3 questions with a baseball superfan

Jeff Vrabel

So what qualifies you to be a baseball superfan?

I live baseball. I breathe baseball. I smell like baseball. My living room is covered in dirt. On Opening Day, I take the day off and wait outside the ballpark at sunrise, crying. I have stolen Hall of Fame exhibits hanging in my house. My children eat nothing but peanuts and fried bits of glove leather. My bathroom is a trophy room.

What are your days like as a superfan?

Literally, right now, while you were asking me that question, I was gathering box scores from last night and loading them into a spreadsheet I put together for my fantasy teams, of which I have 30, one for each of the major league ballclubs. I have algorithms that tell me which players are hot, I have automatic trade notifications that arrive via text message, and I have injury updates that come in on my ham radio and sometimes carrier pigeon. Every morning I spend hours determining the status of my fantasy team, and if there’s time when I’m done, I go to work. There’s usually not time.

What is the craziest baseball-related thing you have ever done?

I’ve snuck onto the field at Doubleday Park in Cooperstown to run a lap or two, and I’ve sold important household goods for playoff tickets. I wore a jersey under my tux at my wedding, which was itchy but worth it. I have a humidor in the basement dedicated solely to the storage of baseball cards. But probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever done is remain a Cubs fan.