Dreams come true at Cooperstown

This Memorial Day weekend presented a unique and amazing opportunity for me. I traveled to Coopers­town, N.Y., to the Baseball Hall of Fame (BHOF). For the sixth consecutive year, the BHOF was holding its Cooperstown Memorial Day Classic, an exhibition home-run derby and baseball game featuring retired players from each Major League team. As a journalist, I was able to get media credentials for the event; I jumped at the chance to experience baseball history.Like a lot of kids in America, I grew up on baseball. My Dad played in college, my brother played through high school, and I was fortunate enough to go to a lot of Major League games with them when I was growing up. Every summer, the three of us would pile in the car and drive down to Baltimore, Md., to visit my Dad’s college friend and take in a few Orioles games. Some of my earliest memories are of watching Cal Ripken Jr., Brady Anderson and Robby Alomar Jr. Pro baseball players were gods to me, and I filled my brain with stats and trivia about the players and about baseball in general. Welcome to the Hall of FameAs I drove up to Cooperstown I felt like a little kid at Christmas knowing that in just a few short hours, I would be in the same room as some of the players I had idolized for so long.A few days before the event, I had received an email from the BHOF with the logistics for the weekend. There would be a 20-minute period to interview the retired players who’d come for the weekend.As I walked into the building, a feeling overcame me that I’d never felt before. I guess it was a mixture of excitement, nervousness and absolute awe that in a just a short time I would be talking with guys I’d looked up to my entire life. I picked up my credentials, half expecting the guy to tell me, “Get lost, kid. You aren’t supposed to be here.” But as I muttered my name and said I work for The Lakeville Journal, he simply handed me a manila envelope and welcomed me to the Hall of Fame. I opened the envelope and there it was: my first-ever media credential to a professional baseball game. I put it around my neck and instantly felt official. I made it! I was a professional sports journalist.Not wanting to miss out on the opportunity, I gave myself more than enough time before the interview period, so I had about 20 minutes to kill. Next door to the media room, they had set up a buffet and a bunch of tables and chairs so I walked in to grab some food. As I stood in the corner, nibbling on a sandwich, the director of the Hall of Fame began to speak, welcoming everyone and explaining the logistics for the day. I heard the door open behind me and as I looked back my mouth hit the floor. There, just 3 feet from me, was Pedro Martinez. Pedro Martinez! I am a die-hard Red Sox fan and have been since 1999, so seeing Pedro in person was like seeing God himself. As he walked in, he saw someone he knew near where I was and came right over, standing directly in front of me. But just then, I was spotted by the media relations guy who made a beeline for me and told me to go join the other journalists in the media room. I was forced to leave.In the media room, I began to overthink the upcoming interview. What was I going to ask the players? Where do I stand? What do I say? Before I could answer those questions, the doors opened and everyone flooded in to begin interviewing players. I walked in and there before me were three tables with roughly 20 former Major League players. Pedro Martinez, Jim Thome, Luis Gonzalez, Phil Niekro, Hideki Matsui, Todd Hollandsworth, all were just sitting there like regular people, ready to answer questions. I was overwhelmed and kind of bumped around, not really sure who to talk to first. I settled on Pedro, who was over in the corner, and walked over to join the roughly five other reporters who were already talking to him. I stood there for a couple minutes listening to the other reporters’ questions and his answers. Finally, Pedro finished answering a question and there was silence. This was my opportunity. As I asked my question, I watched him direct his attention toward me. A professional athlete was giving me his attention. He answered my questions, smiled, and then moved on to the next one. That wasn’t so bad or hard. For the next 10 minutes, I took turns with the other reporters asking questions, even joking with him about a potential comeback this season to help the Sox who were struggling mightily (which he adamantly denied).I wandered around the room talking to various players. I had a conversation with Jim Thome about what it means to be one of only eight players ever to hit 600 home runs. I talked with Luis Gonzalez about his game-winning single off Mariano Rivera in Game 7 of the 2001 World Series. It felt like I was talking to old friends, reminiscing about good times we had back in the day. For my entire life these guys seemed as if they were untouchable deities — and here I was talking with them, joking, laughing like I do with my friends at home. This was one of the coolest experiences I have ever had.As I finished up talking to Gonzalez, I looked up and noticed I was one of the only remaining reporters in the room, I figured it was probably time to go. I walked outside and hopped on the waiting shuttle, on my way to the field to cover my first ever professional sporting event. I sat back in my seat and smiled. I have the greatest job in the world.Sam Rathbun is a reporter for The Lakeville Journal.