, but we are also there to see each other’s successes and to cheer them on.

On a daily basis, I am not in the gym to beat you or to see my name at the top of the whiteboard. I am there to beat me, to better me. Your 10 rounds may be better than my 7 rounds. But my 7 rounds topped my 6 rounds from a year ago. That’s winning in my book.

Fortunately for me, there were three other athletes from my home gym, CrossFit Midpoint, also competing, and a few others that came out to watch and cheer us all on. Whenever someone was up, we made sure to be visible to our fellow Midpoint athletes, encouraging them to give it their best and cheering them on from the sidelines.

As I was the only one in my age group from Midpoint competing, I had all eyes on me during each of my events, my hype crew standing just outside my square, cheering, yelling and encouraging.

They got me through every workout as I put up one of the biggest lifts of my life in event one, got further in event two (by a lot) than I had when I tried it out two weeks earlier (personal win!) and pushed me through the buzzer on event three.

So how did it turn out?

As I lay on the floor when the 10 minutes were up, the woman collecting scorecards came to my square to get mine from my judge. I asked her how far Steve got.

She casually flipped through to find his scorecard.

He had beaten me by four reps.

I was disappointed in myself, but only for a moment.

How could I be upset? I just completed my first competition (I finished third overall) and my hype squad was there for high-fives, words of encouragement and hugs. Not only were Midpoint people congratulating me, but so were coaches and competitors from other gyms.

As I talked to Steve later, I found out that he did what I hadn’t. He told his hype squad to watch me so he would know where he was in comparison to me, and when I (intentionally) dropped the barbell to break up my set, he held on to pass me with about 30 seconds left. The difference between first place and second for me in that event.

As it would turn out, in event one I would actually take second over the second-place overall finisher by one rep. Maybe Tony needed to prep his hype squad too.

All this to say, Chris, I think we (and gymnastics) got it right. Give someone a 9, and they will feel like they hit a 10.

I miss ya buddy. I know you are rubbing elbows with all the Auburn greats up there. Thanks for always handing out 10s to anyone you met.

03/20/2021

MARCH MADNESS

Everyone has their favorite March Madness story.

“I was at the (fill in exciting game here) in (year) and man, that was the best game I’ve ever seen in my life!”

Or, “Dude, remember when (some unknown small-school sharp-shooter) took down (your friend’s favorite team here) in (year)? Yup, I was sitting on the couch when I jumped up, hit my head on the ceiling, sprained my ankle on the landing and said, ‘holy S*, did you see that?’”

For me, my favorite March Madness story is from 1994.

Growing up on Long Island, following college basketball was huge. For the first half of my life I was a huge Georgetown fan. My older brother, Tim, loved St. John’s. My dad, Wisconsin. My younger brother, Pete, and my mom, UConn.

When I went to college at Villanova is when my still-to-this-day love affair with the Wildcats began.

But the 1994 NCAA Tournament will always hold a special place in my heart.

I believe heading into my senior year of high school I had only been to one Big Time college basketball game.

The year was 1992 and my dad had scored some baseline seats for the Miami at St. John’s basketball game at Carnesecca Arena. To get to our seats, we had to walk through the hallway that went right past the St. John’s locker room. I remember this because as we were walking to our seats, Robert Werdann, St. John’s 6-11 monster of a center, walked basically right next to us on his way to the court.

Now remember, I am a Georgetown fan. But I was in awe of the extremely large human ambling towards the court next to us.

Side note; to be honest, I did have a little affinity for St. John’s at the time. Bill Wennington had graduated from LuHi and starred at St. John’s and my dad knew him. So even though, for me, the connection was weak, I still thought it was cool my dad knew a guy playing in the NBA. So I didn’t hate the Johnnies.

I also remember the opponent because it was Miami’s first year in the BIG EAST and as a die-hard BIG EAST fan, we all thought it was a sham that the U was in the same league as our teams. Football school...

And the U had a center, Constantin Popa, a 7-foot-3 freshman from Romania, who was not the best looking guy in the world and was kinda awkward, roaming the paint and getting heckled by the SJU fans all around us.

St. John’s won the game and I was pretty sure I was hooked forever on being that close to the action, which would come into play later in life.

But now back to the 1993-94 school year.

