(EDITOR’S NOTE - Times News sports writer Rich Strack is attending spring training games in Florida this week. He will be writing about his experiences attending the games, while also sharing his thoughts and memories as someone who has been a devoted baseball fan for over a half century. Today, in part 2 of a 3-part feature, Strack reflects on the memories that players create for fans and the laid-back atmosphere that fans enjoy during spring games.)

By Rich Strack

tnsports@tnonline.com

The next evening, we traveled again to Clover Park in Port St. Lucie to watch the Mets take on the Florida Marlins. The day’s wind had died down leaving a pleasant sky over the baseball diamond.

As I sat in my seat behind the Mets dugout, I saw New York’s former manager, Terry Collins on the field with an SNY microphone doing a pregame spot. The network was going to televise the game to the Northeast metropolitan area. Collins managed the Mets for six years and led them to their last World Series when they lost to Kansas City in 2015.

A few players came out of the dugout to stretch and run before the game. The fans around me shouted, “Francisco!”

Lindor is the Mets All-Star shortstop. He put his arms together to form a hug, showing his love and appreciation for the fans. Out came Pete Alonso and Brandon Nimmo to applause from the people in the section I sat.

I often wonder why we adore professional athletes as if they are superhero figures who come from an alternate universe.

My boyhood baseball idol was Mickey Mantle. Just seeing his No. 7 on the back of his Yankee uniform had sent chills through me. I have pictures of The Mick and a metal sign hung in my living room that says “Mickey Mantle Boulevard.”

“They are the epitome of accomplishment,” replied my friend sitting to my right.

I look to my left and Mets outfielder Nimmo plays catch with the ball boy along the left field line. Nimmo may never remember the kid, but should the boy live until he’s 70-years old, he will tell his grandkids that he played catch with a major league baseball player before a spring training game in Florida. What one forgets, another remembers for a lifetime.

I see what I call the wannabes come out to loosen up and I think of my friend, Jeff Grose.

In 1975, Grose was a minor league Met invited to spring training camp in St. Petersburg. The manager was Yogi Berra. Jeff was pitching so well that Yogi told him he’d be the next arm called up from Jackson as soon as they needed one.

Grose envisioned himself on a staff with Tom Seaver, Jerry Kossman and John Matlack. It never happened. After pitching the division-winning game against Arkansas in the Texas League, an arm injury had ended his career.

I tried to put myself in that frame of mind. You are so close to something you wanted your whole life. It’s the dangling of the carrot right in front of the rabbit’s nose only to have it pulled away.

The carrot is dangling for these spring training wannabes. You know who they are, not by their names, but by the numbers they wear. Usually, digits past 70 indicate they are the “nobody just yets” trying to impress, giving it everything they got to reach out and snatch that carrot Jeff had missed with the grab of his hand.

The game begins.

Unlike football fans, who can be rowdy and vociferous, baseball fans settle back in their seats with their hot dogs and beers and watch the game as if it were a play on a theater’s stage.

Occasional applause came when Nimmo lined a single to left in the bottom of the first and Lindor began a double play with an amazing scoop of a ground ball that was shot off the bat like a bullet from a gun.

In the fifth inning, Edwin Diaz took the mound for the Mets.

Arguably, the best closer in all of baseball, Diaz missed all of last year with a knee injury. His first pitch at 98 miles per hour was foul tipped into the umpire’s chest pad. The game paused as he caught his breath from the force of the pitch of the ball. Diaz then struck out the side to the delight of the home crowd.

The Mets do not score a run until late into the game, but the fans don’t seem to care much.

A vendor shouts, “Get your cold beer here!”

“How cold is it?” Someone asked.

“It’s really, really, really cold!” he shouted back.

Our section laughed at his antics.

A Mets wannabe swung upward at a pitch and missed. A young fan behind me hollered, “This isn’t golf. It’s baseball!”

The same kid shouted to the next hitter, “Get a hit, will ya,” and the batter lined a single to left on the next pitch.

“I did that for you!” the kid shouted toward the field, drawing laughter from all within earshot.

The Mets lost 1-0. Three wannabes struck out in the ninth. The meaningless game was over, but for a 34-year old veteran infielder of 14 years who’s trying to hang on for another season, his strikeout that ended the game meant everything to him. The dangling carrot might be dangling no more.

Some MLB careers begin. Others end. That can happen on the same field on the same day. That’s spring training baseball.