PHIL X: PROFESSIONAL ATHLETE?!

Yeah, right. I mean, what’s next? “Phil X: New Prime Minister of Italy?” How about, “Phil X: Jimmy Smits’ new Vice President on “'The West Wing?'”

But it looks like I should work on that acceptance speech, and possibly brush up on my Italian, too, because I got to play baseball last week – for money! Sure, it was only for two hours. And it was a practice session, as opposed to a game. Still, professional athletes get paid to practice, don’t they? If not, I guess I’m even one notch higher than them. So what if I had to pay for my own Gatorade afterward?

Before my head finishes inflating to the size of a regulation-class volleyball, let me explain the events that led to my fielding grounders and setting up double plays on a Thursday afternoon. I actually had an assignment to cover. That’s right, I was still a newspaper reporter, getting sent to various events to snap pictures and write about them.

This particular event concerned the opening of a roller hockey rink at Juniper Valley Park. Ever been there? It’s beautiful. It’s also 55 acres in size, which is why I can’t understand Middle Village Civic Association’s steadfast resistance to installing a single-acre dog run. After all, what’s the harm of a little dog feces? It gives the other mutts something to snack on!

Back to last week: I was sitting in the editing office doing journalistic stuff, when our kind-hearted and mildly eccentric publisher Walt – whom I once caught sitting in his office wearing a bathrobe with an unlit pipe in his mouth, looking very much like Hefner – strode into the room and said, “Phil! We just got something in from Dorothy Lewandowski’s office. There’s going to be a grand opening of a roller hockey rink this afternoon!”

Now, the event itself was not a big deal. But Lewandowski happens to be the Queens Borough Parks Department Commissioner, and Walt knew that I had just written a story about the continuing war of words between Queens Parks and the aforementioned Civic Association. In my story, I wrote about the latter’s announcement that they would be filing a lawsuit against NYC Parks, accusing them of ignoring public health codes by allowing dogs off the leash between 9 p.m. and 9 a.m.

Hoping to toss a little kerosene on the already-smoldering flames of inter-borough strife, Walt told me to attend the rink opening, ask Lewandowski her opinion on both dog runs and the lawsuit, and hope for a juicy quote. That way, I could call the Civic Association the following day, get their response to what the Commissioner said, and basically play both sides against each other. You know, the whole “Yojimbo” thing.

I thought it sounded like a fine thing to do, which probably means that my job is turning me evil. However, I still had a few hours before the scheduled event, and I was surprised when both my Managing Editor (hereby referred to as “Manny”) and the Community Editor (hereby referred to as “Commie”) started playing up the importance of the story. Manny offered me a lift; Commie offered one as well, but after Manny explained that his car was parked closer to the office, Commie said he would tag along anyway to help me gauge the public’s response. After all, I would probably have my hands full with Lewandowski.

In hindsight, it’s funny that they were both in the room with me when Walt gave me the assignment, but it wasn’t until he left that they began offering me all this help. Still, a free car ride is a free car ride, and I didn’t know how to get to Juniper Park on foot. So I accepted, and when three o’clock inevitably rolled around, we told the office manager (Walt had gone home) that we were leaving to cover an assignment together, got into Manny’s car and took off for the park.

The rink opening itself was non-eventful at best. Despite the warm weather and generous amount of sunshine, we were the only people there. It was a photo-op in lieu of a press conference; Lewandowski posed with players and coaches from the Middle Village Youth Roller Hockey League. After snapping a picture – which turned out not to be the photo we ran since my camera picked a convenient moment to break down – I managed to ask Lewandowski about the dog run and the lawsuit. She gave the impression of being a sweet, middle-aged lady, and so I didn’t press her when she said, “I have no comment at this time.” On the contrary, I apologized for having had to ask her that question, and thanked her for spending so much time that afternoon talking to us about the importance of roller hockey to the community.

I turned around to find Manny and Commie, to tell them that the Q&A had been a bust. When last I checked, they had diffused into a small crowd composed entirely of Queens Parks staffers. Suddenly, they had disappeared. Then I heard Commie yelling, “Hey, Phil! We’re over here!”

Just beyond the fence in yon distance lay a grassy field, which shone brightly under the sun. I could see Manny and Commie standing about fifteen yards apart, throwing a baseball back and forth. They must have carried one each in Manny’s knapsack and Commie’s duffel bag. They waved me over to join them, and so I told Commissioner Lewandowski, who saw the same scene I did, something homespun-sounding like, “Yep, it’s a tough job. But somebody’s got to do it.”

I remembered hearing her laugh this very maternal laugh. It was deep. It sounded like it emanated up from her very womb. She told me that it was nice meeting me, then touched me on the shoulder to bid me goodbye. As I ran over to where my co-workers were playing, I had a feeling that I had done right after all by not questioning too hard. Maybe next time I would get more benefit of the doubt, I thought. Or maybe some homemade cookies.

Seeing the mitts on Manny and Commie’s hands, and the leather spheroid levitating back and forth between them, I suddenly knew why they had come out here in the first place. The reason was as clear as the blue sky above, as obvious as a perfect afternoon is when the sun shines bright and there’s a mild breeze in the air. But were we going back to the office now? It was only four o’clock, and we usually worked past five-thirty on Thursdays.

“Breaking news: Local newspaper staff engages in spirited game of catch,” said Commie, who tossed me his mitt as he wandered off to do some stretching near the bleachers.

And that’s what we did for an hour. I worked on my throwing motion, which frankly sucked. I caught tosses from Manny with Commie’s mitt, and then Commie and I exchanged a few while Manny made some calls. After that, I stood on the sidelines while the two more experienced field hands – both of them are somewhere in their thirties – struck exaggerated poses as they got ready to throw the ball, and seemed to relive memories of previous athletic glory.

When we’d had enough of catch, we walked over to the baseball diamond and practiced fielding grounders. The way it worked was: We took turns throwing from near the pitching mound to either outfield. Whoever was closer to the grounder fielded the ball, then tossed it to the other man, who ran to cover second base. The drill was punctuated by an exaggerated throw back to first. But since no one was available to cover first, that part was only pantomimed. We did this for a while until we all got tired. It was five o’clock then, but none of us was in the mood to go back to the office. So Manny dropped Commie off near where he had parked his car earlier, and me at a spot within walking distance of home.

As you can probably guess, I charged the paper for all the hours I spent at the park. Manny told me to do it; that gave the act a rather opaque veil of legitimacy. And the point is, now I get to brag about getting paid to play baseball. True, it was only two hours of fun in the sun, and by “play baseball,” I really mean play catch, run practice drills, and otherwise goof off.

But the world is full of kids who dream about the chance to make money while doing just that. If there’s one thing I understand, it’s the dream of each and every American citizen to live well and easy simultaneously. At the same time, if there’s one other thing I know, it’s that I have it in me to do everything in my power to make that dream a reality for everyone, regardless of age, creed, or color. And so I am honored to accept President Santos’ invitation to be the next Vice President of the United States of America.