March Madness was coming to the Nassau Coliseum for the First and Second Rounds and Long Island Newsday had an ad where you could mail in a coupon to be put in a lottery to buy tickets to the games.

Always having wanted to experience something like this, I gleefully snipped the coupon out, put it in the mail and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And then finally, in mid-February, I got a letter back saying I had ‘won the right to purchase two tickets’ to the games at the Coliseum.

After reading the letter, I ran straight to my dad’s office and told him, “We won! Can you buy us these tickets now? I’ll pay you back…” [I believe I did pay him back, the full $84 it took to get me into all three sessions. Talk about a bargain!]

When March Madness finally arrived, I got mom to give me an excuse to miss school the day of the First Round and off dad and I went to the Coliseum.

If you’ve never been in the Coliseum, let me describe the sight lines thusly. First, it is 100-percent a hockey arena, home to the New York Islanders, though Dr. J and the Long Island Nets of the ABA also called it home for a time. Best site lines in the country...unless you were sitting in the upper deck behind the goal line. If you were...well, they had monitors hanging down so you could see what was happening on the other end of the ice because not only were you blocked out by the enormous scoreboard hanging down but the luxury suites from above you also slant down in front of you. So, not the best vantage point.

Of course, dad and I were in either the second- or third-to-last row of the Coliseum, behind the goal line. So we probably watched as much of the first session on the tv as we did in front of us.

But we didn’t care, we were having a blast.

I had to go look it up but here were the first three match-ups of the day.

George Washington beat UAB, 51-46.

Second-seeded UConn toppled Rider, 64-46.

Then to open the night session, Penn took down a really, really good Nebraska team, 90-80, in a game that saw the entire Coliseum rocking for Penn.

By the time the last game rolled around, No. 3 Florida vs. No. 14 James Madison, the energy had left the building and the game was playing right to the crowd’s energy. Badly.

The halftime score was JMU 22, Florida 18. And it was not a well-played game.

Having arrived at the Coliseum at 11 am and still being there now, at probably 9 pm, both dad and I were ready to jet.

So when the halftime horn blew, us and about 10,000 of the 11,000 remaining fans left.

Florida would come back to win the game, 64-62, with dad and I getting home to watch the final 5 minutes of the game. A guy named Dametri ‘Da Meat Hook’ Hill was the ‘star’ of the game for the Gators, at least in the fan’s eyes. Hill averaged 12.7 points and 4.9 rebounds per game that year and went for 3 and 1 that night, indicative of how bad the game was. He was given a good Long Island welcome that night by all those who stayed for the game.

When it came time for the Second Round, dad had been basketball’d out and let Pete have his ticket. Florida topped Penn, 70-58 and UConn knocked off GW, 75-63, setting up a Gator-Huskies Sweet 16 matchup in Miami, which UF won, 69-60.

It would only be another six months before I started school at Villanova and became a regular in the student section for a team that would get to as high as No. 2 in the rankings during my sophomore year.

But man, that Thursday in March is one I will never forget.

03/14/2021

ONE CHOICE

I was listening to a rebroadcast of the Dan Patrick Show this morning on my way back from the store.

The topic was: name a food that is your vice that you cannot have just one of.

The host of the day, Ross Tucker, said he could not eat just one Dorito.

I totally agree.

Then the guys on the other side of the glass chimed in with: soup dumplings (the kind you get at a Chinese restaurant), bratwurst and a couple of other things I can’t remember now.

Which got me to thinking. What is one food I cannot eat just one of?

If you really think about it, there are so many choices out there.

Tagalongs (Girl Scout Cookie).

Peanuts.

Just about anything chocolate.

But, following a conversation I had the other day, I would have to go with pizza. Yes, I cannot eat just one slice of pizza.

First, hear me out on this.

Pizza in Arkansas is bad.

No, it’s terrible.

Granted, I am comparing all pizza to that of my favorite pizza parlor’s on Long Island so I am admittedly a very jaded judge and jury.

One thing I have consistently said is that if you are going to have sausage on a pizza it has to be sliced sausage, not the crumbled stuff.

But let me also tell you about this slice of pizza we used to get in Huntington - the cold cheese slice - at Little Vincent’s.

We usually stopped in for this slice well past 2 a.m. after a night of hitting the Huntington bar scene.

