The Yankee Spring Training Trip That Almost Wasn't

Last weekend my family was in the Orlando area, enjoying a nice 4-day weekend vacation.  I wasn't with them at the time and for that I resent each and every one of them for all the fun they had down there.  But part of their vacation included traveling to Tampa to see the Yanks-Blue Jays ST game that took place last Saturday and hopefully capturing some pictures that I could then post on the blog.  What ended up happening was a travel tale so ghastly, so horrific, so incredibly barbaric, that I can barely keep my composure as I write this recap.  What follows is a firsthand account of the terror that occurred last Saturday on the highways of Tampa, Florida from my parents and younger brother.  I remind you that missing a Yankee game was hanging in the balance here.

We start at 10AM EST, as my family finishes breakfast and packs up the belongings they'll bring to the game that day: tickets, water bottles, sunscreen, etc.  They're packed up, in the rental car, and ready to embark on their roughly 1-hour journey down I-4 East to Steinbrenner Field at 10:30AM, and it was all downhill from there.  Early in on their journey they encountered a 4-mile, bumper-to-bumper traffic backup on I-4 for what they later found out to be a very serious car accident.  This traffic caused quite a significant delay and increased annoyance on the part of my father, who was behind the wheel, but at this point they were still on schedule to get there before the game started and maybe get some good pictures and autographs.

Fast forward to 10 miles down the road, where traffic hit another standstill thanks to a car fire.  By now, the lost time is adding up, annoyance has turned to frustration, and making the 1PM start time of the game is beginning to become a question.  By now I have been made aware of my family's peril, thanks to minute-by-minute text updates from my mother.  Despite being on the front lines of this nightmare, she had enough wits about her to let me know what was going on and how it was affecting all of them.  My father was beginning to get a bit hot under the collar, but he soldiered on valiantly through the car fire and towards his destination, trying to make up some lost time and ensure that they would not miss the first pitch.

But it simply wasn't to be.  Next up was construction delays, compounded by the fact that all the old blue hairs and stupid tourists in the area could not navigate the construction on the highway without coming to a complete stop almost every time.  By now frustration has turned to anger, and in the case of my father, skipping anger and going right for pissed.  Sighs are releasing, curses are flying, and the 1PM start time is now only a pipe dream.  What was supposed to be a 1-hour car ride to the field has now become a 2-hour journey into the very depths of Hell itself.

At long last the construction gave way and my father, now near insanity, floored the gas pedal to 80+ and made one last desperate push to make it to the game unimpeded, his best photo ops gone and my dreams for a Jeter autograph dashed.  But what terrors I-4 bestowed upon my poor family were nothing compared to what I-275 had in store for them.  Oh yes, it was more traffic, but not just any traffic.  This traffic was a murderous combination of people, both driving and walking, who were attending a flea market being held in the Raymond James Stadium parking lot that day AND also attending an all-day Kenny Chesney concert at the stadium itself.  It was the perfect storm of white trash, inbred, classless southern Florida hicks.  And despite my father's best efforts, they served to delay this trip even more.  1PM had long passed.  The game had been started.  Nerves had been fried.  And hope had been lost.

But it was not a complete disaster.  Eventually they did make it to the game.  A little after 2PM actually, during the 4th inning.  And despite my statement to my mother that all the Yankee regulars would surely be out of the game by the time they got there, they still got to see Jeter, Teix, A-Rod, Cano, and Posada bat, and got to witness the great Mariano Rivera come in and dispatch of his 3 batters with 10 pitches, which is basically like being invited to Heaven to watch God create something.

It was a horrible experience that day to be sure.  A 1-hour car trip turned into 3 1/2.  Innings were missed and autograph opportunities were as well.  But my family never gave up, even in the face of such odds.  When it seemed like the world had put everything in their path to try to stop them from seeing the Yankees, they said "nay" and fought back.  They never gave up, knowing they had paid good money for those tickets and knowing that I was going to be pissed if I didn't have any pictures for the blog.  Though I will probably never truly be able to show my appreciation, I thank them for the sacrifices they made and the hell they put themselves through that day for me.

And now it gives me great pleasure to share with you, dear readers, some of the pictures they were able to take from their seats upon their arrival at the game.  These pictures also serve as a visual reminder to me of how much it would have sucked to be stuck in that car last Saturday.  Enjoy.

(The Hitting Dr. and some of his patients.)

(Yeah, those are pretty good seats I guess.)

(A-Rod looking to see if Cameron is bringing him some popcorn.)

(And here we see the majestic A-Horse, getting ready to bat.  Shhh, don't startle it!)

("Say your prayers, little one.  Don't forget, my son.  To include every-oooooooooneAHH!")