Then, there are the players: Livan Hernandez, the Cuban defector and presumed Opening Day starting pitcher; Jose Vidro, the slick-fielding second baseman and team conscience; Brad Wilkerson, the impish outfielder-first baseman; Zach Day, the goofball pitcher with the world-class sinker pitch; Jose Guillen, the talented but mercurial right fielder.
"We're here. We're ready to go," said pitcher T.J. Tucker. "People in Washington are going to love this team once they get to know us."
Washington Nationals Manager Frank Robinson strolls from the clubhouse to the field to meet with the media.
(Jonathan Newton -- The Washington Post)
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And on and on and on. Days will be filled with drills -- rundown drills, bunting drills, sliding drills, cutoff drills. Scores of hitters will take thousands of swings in the batting cages. Pitchers will build their arm strength up gradually, from light tossing to facing live hitters from the mound. Laps will be run. Robinson will grump and grumble and order more laps.
In the early part of camp, workouts will begin early and end around noon -- and mysteriously, every 12:30 p.m. tee time from here to Daytona Beach will suddenly be snatched up.
In the days to come, there will be battles for jobs and roster spots, several rounds of cuts, and games that are essentially meaningless -- or else why would players who have been taken out of the game run wind sprints in the outfield? -- except as they pertain to those roster battles. Robinson will tell the sad-eyed castoffs to go work hard in the minor leagues and play their way back to the majors.
The story will play out for these next six weeks in Viera, northwest of Melbourne, in the center of Florida's east coast -- a strange land of planned communities and cow pastures. From the top of Space Coast Stadium on Tuesday morning, one could see cranes and tractors putting up the next round of development to the east, and a brush fire burning harmlessly to the west.
Come on down, if you wish, and escape the cold of the mid-Atlantic winter. It's not winter here. It's spring: 70s and sunny most every day. There is a Cracker Barrel on the corner, a "super" Target across the street from a "super" Wal-Mart, a new Starbucks in the new strip-mall in the new development in the new planned community.
And there are players here -- real, live, actual players. And they are, don't forget, the property of Washington, D.C.
