Ken is still in disbelief that years back his "Ma" tossed his collection of baseball cards from their home in Mt Vernon, N.Y.

"I had a lot of cards," he said, remembering a few stuffed shoeboxes worth. "I used to trade them with my friends."

In my mother-in-law's defense, she doesn't remember this. She said, "They were probably all bent up and old. I would not throw away anything good."

Surrounded by baseball cards - and other sports memorabilia at the four-day 31st National Sports Collectors Convention - reminded my husband of his favored hobby as a kid.

The convention used 350,000-plus square feet of floor space inside the Baltimore Convention Center and attracted upward of 35,000 people. Over 1,000 dealers and exhibitors sold everything from 10-cent baseball cards to a $15,000 Babe Ruth-signed baseball.

"I don't know what cards cost now," Ken said when he returned from his appearance, "but when I was young, we used to buy them for a nickel a pack. They came with bubble gum and five cards. It was really big if you got a Mickey Mantle or a Willie Mays ... but I think purposefully those weren't included in many packs."

For the typical fan, Ken says collecting autographs isn't always about the value of the signed item - that's secondary. The thrill is about having the autograph -
especially for kids.

"It's also about the 20 seconds a fan spends with an athlete," Ken said. "They remember that. It's their personal experience."

City to city Ken has spotted some of the same die-hard baseball fans waiting in line outside of hotels and ballparks hoping to score a few pros' autographs.

How many times has my husband signed his name in a span of two baseball careers? Like grains of sand on the beach - impossible to count. "I have no clue," he answered, but yes, thousands upon thousands upon more thousands. (It would be an interesting stat to know!)

Does an athlete's hand get tired signing autographs? You bet. Just think of that Catholic school nun forcing you to write: "I shall not throw spitballs." Three hours is about tops for Ken's left-handed autographing stamina. He was a switch-hitter, yes, but not with a pen.

When players make appearances, it's common that they sign extra balls for whichever organization contracted them for the autograph session. For instance, at the abovementioned collectors' show, Ken signed six-dozen baseballs in the back room before he even faced an autograph seeker on the Convention Center floor. That was 72 additional "Ken Singleton"'s to sign in his slim, slanty handwriting on top of the throng of people he signed for standing in his line between 2:30 and 5:30 ... swamped the entire session.
 
"I can imagine what it was like on Saturday," Ken said, knowing some of the heavy hitters were in town like Frank "The Big Hurt" Thomas, Eddie Murray, Brooks Robinson, Wade Boggs, Mike Boddicker, the immortal Willie Mays and other Hall of Famers.

The show wasn't only baseball-related. Autograph lines snaked around to end face-to-face with over 70 athletes and entertainment celebrities.

Our 18-year-old son tagged along with Dad that Thursday, then returned downtown two days later on his own to get more autographs and meet-and-greet professional wrestlers like Mick Foley, Kurt Angle and Rob Van Dam. Contrary to the world expecting him to follow in Daddy's cleats as a baseball player, our son's passion lies in WWE (World Wrestling Entertainment) - he wants to wrestle.

His bedroom walls boast a small but impressive collection of sports autographs; over the years he's nabbed a few cool ones. He frequently drives to wrestler appearances laden with paraphernalia he'd like autographed, then returns home "pumped" that he owns a few more scribbles in his WWE coffee-table book, "WWE Encyclopedia: The Definitive Guide to World Wrestling Entertainment (written, ironically, by my editor at YESNetwork.com, Kevin Sullivan).

"Being face-to-face with wrestlers is very exciting," said our teen. "I feel like a little kid - I get giddy. I imagine myself being on the other side of the pen, signing an autograph for a happy fan. Although, I feel very small compared to them ... fame-wise and muscle-wise."

He smiles and adds, "Not so much in height though." (He's almost as tall as dad's 6-foot-4-inches.)
 
Now in a few weeks this third kid of ours will be off to college where his dorm room walls will exhibit a few of his prized autographs. And maybe one day, who knows, his collection might end up in a forgotten top-shelf shoebox like Ken's once-treasured baseball cards.

But I promised him I would never throw them away.

I can imagine how the phones are ringing off their hooks in the Yankees office after George Steinbrenner's passing, because here in Baltimore our house phone and Ken's cell haven't stopped jingling yet.

Radio stations that typically call Ken during the baseball season for interviews about the game in general, double their calls when any big news breaks.
 
