Guest blog courtesy of Michael Cuddyer, Minnesota Twins:
As I have delved into the world of social media, mainly Twitter, I have gotten the chance to communicate with a good number of people.
Fans of baseball ask questions — numerous questions — in just about every category imaginable. However, I would have to say that at least half of the questions — in one way, shape or form — pertain to travel. How does the team travel? Where does the team stay on the road? What do you eat while you are on the road?
All are great questions, and all deserve an answer. Having said that, though, I need to go back to the beginning — to give you the evolution of traveling in professional baseball.
There are many different levels of the minor leagues, but one thing all of them have in common is . . . buses! My first year of pro ball, I played for the Fort Wayne (Ind.) Wizards of the Midwest League. I was only 19 and excited to start my professional career, so I really didn’t mind the six-hour bus ride to Clinton, Iowa.
I didn’t mind the Econo Lodge that had a hole in the floor where I could see the room below me. I didn’t even mind the $12 per diem we received for all three meals. I didn’t know any better — I just thought it was great that I got to play baseball every day. I thought it was great to be able to take batting practice before a game — something I only dreamed about when I was in high school.
The only thing I really did mind was the fact it was the first time I had spent an extended amount of time away from home. I must admit, that first year of pro ball gets a little lonesome and long. There were many breakfasts of Lucky Charms, lunches of peanut butter and jelly, and dinners of ramen noodles. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but I just couldn’t cook or make anything different. Then I was introduced to a clubbie!
The 2000 season was my first year in Double-A. I spent that year, and the next one, in New Britain, Conn. Bus rides in that league were the same — six hours here, 10 hours there — and it was pretty tough. I have to say, however, that the toughest trips were the closest ones because we had to commute for those.
Norwich had a team called the Norwich Navigators. They played about an hour and a half from us. So for every game we played against them, our bus would leave home around 1 so we could get there in time to take batting practice and warm up. We would play the game at 7, and then when the game was over — usually around 10:30 or 11 — we would get back on the bus in our uniforms and drive back to our stadium, where we would take a shower and go home just to do it all over again the next day.
The plus in Double-A, you ask? First of all, the per diem was no longer $12 a day; it was $18. The hotels were better, and the cities were a little bigger and had more choices for dining out.
The big thing that made it so much different was the fact that there was a guy in the clubhouse who would usually make dinners for us after the games. This may not sound like a big thing, but when you are in Altoona, Pa., at 11 p.m. on a Wednesday, there really isn’t much out there as far as food is concerned. Having a clubbie there to make our dinners really set Double-A apart from Single-A.
In 2002, I finally made it to Triple-A. I was in Edmonton, and that meant one thing: No more buses!
The downside was I was in Canada and all of the other teams we played were in the United States. The plane trips were by far worse than any bus ride I had ever taken. Every time we had to go on the road, our schedule was awful. We would have a 3 a.m. wakeup call and then meet at the stadium by 4:15 to get on the bus to the airport. We would take a 6 a.m. flight to Calgary, where we would connect and hop on a 9 a.m. flight to Seattle/Tacoma Airport. From there, we would hop on another plane to reach our final destination, usually landing around 2 p.m. Then we’d get right on a bus to the stadium and play a 7 p.m. game.
Nine times out of 10, our luggage didn’t make it with us and we were stuck with the same set of clothes for the next day. There wasn’t any clubbie in the world who was going to make these situations better. Hotels were better, yes. Money was better, yes. Food was better, yes. But the travel was the absolute worst.
As baseball players, we feel we have paid our dues by the time we finally get called up. That allows us to appreciate what is in store.
The major leagues, of course, are first-class. We charter planes, the per diem is excellent, and the service is outstanding. Every bus ride that I dealt with — every bad hotel, every cup of ramen noodles — was worth it when I finally got to feel what it was like to travel in the big leagues. I remember my first road trip was to Chicago. The team stayed at the Westin, and I had never stayed at a hotel that nice in my life. I had never had anyone carry my bags up to my room. I had never ordered a $25 steak to eat in my bed. I was in utter awe.
As I have gotten older and that sense of awe has somewhat worn off, I realize that traveling is, without a doubt, the hardest part of our profession. At times, it gets pretty lonely on the road. We don’t have roommates, we are away from our families and — I never thought I would say this — eating out all of the time gets really old.
We sleep in the nicest places and eat at the best restaurants, but sometimes all we want is to sit on our own couch and have our children on our laps and our wives next to us watching some sappy primetime television. Having said that, it would be extremely difficult to go back to the Midwest League and sit on a bus for 10 hours.
Travel is an essential part of professional baseball. It is something that only a select few people get to experience. I am very fortunate to have been able to experience it at every level of the process, and, for that reason, I think I am able to appreciate truly how great it is to be able to play, and travel, in the major leagues.