The cold cheese slice is a slice of cheese pizza heated up, taken out of the oven and then topped with what seems like a cup or more of cold mozzarella.

Try it and thank me later.

Trust me, you are going to want two of them.

03/09/2021

WE ARE...CRUSADERS...AND WE CAN’T....BE BEAT!

Let me tell you about my high school for a minute.

Long Island Lutheran, or LuHi as it is affectionately known, is a small, private school in the heart of Long Island.

One of the big benefits of going to LuHi is that you are guaranteed to see some of the best high school basketball New York State - and the country - has to offer. My senior year alone, we had the top 6 players all go on to play DI basketball and we also played against some of the toughest competition in the land. A highlight was the day we played Rice Academy, which sadly does not exist anymore, and their stars Felipe Lopez and Scientific Mapp.

Football on the other hand, was not so good. I believe we went 0-6-1 my sophomore year playing in the now-defunct Island Football Conference. That was also my last year playing football. I was too soft mentally at that time to continue playing, which is a shame because the coaches told me I had a future in college if I kept at it. But I didn’t. But boy I wish I had.

Anyway, one of the huge disadvantages of going to Long Island’s basketball factory was that there really wasn’t a true rival for the school. Basketball played a national schedule and football was in what would probably be considered a 1A or 2A conference these days. When I played volleyball we played all over Long Island, Manhattan and Staten Island. I’m not even sure what conference - if any - that was in. And the other sports? I honestly have no idea if they were in a conference.

To the best of my memory, I would say every sport had its own rival, and even that might be a stretch.

There were all the catholic schools on the Island, which if you aren’t from there you wouldn’t understand how big those are. There was St. Dominic’s, St. Anthony’s, Chaminade, Holy Trinity, Kellenberg and a handful of others. Our Crusaders treated them very un-religiously regularly.

The Island Football Conference was small-ish public schools and LuHi and, I believe, Friends Academy, a Quaker Pre K-12 school. Friends was probably five miles away from LuHi, but they were a bunch of Quakers! Quakers can’t be rivals with anyone, am I right?

So what does all this have to do with anything?

Well, having lived in the South for more than two decades now, I have seen high school sports in a different light.

When I was in school at South Carolina I went to my first high school football game where tickets were needed and there were more than the 50-100 friends and parents lining the field. Instead the crowd was well over 1,000 people.

Then during 17-years in Auburn I learned all about big-time high school football. Auburn High football is something totally foreign to this proud LuHi alum. And the salaries that go along with high school football...stunning, to say the least.

But again, where am I going here?

How about last night.

Jackson, a freshman, made the varsity soccer team at his high school, Pulaski Academy, here in Little Rock.

Apparently, Pulaski Academy and Little Rock Christian Academy are real rivals and last night they battled it out on the pitch at LRCA’s home field.

No, the crowd wasn’t big but it sure was boisterous.

When the PA girls scored the game winner with just over 2 minutes left in the game preceding the varsity boys game, you would have thought the Hogs had just beaten LSU.

And then when we got into the stands, it was cool to see so many of the PA students there to support their friends - and give the LRCA boys a good heckling.

PA came from behind to win, 2-1 (LRCA’s goal came on a PK after a TERRIBLE handball call in the box).

But what made the night so fun was being a parent in that atmosphere, cheering on “our school” and “our team” to a win, razzing the ref (Cole and I may have jumped in on that too) and just hearing the sounds of kids being kids.

A is back on the pitch tonight against Central, the largest public school in the city, so I am not expecting the dub. But we will be there anyway, cheering our guys on!

Let's go Bruins!

(Jackson is #14, second row from the bottom all the way on the right)

03/03/2021

DAY 10 - NOW PITCHING FOR THE MILWAUKEE BREWERS

As you should know by now, I love baseball. The Mets are and forever have been my team. During my decade of working with the Auburn baseball team, I always wanted the Mets to come in and draft one of our guys. Sadly, that never happened.

Ironically enough, however, one of the head coaches at Auburn, Tom Slater, who I worked with for four years, is now in his fourth season as the assistant hitting coach for the Mets.

That, my friends, is pretty cool.

But this story is not about the Mets.

No, it’s about Spring Training, the Chicago White Sox, the Los Angeles Dodgers and Camelback Ranch in Glendale, Arizona.