This week they want Ken's reaction and thoughts on Mr. Steinbrenner. 

I can tell my husband feels sad and melancholy. He happened to be golfing during the All-Star break when he heard the news. Because his cell phone sounded off repeatedly on the links, he stopped after nine holes to return home, handle the calls and silently process the news.

It didn't feel proper to continue the golf round while the Steinbrenner family grieved, along with Yankees fans everywhere.

"Mr. Steinbrenner was always good to me," said Ken. "This is not a good week for the Yankees and their fans. We had just learned about Bob Sheppard a few days before."

Fourteen years ago, Mr. Steinbrenner had the final say whether to hire Ken. In Steinbrenner's Tampa office before spring training at then Legends Field, Ken and two MSG executives met with the Yankees owner.

"I don't think our fans are going to like you," Ken recalled Mr. Steinbrenner's comment.

"How come?" asked Ken.

"I can't recall all the bad things you used to do to us," said Mr. Steinbrenner about Ken as a Baltimore Orioles right-fielder and designated hitter.

"With all due respect, Mr. Steinbrenner," Ken responded. "I was just doing my job."

"Well, you did it very well."

After Ken left Tampa, he was unsure he would be offered a seat in the booth to broadcast for the Yankees. Yet the next day he received an affirmative phone call.

"I appreciate the opportunity - and every single minute I've been there," Ken said. "Mr. Steinbrenner said I could work for his team even though I never played for the Yankees ... probably because I am from New York."

Ken feels grateful that even after The YES Network was established nine years ago, Steinbrenner kept him around. Over the years he hasn't encountered the boss often because Steinbrenner was usually in Tampa. (I have never met the man.)

"I guess he liked what he heard on TV," said Ken. "If he had had a problem with our broadcasts, I'm sure we would have heard."

About Mr. Steinbrenner as a team owner, he said, "I have a lot of respect for the way he built the Yankees into a championship franchise. When he bought the team in 1973 they weren't very good."

I would venture to guess that the eight All-Star Yankees played their hearts out during the All Star game in honor of an all-star owner. It was suitable that his team was so well represented by more players than any other and fitting that he chose All-Star game day to find his way to heaven.

Rest in peace
George Steinbrenner

(Click here to watch Ken's conversation with Michael Kay and Jack Curry.)

Utter the words golf tournament and some former Major Leaguers will show up with their clubs. Mention the phrase "kids with cancer" and teammates come running in bunches. On Monday, Ken, seen here with Paul Blair and Jim Palmer, hosted the Ken Singleton Celebrity Golf Classic in which he had invited former teammates and others to play for this Cool Kids Campaign fundraiser, of which Ken serves on its board.

This young but amazingly strong organization here in Baltimore assists kids and their families with cancer as they muddle through horrifically challenging months -- sometimes years -- of treatments, surgeries, hospitals, financial setbacks and watching their "babies" become bald, feel ill and endure this crappy disease.

The impressive celebrity list featured Hall of Famers Palmer, Eddie Murray, Gary Carter and a Brooks Robinson stop-by. Other former Orioles -- Ken's friends -- committed their time as well: Tippy Martinez, Blair, Boog Powell (pictured with Mrs. Singy), Rick Dempsey, Bobby Floyd, Bobby Grich, Steve Rogers, Dick Hall and Joe Orsulak, among other retired players, TV hosts and entertainers.

Other celebs on the links included Dancing With The Stars' Tony Dovolani; NBA's Jack Marin; and NFL's Victor Green, Lydell Mitchell and Bruce Laird. Tom Matte also stopped by afterwards.

When Ken's friends call him to participate in one of their causes, he doesn't bat an eye -- he goes. This time when Ken did the inviting, they came.

"When we were playing," said Ken, "we all had each other's backs ... it's nice to know we still do."

These guys played in an era when Major Leaguers stayed in one town, performed for one team and bonded with each other in dugouts around the country. Lifelong friendships were formed.

After this tournament, Ken's teammates went home with more than a tote bag silk-screened with "Ken Singleton Celebrity Golf Classic." They took with them an image of one pre-teen girl riding around in 90-plus degree weather to greet the golfers in a festively decorated golf cart. Her face is swollen from medication; her disposition sweet. MacKenzie Stuck is rounding third base with a brain tumor (as in three times it has returned) with nothing more that docs can do for her.
 
