
March Madness takes on a bit of a different meaning for me.
Sure, college basketball's finest hours are in March, but I look to the baseball diamonds of Arizona for my Madness. Besides, I can't afford to gamble.
For seven of the last eight years, I've been in Phoenix for Major League Baseball Spring Training, aptly nicknamed the Cactus League. A dozen teams call Arizona home for Spring Training, including the White Sox and the Cubs.
Unlike Florida's Grapefruit League, where the stadiums are scattered across the state, the Phoenix area affords easy access to seven stadiums. Having lived out there for three years, about 15 minutes from Mesa's Hohokam Park where the Cubs play, I immediately was hooked on the concept — baseball in the desert.
And how could you not be, baseball fan or not? The highest ticket price is about $16, and the cheapest is a measly $3 to watch stars of today and those of tomorrow work out the kinks for the upcoming season.
I lay a blanket in the lawn overlooking left or right field and squirt water guns at unsuspecting, yet very grateful fans. Ninety-five degrees warrants such activity. The scantily clad spring breakers and obnoxious onlookers posing as fans make the experience much like that in the Wrigley Field bleachers. And so do Ronnie Woo Woo and frosty Old Styles.
At Cubs games, whether in Mesa or away, the hardcore Cubs fans fill every stadium. Unless a game is rained out, the Cubs will set a single season all-time Spring Training attendance record for both Arizona and Florida teams.
Now, the concession prices don't reflect those of the very reasonable seats, commanding $6 for a beer and $5 for a hot dog. Most stadiums allow bottled water and some snacks, so you don't necessarily have to file bankruptcy after every game.
This year was most enjoyable because both my dad and good friend, Sue, flew out for some games.
I had arranged comedy work in Arizona for Spring Training, so I had my trusty Prizm to play chauffeur. I made sure to call back to Joliet before they got to Arizona, assuring them of the gorgeous weather and cloudless skies.
Then a thunderstorm hit when they arrived.
I had jinxed their trip.
I worked the comedy club in Tucson, Ariz., about two hours south of Phoenix, earlier in March.
The White Sox share Tucson Electric Park with the Arizona Diamondbacks, and I had hoped to see my cousin, Todd, pitch for the Sox. Being that he's still developing in the minors, his games hadn't even begun. However, he and some teammates made it out to my shows, and we visited afterward and during their downtime.
"We can do this stuff back in Joliet," I joked to Todd as we walked through a mall and then hung out at his hotel pool. "Although, it would be a bit cold for a swim."
It was nice to hear Todd and his teammates talk of life as minor leaguers, traveling the country by bus, moving from hotel to hotel along the way.
Then when I heard the money they actually made to play ball, I was somewhat glad to be a comedian.
"You get $7 a day?" I shockingly asked Todd to confirm.
"That's meal money. We don't get paid to play 'til the season begins," he informed me, as I picked up the tab.
Once back in Phoenix, Sue, my dad and I tried finding tickets for the Cubs-Sox showdown March 13 in Mesa.
The game had been sold out for months, and scalped tickets were nearly going for regular season prices.
We wouldn't accept defeat and waited in line, landing tickets an hour before the game.
"They're in the wheelchair-accessible section," my dad told us. "That's all they had available."
And with that, we sat about eight rows behind the Sox dugout in some rather spacious seats. The Cubs rallied to win 3-2 as I jumped up and down along the way, cheering them on. However, I felt a bit awkward doing so around people whose jumping days clearly were behind them. We all were Cubs fans, though, so all was good.
It's good to be back home, but I look forward to the Madness next March. Road trip anyone?
Scott Deininger/Derenger is a stand-up comedian from Shorewood. See more of his work at his Web site, www.ShaveYourHead.com