Hey, Internet. I’m bummed that I won’t be taking any little trips this Spring, for the first in forever (thanks, economy!). Usually at this time, I can be found in Chicago for the South Side Irish Parade (now defunct), in Las Vegas for March Madness (go Salukis), or in Arizona for spring training. This year, I’m going nowhere. Last year, however was a spring training in Arizona year. Myself, the Redhead, THE Joe Moran, and a select few others (not pictured) jumped in a rented van and tore across the Southland.

The drive to Arizona from Los Angeles is similar to the drive to Vegas. It looks roughly the same and is about the same distance, with the only major difference on the road being the Denny’s you stop at: Needles or Victorville. However, your destination plays a large part in your attitude on the road and what anticipation you feel. In Vegas, anything goes. In Arizona, you’ll get in trouble over loud music. And as we learned, a whole lot more.

Spring Training is a curse word in our house now. We went to far, like those guys with the Casino in that movie, Casino. We had a good thing going, and we blew it.

Day 1 went as well as can be expected. We had arrived around 11 AM, our first game was at 1, and we were ready to drink. Really drink. I was anyway. I can’t speak for the others too specifically, because I didn’t bother to find out their opinion. I just dove right in. Don’t tell anybody, but I was also enjoying a few extracurricular activities at the same time.

Anyway, It’s nearly 100 degrees already, and we rocked the Miller Lights in true South Side style. Tired from the road and the game, we ended the evening with a cooler at the pool. LOTS of beer. The staff was already watching us and we didn’t even know it.

The next day, bright and early, we began preparation for the Cubs/Sox game. Beer and eggs, extracurricular activities, more beer, maybe a bagel. Even though we were seeing 3 games while in town, this was the big one. We tailgated, we power-pounded, we entered Camelback Ranch with a healthy buzz amidst the now 105 degree weather.

Around the 4th Inning, and this is important, I decided that I had been slightly over served in the heat and needed some water. Walking around the Outfield, I saw an Oasis: The Margaritaville Lounge. My thirst for water became a desire for a margarita. When the girl at the counter informed me that I could buy two margaritas that she would be happy to poor in one big cup, I was powerless to resist. That’s the important part: in my spring training fever, even a NEED for water lead to tequila.

So yadda yadda, don’t remember a lot of the game, but I do remember telling a young boy in a Cubs jersey to get used to disappointment in life. We leave the park in a stupor and wander back to our Hotel. Big mistake.

The Hotel had locked us out of our room. Apparently the cleaning lady felt the room was a little more trashed than it should be, and we had to pay a cleaning fee before they would let us back in. We were homeless and hammered. This was a shakedown and we all knew it.

(It won’t look as bad after a quick vacuum.)

Nevertheless, something had to be done. And that something involved me… paying. This brought everything crashing down. While the rest of the gang enjoyed some Wii bowling, I collapsed on the bed for a 12 or 13 hour nap. The Redhead was not amused.

Day 3, with absolutely no lessons learned, we started roughly the same way. This time we checked out of the hotel first, since our trip home began immediately after the end of the last game. They weren’t getting another dime from me (unless they put it on my check card as an additional fee), that’s for sure. The game ended, I once again drank too much, and we hit the road. I passed out in the car for most of the trip, and woke up in time to witness Joe puke all over the rented van.

Basically, spring training is no longer an option. After numerous payments, penalties, sunburns, hangovers, and memory loss (specifically, the actual games), to bring it up in my house is to play with fire. So that’s it for that. I’m home this Spring, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I wish I hadn’t gone so far. I wish I could afford to sneak away even for a weekend. I wish sunshine, baseball and beer weren’t such an amazing combination. St. Patrick’s Day is coming, but in LA, it may as well be Casimir Pulaski Day. Sigh. Won’t somebody give me a bailout? President Barry? It’s for the White Sox!

Listen to reason! Baseball season is calling….