Her mother was barely audible through tears as she spoke to the golfers at a pre-tournament dinner the evening before.

So yes, mention the words golf tournament and a group of jocks will show up. Yet it's for a better reason than chasing a miniature white ball around 18 holes. They call on each other and they come running ... in friendship ... and in support of a cause.

This time it was for the kids.

* * * * * * * *

When fans write to Ken requesting autographs, he asks them to consider a donation of at least one dollar per autograph to Cool Kids Campaign. Many fans generously donate more. If you feel so inclined, please consider mailing a donation of any amount to:

Cool Kids Campaign
9711 Monroe Street
Cockeysville MD 21030
www.cancerfearsme.org

Since I write solo in my Baltimore home office without an editor, I often ask a fellow freelance writer, Nancy, to review my stories before I submit them to YESNetwork.com.  

So when Nancy read a story I had written titled "Clothed in baseball," she admitted she didn't like it - the story was weak.

Nancy knows.

The idea had evolved during a week when one Mrs. Singy was a tad "dry" for a topic. So instead I tackled the laundry. (Thrilling. Proof of a real case of writer's block). After padding barefooted around the house putting away clean clothes predominantly stamped with the "NY" logo, I wrote about how us Singletons could open a New York Yankees store with all the baseballs on our clothes.

It went something like this:

... hats, socks, sweatshirts, knit caps, windbreakers, workout clothes, basketball shorts, winter coats, robes and T-shirts - oh so many T-shirts! Long-sleeved, short-sleeved, no sleeves. There's even a pair of "NY" underwear at the bottom of the laundry basket (whom they belong to, I'll never tell). The kitchen drawer holds a neatly folded NY Yankees pinstriped apron (which Ken should wear when he grills to avoid barbeque sauce splattering on his favorite YES T-shirt).

Our shirts are screened with "Property of YES NETWORK" ... "Why New York is better than New York: We never traded Nolan Ryan" ... "My Yankees Baseball" ... "YES HD" ... and various players' names and numbers white-on-navy across the backs.

I continued the tale about how these New York-based clothes have long since replaced logos of other baseball jobs Ken has held; shirts and jackets boasting MSG Network, FOX, Montreal Expos and The Sports Network in Canada. Way before that we wore a plethora of orange and black Baltimore Orioles garments.

When Nancy had suggested to spice up the subject by maybe tying the T-shirts to memories, still I had nothing more to add. After all, Ken constantly brings home baseball stuff, so there is not much nostalgia there since we have lived and breathed the sport for a few decades. ("Baseball Is Life" is the most significant T-shirt in the pile.)

Nope, there wasn't even much to reminisce about that pair of NY underwear other than that they were purchased in a Cooperstown gift shop during a pleasant family trip to Induction Weekend. (Okay they're mine - happy now?)

Enough about baseball clothes; Nancy warned you it was weak.

Then I read a comment on the Mrs. Singy column from a Yankee fan who knew how to attach true feeling to a New York Yankees garment (see May 2010 - Life needs Diversions), putting my dim words to shame had I decided to post that feeble story.

This fan's anecdote was about how Yankees baseball pulled him through cancer. "It was like being in a safe environment for a few hours," he wrote. "One that made me forget, even for the shortest of times, that I was sick or in pain."

When this fan lost his hair during three rounds of chemo, he purchased a new NY cap that he will "never get rid of. It's worn heavily, but I can't discard a cap that did so much for me."

And he said he feels the same way about the entire Yankees franchise - a team that helped him greatly through a tough time, providing a distraction from ill health. Luckily, remission has been his friend since December 2007.

Now my collection of colorful NYY caps has meaning. As I donned the canary-yellow one to wear while walking the dog today, I recalled this fan's bittersweet story - how a simple item like a baseball cap can evolve into such sweet significance for an ordinary baseball fan.

My neighbor Annie emailed me about a "most delightful" scene she witnessed while shopping at a Publix grocery store in Hilton Head, S.C., where she has a vacation property. An announcement sounded over the store's P.A. system about a customer's birthday: Frank Ventre is 101 years old.

Annie said the Publix staff had thoughtfully prepared and presented a few small birthday gifts representing Frank's interests, including orange cupcakes for Syracuse, N.Y., and a few blue and white goodies to delight him in his passion for the New York Yankees.

