His name was Randy St. Claire, the current pitching coach of the Nationals.

In the third inning of a game in Orlando, I left my seat at Tinker Field for a few moments to use the restroom. On my way back, I stopped and asked the blue-haired lady at the concession stand if they sold "authentic" Orlando Twins caps. Her eyebrows rose so high as she considered my question that, for a moment anyway, all the wrinkles on her face disappeared.

It was 1935 all over again.

As I turned to walk away, an athletic-looking young man asked me if I wanted the "real thing." "Sure," I said. He walked me towards the clubhouse door, which was a simple metal gate along the side of the stands at Tinker Field.

He quickly looked both ways to make sure no one saw us, then opened the door and motioned me inside. It was the middle of the game and no one was there. He pulled a uniform out of a locker and grabbed a hat from a table that was emblazoned with the traditional interlocking "OT" logo of the Orlando Twins.

The jersey had belonged to a Minnesota Twins player the previous season. At the end of each year, the uniforms were handed down to the minor league club.

"I'll give you both for $25" said the young man. "Won't they be missed?" I asked.

"Ah, I'll tell 'em someone stole them."

I returned to my seat with a brown paper bag that contained my prizes. The jersey number was 21. To this day, I have been afraid to look up whose jersey I "purchased." Some things are better left unknown.

Have the statute of limitations for theft in Florida expired by now?

When my daughter's health permitted, my family left Florida and relocated to the mountains of south-eastern Idaho. I can't say that I necessarily miss spring training, because I saw all there was to see and learned all there was to learn about the shadow-sided underbelly of baseball's annual rebirth.

It was in Idaho, of all places, that I became a baseball insider, a member of the club, someone whose job everyone wanted. About an hour after the Idaho Falls Braves public address announcer quit and moved to Portland, I walked into general manager Rai Henniger’s office to try and sell him something.

He offered me the job on the spot. It paid $25 a game and included all the food I could eat. I later asked him why I got the job. "I had just moved here," he said, "and I didn't know anyone else to ask."

In other words, he knew talent when it walked in the door.

I spent the summer saying, “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to McDermott Field, for tonight’s game between the 'visiting team' and your...home...town...Idaho...Falls Braves!”

No one from the Braves made it to the major leagues, and the only opposition player that ever impressed me was the Helena Dodger’s shortstop, Jose Offerman.

He had a pretty decent major league career.

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