Hope springs eternal
Baseball opens its annual start in Valley of the Sun
As February turns to March, spring settles into the desert, a welcome friend that unfurls a dazzling rainbow-colored carpet of wildflowers over dusty plains and hillsides.
With the rest of the country huddled under snow-heavy clouds, sunshine and warmth arrive in Phoenix, allowing the season known for fresh starts to slowly get in shape before moving on to bigger things.
Yet for anyone who’s lived in the Valley for more than a few years, clear skies and mild temperatures are hardly the best thing about spring.
The season truly shines between the foul lines, blossoming on an emerald diamond where dreams – for titles, or merely jobs – are rooted.
Baseball’s spring training in Arizona is like no other sport’s exhibition season. For four weeks, games play out across the Valley at parks that provide an intimacy not available at stadiums.
The languid atmosphere lures those who love the sport as well as people who are casual acquaintances there for the food and drink and conversation. Baseball lends itself to personal connections, which is no more obvious than during spring training when the experience, rather than the final score, is the most meaningful outcome.
Once settled into a seat under a sky so blue it appears to be digital effect, it’s easy to think spring training in the desert has been around as long as baseball.
Yet it only goes back to 1947 when two owners motivated by differing interests brought their teams to Arizona. Until then, Phoenix fans had to wait for baseball’s springtime barnstorming tours to come through. Teams arrived by train, played a few exhibition games and were gone as quickly as they came.
The Cactus League seeds were planted by Bill Veeck and Horace Stoneham, owners of the Cleveland Indians and New York Giants.
Veeck moved the Cleveland Indians to Tucson from Florida, believing Arizona more tolerant of integration (as he wrote in his biography “Veeck as in Wreck”) with black players becoming a bigger part of the game.
Stoneham was charmed by the Buckhorn Mineral Baths in Mesa, believing the alleged restorative powers of the waters would be perfect for his team. He stayed believing in the restorative powers of the state’s future growth, eventually opening a baseball-themed resort in Casa Grande (though his dreams for a master-planned community surrounding the Francisco Grande was foiled when interstates 10 and 8 were built too far away).
The dawn of spring training is still evident at Francisco Grande for those who bother to make the journey from the cozy confines of the Valley. The pool is shaped like a bat, the parking lot like a catcher’s mitt. And that angled canopy topping the nine-story tower suggests the bill of a baseball cap.
Back then, as today, baseball prior Opening Day is a relatively tranquil affair. But it was even more so before March in the desert caught fire with fans.
Prior to the mid-1990s (or so), one could walk up to the ticket booth a few minutes before first pitch, slap down less than 10 bucks and get a decent seat (or pay $3 for a spot on the lawn). Whether the Cubs or the A’s or the Giants, an impromptu “Want to catch a game today?” typically resulted in a most splendid afternoon.
That’s not as true now, with fans coming in from all over the country to enjoy baseball in (usually) perfect weather. Cub and Diamondback fans should buy tickets weeks in advance. Most other teams sell out of their best seats a week or more ahead of time, and for prices once reserved for the regular season.
Walk-ups are still welcome, but good seats may be hard to come by, especially on weekends.
Even if you must buy tickets weeks ahead of time, then navigate heavy traffic before a lengthy hunt for a parking spot, magic still awaits past the turnstiles.
Which is why, in the Valley, the very best of spring is found between chalk lines framing an emerald diamond where dreams play out.