"Where else in the modern world on a busy Saturday afternoon would a food store go to such lengths for a regular customer?" said Annie.

While Frank was being presented with the Yankees gifts (one an autograph signed "To Frank") the gentleman spoke in great lengths about the team's 27 championships, what city they were playing in that day, and where they would be playing in upcoming away games. Frank knew his facts.

When he nostalgically mentioned how he wished he could again attend a game some day, but that "the tickets are too expensive," Annie approached him. Without mentioning who her neighbor is, she said she might be able to help him grant his wish. That's when she emailed me to ask Ken if it was possible to obtain tickets.

Frank is now making plans to attend the game against the Tampa Bay Rays July 17 in New York. Ken laughed just now glancing at the schedule while he double-checked the date for me. "Huh! How about that? It's Old-Timers' Day at Yankee Stadium."

No pun intended, Frankie.

When Ken had relayed this story to the Yankees PR office, they sent Frank a letter inviting him onto the field before the game. His 68-year-old son will accompany him to the Big Apple and his daughter (who he lives with) is treating them to the airfare.

A little old-timer recognition can go a long way.

"Oh my, I can't believe it!" Frank relayed to Annie who told me, "He is so very excited!" (If you knew Annie, you'd know how she gets big kicks out of helping people - strangers and friends. It's just the way she's wired ... Angel Annie ... one of the last of the good Samaritans.)
Healthy still at 101, Frank goes to the gym regularly. He uses the treadmill, stationary bike and free weights. He's 100 percent Italian - a sweet, entertaining man, reports Annie about her new friend. And believe me, they will be Hilton Head Island friends for sure.

"Hats off to the Publix staff that took time and effort merely to be nice," said Annie, "and to make an amazing old man feel very special."

This, she said, was truly a great example of "publix" affection.

You know that reflective, somber mood that overtakes us after attending a funeral? I'm in that today.

I don't much prefer to attend funerals - who does? Yet I do like to write when my mind is swirling in such a pensive frame of mind. This afternoon's office plan was to return from the internment Mass of my former coworker - "Marvelous Melba" I called her - and write a Mrs. Singy column about baseball clothing.

But the topic of baseball in any shape or form on a gloomy cloudy funeral day seemed totally inconsequential. Who cares about a Yankees anything when we feel sad? Can't take that to heaven.

In many conversations with Ken, he explains that sports is a release ... a diversion ... pure entertainment. Maybe that's why we need activities like watching baseball - so we don't walk around like post-funeral zombies 24/7, contemplating the woes of the world.

Maybe without those championship lacrosse games to focus on, Sharon and Lexie Love - the family of the University of Virginia lacrosse player, Yeardley Love, who was murdered by a former boyfriend - wouldn't have been able to get out of bed any morning after May 3 when the horrific and incomprehensible news was delivered to them.

Maybe without the release of the cheering and the cohesiveness of UVA fans surrounding them in the stands, they would be instead lying on the floor at home kicking and screaming, totally inconsolable and heartbroken. Maybe without the thrill of watching Yeardley's teammates "win it all for Love" ... those first few emotionally raw weeks would have been absolutely and completely unbearable -not that they weren't.

But Sharon and Lexie somehow got dressed and put one foot in front of the other to go watch a sport they heartily supported. In the stands at Klockner Stadium in Charlottesville, Va. at the start of the NCAA Tournament, they watched Yeardley's lacrosse team win that day. They stood up and clapped, cheered, hollered, smiled and yes - sobbed - their way through the game because the sport had held great significance for their athletic daughter and sister.

Maybe for some of you, Yankees baseball has helped to get you through ... a divorce, a job loss, God forbid a family tragedy, even just a bad day. Maybe watching a game or talking baseball helps you to take your mind off of a dilemma.

Yes, life needs diversions like sports. We need petty day-to-day activities to balance the heavy. We need distractions so we are able to slip out of somber moods and once again think happy thoughts.

It's 3 p.m. and the kiss on my cheek fades as Ken leaves for work, a seemingly simple gesture performed by countless spouses on an ordinary day.

The Yankees have come to us this time; a three-game stint in Baltimore during a few chilly spring days after their April 26 visit to the White House less than an hour south of Camden Yards.

We pretend for three days, Ken and I, that he has nothing more than a 30-minute commute into the city, leaving in the afternoon and returning after the household is snoring, once again planting a soft kiss on my cheek as I doze close to midnight.

