Ponce de Leon never discovered the Fountain of Youth in Florida. Roger Philippon, Bob Blaisdell and Denis Fortier would tell you it’s because he was born at the wrong time to root for the Boston Red Sox.
Blaisdell just turned 50. Philippon hits the big five-oh-no with his next birthday. Fortier put that milestone in life’s rearview mirror eight years ago.
For seven winter days, however, the three Lewiston men were baseball card-collecting, bubble-blowing, daydreaming kids again, united by their lifelong fascination with every Hall of Famer or journeyman who ever wore the Sox.
They were among 130 men who attended the annual Boston Red Sox Fantasy Baseball Camp at the team’s spring training complex in Fort Myers, Fla., returning home with strained hip flexors and sore shoulders and enough anecdotes to tell ’til the end of time.
“I hadn’t played baseball since high school. To hear compliments from a couple of those former players,” said Fortier, a relatively short, grandfatherly looking gentleman, “I was about 6-foot-5 after that.”
Price tag for a seat in this time machine: $3,600. But that gets you a hotel and round trip airfare, plus breakfast and lunch and a seven-inning twinbill every day. On the final day, your team of old-timers battles a squad of Sox legends at City of Palms Park.
The three men agree that the best is yet to come. Prior to a Red Sox home game on Sunday, June 5, they’ll be introduced with their campmates, complete with photos on the Jumbotron. The next day, they’ll play a three-inning exhibition between the hallowed fences at Fenway Park.
All this after getting to hang with Bill Lee, Luis Tiant, Rich Gedman, Frank Malzone, Dick Drago, Rick Wise and a cast of similarly credentialed, Red-blooded instructors.
Every camp has its marquee drop-ins, too. This year’s were Carl Yastrzemski, Jim Rice and Dwight Evans. Red Sox radio personality Joe Castiglione is the public address announcer at the final game.
“You dress in the same locker room. They sit at your table and eat with you,” said Philippon. “Tiant can put away the doughnuts.”
No day at the beach
Each day, the veterans conduct kangaroo court prior to the morning half of the doubleheader. The notoriously free-spirited Lee would give daily accounts of carousing with his team the night before, Philippon said.
But there also was quality instruction and serious competition among the 10 teams, all of whom wore officially licensed, home-and-away Red Sox jerseys.
The Lewistonians teamed together with the Bombers and were managed by Dick Berardino, who has coached more than 30 years in the Red Sox minor league system.
“When they call it a fantasy camp,” said Fortier, “it really is a camp. By the time we got back to the hotel at 5 o’clock, we were tired!”
Campers must be at least 30 years old, but the average age is 46.
Philippon said there were approximately a dozen tables in the trainer’s room at the clubhouse. He noted that the stations were occupied every morning, and up to 25 guys lined up in the hallway awaiting their turn.
Blaisdell is more physically fit than many men half his age. His family is actively involved in tennis and other recreational pursuits.
“I’ll tell you, you’re sore at the end of the day,” said Blaisdell. “I’m in pretty decent shape, but there are certain muscles you use in baseball that you don’t use in a regular workout.”
Of the three, only Philippon, the assistant dean at Lewiston-Auburn College, has played any significant baseball since he was a teenager. He’s active in a wooden-bat, over-45 league that’s based in Bath.
No waiting ’til next year
Philippon considered attending the camp for more than a decade. Work and financial commitments dissuaded him, he said. His father’s death last year finally prompted him to mail the check.
“At the end of his life, he regretted putting off a lot of things,” Philippon said. “My wife said now was the time.”
It didn’t take much for Philippon to convince Fortier, his friend and golfing partner, to join him.
They didn’t know Blaisdell until meeting him at a local batting cage prior to the trip. Blaisdell’s wife bought him the dream vacation as a birthday present.
“This isn’t something I would normally do,” Blaisdell said. “It gave me a new appreciation for what ballplayers actually go through.”
Each man came home with a suitcase full of trinkets, old and new. Philippon’s two jerseys, complete with the 2004 World Series championship patch and his last name emblazoned on the back of the road edition, hang on his office door. A ball covered with signatures in blue ink rests underneath a desk lamp.
Blaisdell brought a 1968 Red Sox yearbook and a Frank Malzone trading card and had them signed. Fortier was content to shake hands with Malzone, who was one of his idols.
“I admired him through the 1950s and ’60s when the Red Sox weren’t very good,” Fortier said.
Indeed, the camp reinforces that true-blue Red Sox fans don’t draw a distinction between good and great.
“George Thomas told me he goes unnoticed anywhere else in the world,” Philippon said. “But at this camp, nobody walks by without saying, Hey, you’re George Thomas! You were part of the Impossible Dream team!'”
And every year, in that wide-eyed moment, someone else’s dream comes true.
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