Clearwater is still Clearwater. Florida is still Florida. But the Phillies aren't exactly the Phillies anymore. That is certainly a good thing, but it is still sort of jarring.
They opened their exhibition season in the southern capital of the Evil Empire. George Steinbrenner, whose 2010 passing was observed with a pregame ceremony that lasted just slightly longer than 2010, used to run the New York Yankees from an office suite a few miles from the ballpark that bears his name. Before the Rays appeared down in St. Pete, this was all just a banana republic in the Boss' baseball empire.
For decades while Steinbrenner roared, the Phillies quietly played their exhibition games across the causeway. On a typical day, a smattering of snowbirds and retirees would find their way from Lenny's breakfast spot to sit on aluminum bleachers at modest Jack Russell Stadium. A foul ball landing in one of the empty sections sounded like thunder and would reverberate for long seconds.
On a good day, say when the Yankees or Red Sox buses were parked near the visitors' clubhouse, there would be a pretty good crowd. Of course, the fans would have a chance to watch Shane Rawley and Jeff Stone and Ken Howell and Glenn Wilson and Jon Lieber and Mike Lieberthal preparing to charge north and win 70 or 80 games.
It was like being in a dead nightspot on a Saturday night, knowing the real party was elsewhere. You could almost smell the hopelessness back then. The baseball that mattered was being played somewhere far away.