"Did they win?" I mumble as I turn on my side, feeling disappointment that the Orioles managed to find a burst of energy to beat the Yankees in spite of Baltimore's atrocious start to the season.

But we don't get used to it - this ritual of the 3 p.m. kiss and commute. It's just a tease and we know it. And not that Ken wishes to work for another team - he does not - what could possibly compare to the New York Yankees experience?

So just for three days we pretend that he doesn't have to pack a bag, go on the road, hop a plane, hail a cab, commute by train, and exist as a dad and a husband through cell phones, texts and emails.

Yes, just for three glorious days, the Yankees come to him.

It's not essential that I actually watch a Yankee game when Ken is home on an off-day since he treats me to a play-by-play from his favorite perch in the TV room. As he's "doing his homework" (how's that for an explanation why a husband needs to watch so much baseball?) Ken calls out sporadically, "3-nothing Yankees!" ... or ... "CC Sabathia has a no-hitter going!" ... or whatever pinstripe action is unfolding on the screen. (He gets stirred up when he's watching his guys.)

"What inning?" I called out about that particular game, knowing no player can count their baseball chicks before they hatch.

Now, call me oblivious, but I don't always listen 100% to the baseball lingo floating around our house (being that it's a daily occurrence), so I'm thinking Ken meant CC was pitching a perfect game.

Later, when Ken's final game report echoed from the TV room that Sabathia gave up a hit in the eighth inning, I commented something about a perfect game.

That's when Ken quizzed me. "Beauty," (he calls me Beauty), "Do you know the difference between a no-hitter and a perfect game?"

Although I could describe a perfect game as when batters are up 1-2-3 and out 1-2-3, I failed the quiz by improperly describing a no-hitter (and how long have I been a baseball wife?). Well, I knew what I meant.

And although I didn't describe it correctly, at least I know what a perfect game most definitely looks like, since I've been dusting a framed scorecard autographed by Dennis Martinez that has been on display in Ken's office for 19 years. It's a keeper.

Okay, that's a white lie. I haven't been dusting the scorecard for 19 years because, well, I don't actually dust.

Martinez's perfect game July 28, 1991 is one of two that Ken has had the privilege of calling as an announcer -- one in the National League and one in the American. That's some kind of baseball statistic right there, folks, since only 18 pitchers total have tossed perfect games in MLB history. The earliest two were recorded in 1880 and not another happened until 1964!

That perfect game between Montreal (2) and Los Angeles (0) was made sweeter for my husband to witness -- and call -- since Dennis is a former Orioles teammate and was a Montreal Expo starting pitcher during Ken's run at The Sports Network in Canada.

Before the YES Network evolved and Ken was a Yankees announcer on the Madison Square Garden Network, David Wells was the second pitcher to decorate Ken's office with a perfect scorecard May 17, 1998 (New York 4, Minnesota 0).

Super! Another dust collector ... uh, I mean ... keeper.

On an off day in Spring Training, Ken took time to enjoy one of his favorite pleasures - to watch professional golf at a PGA Tournament in Palm Harbor, Fla., about 30 minutes from Steinbrenner Field.

If you have ever attended a pro golf tournament, you're familiar with how quiet is the atmosphere - a courtesy extended by fans so golfers can focus and eventually sink miniature white balls into tiny cups in as few strokes as possible.

What amazes Ken is the difference between the hushed atmosphere of a golf tournament versus the deafening one of a baseball stadium.

"Quiet applause is accepted after a shot," said Ken. "Very few fans shout comments, and if they do, it's mostly encouraging. In baseball stadiums, some things that fans yell are not so encouraging and can include disparaging comments about your family members."

In Minnesota on Mother's Day some years back, Oriole Ken was in the on-deck circle warming up when a Twins fan shouted, "It's Mother's Day and even your mother doesn't love you!" Ken went up to bat, hit a home run, and on his way back to the dugout, addressed the guy, "Now even your mother loves me." That elicited a hearty laugh from the fan's friends.

What people do not realize, Ken said, is that players use the discourteous comments as incentive to play well against the opposing team. "When you're on the road and fans say bad things, you really want to do something to shut them up. Then they might learn to leave you alone."

Ticket takers at pro golf tournaments take more than your entrance fee at the gate - they confiscate all cell phones, too. This is so phones do not ring during play and so people aren't tempted to chat and make business calls.

