A kid who's just seen Santa

Remember when you were a kid and you stood in line waiting for Major League Baseball players' autographs while thumbing your baseball or your card or your 8X10 like the players were some sort of gods, immortals who could shoot laser beams out of their eyes or fly in the air or hit a home run that would go to the ocean even when you were in the Midwestern part of the country? That was me, today, taking a long lunch so I could get autographs from Major League Baseball players. It was a bittersweet experience.

I walked 12 East-West blocks (those are the long ones in DC) under the gray, newly arrived winter sky to a sporting goods store to buy an official Rawlings Major League baseball so Ryan "Brooks" Zimmerman's name could grace its magical cover. Oh, it was a beautiful thing, smooth white leather with 108 red stitches that chased each other around the sphere, a miniature planet that held a life all of its own. I took it out of its plastic case, held it to my nose, and bewitched my olfactory senses with a smell only God and Costa Ricans can create. "Official Major League Baseball, Allen H. Selig, Commissioner" it says, and only the Allen H. Selig allows any negative thought to pass through my mind (and lots of them, might I add.) I hold it in my hand as if it were glass, as if it would fall to pieces if I squeezed too hard. It is a life form in itself, a work of art, a sweet obedient child who never gets up and runs around a restaurant. I've fallen in love with the ball. Which cost $16.99 plus tax. What?!? The last time I bought such a beautiful ball, it was $7.99, came in a cardboard box, and sprouted Barry Larkin's signature (after an incredible experience that I can't believe I haven't written about here.) $16.99 for some dead cow in a plastic cube!?! Give me a break!

I probably would not care had the purpose of the ball been fulfilled. See, Major League Baseball teams have this marketing gimmick called the Winter Caravan, and I was taking an extra long lunch to get Ryan Zimmerman's autograph. I bought another ball for the other players, one that cost $1.99, but for the next Brooks Robinson, I could only have the real thing. The Nationals had advertised that Zimmerman was part of the caravan. I figured that during the only autograph session in DC, he'd show up.

I got to the ESPN Zone an hour and fifteen minutes early, thinking that although the weather was bad and the thing was being held at two in the afternoon when people had to work -- like the Nationals are purposely trying not to have any fans -- there might be a line. I needed to eat lunch anyway, so I ordered some food and waited around.

At 2pm, the Nationals showed up, the Nationals being Manny Acta, the new manager, Mike O'Connor, an injured pitcher, and Nook Logan, the guy who was just named starting centerfielder above the accursed Ryan Church.

It didn't matter much, though, because even though I was disappointed that Zimmerman didn't show up, I still felt like Santa Claus had arrived when the ink from the three Nats settled into my $1.99 ball. After all, these guys are Major League Baseball players, the top 1% of all who try baseball in the world, and they carry the magic of the game with them wherever they go.

Still, when the magic settles and I look at my ball tomorrow with the eyes of an informed adult who is frustrated with how the business side of baseball has taken over the game, I will curse the Nationals and the way Major League Baseball continues to alienate fans at every chance they get. Why wasn't at least one of the bigger names there? These guys get paid millions of dollars a year to play a game. The least they could do is volunteer to give something back to those who pay their salaries -- us fans.

I told Mike O'Connor to get better, Manny Acta we were excited that he's on board, and Nook Logan congrats for being named centerfielder. Mike seemed interested in conversation, Manny like he had practiced responses in a mirror, and Nook like he was being tortured.

I am still thrilled with my autographed ball. God, it smells like Heaven.