Spring Training, Sunlight, and the Reminder We All Need
Spring training strips baseball back to its roots early mornings, golden light, and a reminder that behind every pro athlete is a young player still chasing the dream.
As a Seattle-based sports photographer covering spring training in Arizona, I find there’s something different about spring training.
Maybe it’s the desert light, soft in the morning, golden by late afternoon, and the much-needed vitamin D break from the gloomy Seattle gray.
Maybe it’s the lower stakes, the hum of a crowd that isn’t quite the roar you hear when you step into a packed stadium at T-Mobile Park. Or maybe it’s what happens when you step back from the stats, the contracts, the expectations... and just watch.
Because when you look, really look, you see it.
They’re just boys.
They’re kids fresh out of school, twenty-something years old, bright-eyed and baby-faced, just excited to be there.
Out on those fields in Arizona, they laugh during warmups, tease each other from the dugout, and wait for a coach to give them direction. There’s a looseness to spring training that doesn’t exist in the regular season. A lightness. A reminder that before this was pressure, before it was performance, before it was millions of eyes and opinions, it was a game.
This is where a team is built. Where the bonds are made. Because once the official season starts, it’s business.
But at its core, it was once just a children’s game.
Played in the street with neighborhood kids. At the park where the grass was more mud than field. At high schools where you could hear your parents clapping and shouting your name from half-empty bleachers, travel coffee cups in hand, seat pads under them because those tournament days are long.
I spent a little time at the Goodyear practice fields, where I got to witness the playfulness behind the scenes. The kind you don’t always see once the stadium fills and the pressure sets in. Teammates chirping back and forth. Laughter echoing across the field. That undeniable camaraderie that reminds you this is still a game they love.
And then you step into the massive ballpark, where the scale shifts entirely.
These same players suddenly look so small against the vastness of the stadium, tiny figures in a space built for spectacle. It’s a striking contrast. Larger than life from the stands, but up close, just young guys finding their rhythm.
And somewhere in between it all, tucked near the bullpen, a crinkled piece of bubblegum wrapper. Something so ordinary, so nostalgic, it pulls you right back to childhood. To Little League fields, sticky fingers, and dreams that felt just as big as that stadium.
You see it in the way they jog out to the field, not yet worn down by a 162-game season. You see it in the small interactions: inside jokes, shoulder bumps, the quiet focus of someone trying to prove they belong. You see it in the way some of them still aren’t quite over the media attention yet, still excited to pose for a photo.
Some of them are fighting for a roster spot. Some are just trying not to mess up. Some are standing on that field for the first time, pretending they’re not overwhelmed.
And for a moment, if you let yourself, you remember:
They’re not just players.
They’re not just numbers on a lineup card.
They’re not just people we critique from the couch.
They’re kids who grew up loving this game so much they built their entire lives around it. They’re boys who miss their families back home, who cried when they got the call, who send checks home to their moms because they made it.
So the next time you’re watching from your living room, when a swing comes up short, when a throw goes wide, when frustration creeps in and you feel the urge to yell at the TV, pause.
Remember the version of them you’d see in spring training.
The one laughing in the outfield.
The one chasing a dream.
The one who, not that long ago, was just a kid on a dusty field hoping someone would notice.
Because this game, at its core, is still a children’s game. And these are still young men carrying the weight of an entire city on their shoulders.
And maybe we’re all a little better as fans when we remember that.
Finding Confidence Behind the Camera: Spring Training, Sports Photography, and Opening Your Own Doors
Spring training isn’t just about baseball, it’s about growth, confidence, and remembering that even the biggest stages are filled with people still finding their way. From quiet dugout moments to stepping into spaces I wasn’t invited into, this is what the camera taught me about showing up and opening my own doors.
Spring Training baseball is a great reminder that sports photography isn’t always about perfect access or the biggest lens in your bag. Sometimes you don’t have media credentials. Most stadium policies only allow camera lenses under six inches long. No photo pit. No sideline access. No massive telephoto lens. So you work with the tools you have.
Mariner’s Hall of Fame at Peoria Sport Complex | Peoria, Arizona (Ichiro, Robinson, Griffey, Martinez)
Sports photographers learn quickly that creativity and adaptability matter more than equipment. When access is limited, the job becomes finding new angles, moving your feet, and capturing the energy of the game from wherever you are allowed to stand. Restrictions don’t eliminate the story. They simply change how you tell it. But there’s another unexpected thing that happens when you carry a camera. It builds confidence.
A camera becomes more than photography gear, it becomes a reason to start conversations and connect with people you might otherwise never approach. Photography creates an opening to introduce yourself, ask questions, and step into new spaces.
At one point during the day, in a sea of Mariners gear, I noticed someone wearing an Everett AquaSox shirt. Many of the fans were from Seattle or have some affiliation, however, being from the Pacific Northwest & the Everett area specifically, this caught my eye.
As he walked by I said, “Hey, nice AquaSox polo.”
Turns out it was Danny Tetzlaff, General Manager of the Everett AquaSox minor league baseball team back in Washington. We got to talking about the game, the 2025 Aquasox championship, photography and of course, comedy since I often shoot locally for Everett Comedy and drive past the stadium. It's funny how comedy really brings people together.
*I am still kicking myself for not taking a photo of him and his championship ring but, c'est la vie. I guess I was too busy enjoying our chat and now I have learned to make sure I get that shot!!
*Photo Courtesy of Everett Aquasocks Instagram account
Shortly after, I noticed a man with a giant lens out in the crowd. Turns out this was Mason from the successful social media channel ; Reds Daily who creates and features memes and graphics of the Cincinnati Reds. He gave me some inspirational advice about blazing your own trail, and going for it.
That’s the power of simply showing up with a camera and saying hello.
Photography has a way of opening doors in unexpected ways. Sometimes those doors are conversations. Sometimes they are connections. Sometimes they are literal rooms you might not have otherwise walked into. When you’re working as a photographer, especially in sports photography or photo journalism, you quickly learn that waiting for permission isn’t always how opportunities appear. Sometimes you introduce yourself. Sometimes you take the shot from the seat you’re in. Sometimes you walk into the room and see what happens. As the saying goes, “well-behaved women rarely make history.” Creative careers rarely grow by standing politely on the sidelines either.
So here’s to day one!
Day one of Spring Training photography without media access
Day one of working with the camera gear that made it through the gate
Day one of building confidence through photography and conversation
And day one of finding the doors that need to be pushed open.
Venue: Peoria Sports Complex
Organization: Cactus League & MLB
Special Guest : Everett Aquasocks & Reds Daily
Featuring: Seattle Mariners V Cincinnati Reds