So when it was time for Ken to receive a scheduled phone interview from a Montreal radio station, he was forced to step outside the gates where he could talk Yankees in a comfortable tone of voice without disturbing the quiet on the links (first having to retrieve his cell phone from the front gate staff).

Could you imagine if a Yankee Stadium PA announcer whispered, "Shhh, all quiet please ... Derek Jeter's up to bat." Or if a vendor at a golf tournament screamed, "Get your beer here!"

The hype and rowdiness of attending a baseball game is half the fun - no - make that all the fun. And who cares if anyone's yakking on a cell phone? We can't hear them anyway over the roar of Yankees fans.

Two different sports, two different atmospheres. The notion supposedly, is that golfers would not be able to concentrate if fans were able to scream at will.

If a pro makes a good putt to take the lead in a tournament, then people get excited. But only after the fact. While a putter is in pendulum motion, no one's clapping and shouting "C'mon! Sink the putt!"

I asked Ken what's the difference with baseball and why doesn't the noise bother Major Leaguers?

"You just have to concentrate and put all the sounds behind you," he said. "You can hear the crowd but it's almost like a buzz in the background because you're so focused. Even years later, I can remember specific pitches, sequences, what it felt like to hit a baseball and how I swung ... all because my concentration was so keen. Not to mention that if you don't concentrate, you can get hurt while batting or playing the field."

While comments from fans and the overall racket were challenging to a player, Ken said the noise and excitement is part of the game. "It's easy to get pumped up in front of 50,000 excited fans."

Quiet please. Ken is going to go hit golf balls now.

Spring Training without a baseball in sight

I write from sun-drenched Florida, having popped down for a long weekend from Baltimore to join Ken in our "Spring Training" home near the beach, about 40 minutes from Tampa and Steinbrenner Field. Ken just departed for the stadium to announce a Saturday afternoon Yankees-Orioles game, but I opted to stay behind -- no fun to sit through nine innings solo.

My Spring Training usually doesn't have much to do with baseball anyhow. I like doing my own thing here -- writing, work-related phone calls, beach walks, bike rides, swimming if weather permits, eating out with hubby and maybe an evening hot tub dunk. Today is a rare weekend day all to myself; I stay close to our kids back in Baltimore via texting - their preferred "less-of-Mom-talking" method.

I'll work some, piddle around the house, check e-mail, sit on the deck, mail a card, and later, hopefully, begin my seasonal tan. Although the temp on my cell phone reads 65 degrees, the incoming gentle breeze whispers chilly, blowing in from the back window overlooking the sparkly-blue community pool. Excited voices of a few neighborhood kids reach inside as they frolic outside on rafts.

There are many signs of Spring Training lying around the house: three magazines with 2010 baseball previews on the dining room table along with printed Internet pages of team information that Ken has studied; a pile of press guides from various teams which he's lugged home and uses throughout the season; and Spring Training parking passes for each game. I see a 40-man roster booklet published by the Tampa Bay Rays, and a few others titled "2010 Non-Roster Invites" and "Coaches & Staff." A folded sports page from the St. Petersburg Times is squashed under Ken's 2009 scorebooks with last year's Yankees schedule neatly taped to the front.

His left-handed slanted handwriting is scrawled all over a yellow legal pad in the form of notes after he diligently scoured books, newspapers, press information and scouting reports for useful information to use on-air. Jorge Posada poses in a photo with a young boy with leukemia on page 4 of a small beach newspaper distributed around town. The boy's wish to meet members of his favorite baseball team was fulfilled by the Children's Dream Fund. How bittersweet.

There's a Yankees jersey in a large envelope hoping for a Derek Jeter autograph for someone's office. And one of our favorite Yankees item -- a navy blue, tan and crème "Yankee Blankie" -- is perpetually draped over the back of the yellow leather couch in the living room. We all love a snuggle under that soft Yankee Blankie.

When I leave the house later to buy groceries, I bet I'll spot a handful of "New York" license plates zipping around town, whether belonging to Yankees fans or the last of the snowbirds enjoying the south.

Yes, Spring Training is here, all over the house -- and there, across the causeway leading into Tampa, as today the Yankees and Orioles bat, pitch, catch, spit, scratch, run and steal on a beautiful sunny day on the west coast of Florida.