To get to Glendale, let me give you some background.

Throughout my years of working baseball, I had become email friends with multiple big league PR people. Some I regularly exchanged emails with due to us having guys in their farm system or on the big league club. Most times it was just for photos but I feel like the baseball media relations fraternity, be it MLB, MiLB or college, is pretty accommodating to each other.

The Chicago White Sox was one of those teams.

Early in the 2010 season, we were playing at Arizona State and, as I did on every road trip, I tried to maximize my time in different cities.

Playing at night on both Friday and Saturday, I reached out to a couple of clubs with former Auburn players in their minor league systems and asked if I could get a credential to come out to spring training to see some of “my guys.”

The White Sox PR guy, who is one of the nicest people I have ever met, was happy to oblige and told me to come out on Saturday and he would tour me around the facility, Camelback Ranch, in Glendale.

Scott could not have been more hospitable to this college baseball SID that he only knew through emails.

- He brought me into the big league clubhouse where I got razzed by A.J. Pierzynski, a Florida fan, for my Auburn gear.

- He took me to the big league fields, where Harold Baines called Frank Thomas ‘The Big Skirt’ and laughed after seeing my Auburn shirt and asking me who played there that he would know. He didn’t laugh as much when I reminded him that Bo Jackson played there too. Or Jake Peavy, who happened to be throwing off the mound as this conversation took place.

- He dropped me off on the back fields, where one of ‘my guys’ was going through minor league spring training, and told me to enjoy the rest of my day and take advantage of the credential.

Two things here.

First, I have learned over the years that if you have a credential, you should always - ALWAYS - test the limits of that credential. You may end up in the Baseball Hall of Fame reception with every living member of the hall (yes that happened). Or they may stop you before you even get to an elevator that you are supposed to be on (has also happened - many times.)

Second, the White Sox share Camelback Ranch with the Los Angeles Dodgers.

Now, back to March 13, 2010.

After Scott dropped me off and wished me well, I wandered through the back fields and made a trip to the Clubhouse Store to get a t-shirt for me and Jackson.

Then, as I was leaving the clubhouse I thought, ‘huh. I’m here. Let’s check out the Dodgers side.’

So I wandered over to the other side of the complex, hit the building where the front office was and asked if the PR guy I had emailed with there was in town.

Unfortunately he wasn’t, he was in Taiwan with most of the big league club for a three-game exhibition series with the Chinese Professional Baseball League. But, the woman at the front desk told me, since I had the pass from the White Sox it was good for the entire facility and I was free to roam their side as well.

Not knowing where to go and not having a player in their system, I found where the crowd was and went to that side field.

It was not all that exciting as it was mostly pitchers taking cuts in the cage. Clayton Kershaw was not there but Hiroki Kuroda and Jeff Weaver were.

I watched until they finished and then after they left the field I walked away too. Only, instead of walking with the fans I found myself ‘between the lines’ as they say, walking inside the ropes as if I was a player. No one asked for my autograph but I did get people looking at me wondering who I was.

Hey, my credential said I belonged!

Anyway, as it was clear their day was winding down I decided it was time to wrap it up and head back to the hotel.

On my way out, I found a back staircase and took it.

Wrong! (Or maybe it was right!)

After I got to the bottom, I was faced with three tunnels, one of which had a photog taking head and action shots of Dodgers players.

I avoided that one.

The next two seemed to have daylight in them so I picked one and headed out, thinking I was getting to the parking lot.

Wrong again!

This time, as I walked out, I was definitely in the sunshine.

But I was also in the Milwaukee Brewers bullpen!

You see, the White Sox were hosting the Brewers that day but fortunately, it was still about 60 minutes from first pitch, so I was actually the only one in the bullpen. [In Arizona, since the sites are so close, most teams just show up to play and don’t do the normal pre-game stuff at the field - at least that was the case 11 years ago.)

Anyway, there I was, alone, in the Camelback Ranch visitors bullpen, literally frozen in place.

What was I to do?

Surely, I could just turn around and walk back out the tunnel, up the steps and find another way out.

Or….

I could announce myself as coming into the game, walk out of the bullpen into the outfield - and then quickly hustle off the field before Scott from the White Sox saw the idiot he gave a pass to out in left field.

I think you know which option I chose.

dfroewrites

04/25/2022

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