The Futility Infielder

The Futility Infielder's All-Star Weekend, Day 1: FanFest

From the time I first held one of those 2.5" by 3.5" colorful cardboard rectangles in my hands nearly twenty-five years ago, I've fantasized about what it would be like to appear on a baseball card. At Saturday's All-Star FanFest in Milwaukee, I finally got to find out.

The FanFest is a three-story convention center of overstimulation for baseball fans, featuring interactive booths, exhibits, autograph and photo opportunities, and collectible memorabilia. I spent seven hours at the Fest (held at the Midwest Express Center) on Saturday in the company of my girlfriend Andra, her parents, her siblings Aaron and Adam, Adam's girlfriend Mai, and their friend Mark. A good portion of our time was spent standing in lines, but in most cases, the payoff was well worth it.

The marquee attraction for me was the FanFest Baseball Card booth. Of course, hundreds of other people had the same idea. Accompanied by Andra and her mother Aune, I stood in a lengthy line as a clipboard-armed volunteer took down our names, hometowns, and positions on a form which was then delivered to a data-entry booth. About twenty minutes later (by which point we were almost halfway through the line), we were handed stickers with that info, along with three lines of flattering but fake statistics for the 1999 through 2001 seasons (my .378 batting average in 1999 was at least third in the league--based on my comparisons to Andra and Aune's stellar seasons--though I did have 30 HRs, 117 RBI, 110 walks and 88 steals to go along with it, uh-huh). These stickers would become the backs of our cards.

After about 45 minutes in line, we reached the stage, where four sets of photographers and wardrobe assistants dressed us in the uniforms of choice and guided our poses. For the first time in my life I donned a pinstriped jersey with the interlocking NY (to go with the Yankees cap I was already wearing). I suspected, though, that I was in trouble, as both the chatty wardrobe assistant and the bitter old crow of a photographer were both outfitted in Red Sox regalia. At other booths, the photographers allowed participants to reject their first photo in favor of a more flattering one, but the old crow and her minion hurried me off the set. So I'm going to blame them and not my excessive bratwurst consumption on the unflattering, Luis Sojo-esque double chin I'm sporting (I'll scan the card when I return to New York).

As I waited for my photo and sticker to be married together in holy baseball card matrimony, Andra spotted a small autograph-induced commotion nearby which she directed me towards. Would you believe that my sworn nemesis, the Baddest Rug in Baseball, the Commish himself, Bud Selig, was signing autographs a few feet from me? I pondered my course of action. At point-blank range I could hurl an insult (or my hefty camera) at him, but Andra quickly whipped out a sheet of paper for me to offer instead. In a voice dripping with saccharine, I asked him, "Bud, can I have your autograph, please?"

Without looking up, the Commish dutifully scrawled his signature on my paper as Andra snapped a photo of us. Pondering the beautiful irony of the situation, I thanked him sincerely as an aide handed him an open cel phone (no doubt somebody was on the other line saying, "Watch out for that Jaffe character, I think he's got it in for you. He has a web site, and he may be armed...")

That wasn't the only autograph I got. I stood in line 45 minutes to get a photo and signature with Hall of Famer Brooks Robinson. The legendary Oriole third-baseman was more than gracious as he signed my baseball, and I noticed he wore his 1970 World Series ring. Brett Butler was on the dais next to Robinson, and I had him sign a sheet of paper as well. I didn't have the patience to stand in an adjacent line for autographs from Rollie Fingers and Dick Williams, and I later passed up the opportunites for signatures from Hall of Famers Tony Perez and Fergie Jenkins, as well as former Brewer Don Money.

One of the other big highlights for me was the This Week In Baseball Fantasy Broadcast Booth, where participants could provide commentary to one of ten great baseball moments and then receive a videotape with their soundtrack overdubbed. I considered Hank Aaron's 715th home run and Bobby Thomson's "Shot Heard 'Round The World," (which I planned to accompany with a tasteless string of expletives befitting my Dodger loyalties, "$%#%! That &^%^$ Bobby Thomson just hit a *&%$ home run over the $%#% leftfield wall, and the &^%^$-$%#* Giants have won the *&%$ pennant..."). In the end, I chose Kirk Gibson's 1988 pinch-hit World Series home run off of Dennis Eckersley. With a surprising amount of adrenaline flowing and everybody within 50 feet becoming our de facto audience, I did a relatively straightlaced play-by-play while Andra's brother Aaron provided hammed-up color commentary. I even snuck in my Jack Buck "I don't believe what I just saw!" tribute. I think my best line was when Dodger manager Tommy Lasorda came barrelling out of the dugout to congratulate Gibson. I said "Look at Lasorda, he looks as if he's going to explode out of that uniform. He'll be drinking Slim-Fast until the cows come home after this."

I won a few prizes at the FanFest. Every attendee received a plastic prize card encoded with a chip upon entering, and then had three opportunities to swipe the card at various terminals to see if they won anything; I ended up winning an All-Star Game pin with a giant MasterCard logo (practically everything is sponsored at the game), and a mini-frisbee. Mai won the same pin, and Andra won a T-shirt. I won an MLB.com T-shirt and cap for stumping two "know-it-alls" (cough, cough) from Major League Baseball Radio with my trivia question, which was, "Name the two pitchers who threw nine-inning no-hitters in the same game." The two panelists squirmed while asking for several hints, but they couldn't even offer an answer (Fred Toney and Jim "Hippo" Vaughn, May 2, 1917, duh). I also "won" a Nextel pin for answering two trivia questions and partaking in a cel phone/walkie-talkie demonstration. Big deal.

I also partook in several interactive exhibits. At the Steal Home Challenge, which was essentially a timed sprint (without slide) between third base and home plate, I clocked a 4.29 second time, nipped at the wire by Andra's brother Adam (with a 4.22). At the Video Batting Cage, I faced a pitching machine married to a video projection of a pitcher with a hole cut in it, aligned to the ball's release. From several top-notch hurlers, I chose to bat against Pedro Martinez. I managed only a soft foul tip off of Pedro, but when Adam matched that against Greg Maddux and his friend Mark did the same against Roger Clemens, I didn't feel so bad. Later, outside the buidling, I pitched to a radar gun. Somewhat spent from my other activities and nursing a stiff back, I'm not sure my speeds were representative. I only clocked 50 MPH on the gun, which wasn't even as good as the 10- or 11-year old ahead of me, who had the motion down and was clearly Bringin' It. It didn't help that I bounced one of my three balls in front of the plate, generating a blank score. Oh well.

I spent a couple of hours roaming around the collectors' exhibits, receiving a handful of baseball cards (Topps Series 1 Barry Zito, Brent Mayne, and Joe Kennedy; Upper Deck MVP series Curt Schilling, Albert Pujols, Robb Nen, Armando Benitez, and Richard Hidalgo, among others). I purchased a couple packs of the Topps 206 set, which are done up as replicas of the T-206 tobacco cards from early in the century; one of the packs was stacked with Yankees Clemens, Jeter, Soriano and Mussina. I also purchased a couple of gifts for friends and a Jim Bouton-autographed baseball.

It was an incredible, overstimulating day. I've never felt more like a sugared-up kid in a candy store. If the rest of my All-Star Weekend is this good, I'm in for a real treat.