Phillies Super Fan Cole Yeager with Arizona pitcher Mike Koplove.

On a dreary, damp and cold May night Cole Yeager walks through Citizens Bank Park in Philadelphia dressed in full uniform, everything from head to toe. The hat? Fitted. His jersey? Customized with his lucky No.16 on the back. His spikes? Painted red to match the stirrups and red pinstriped pants.

Three little kids approach Yeager as he passes through Ashburn Alley. Quickly throwing out a hat, glove and a program for him to sign. The curious group of onlookers soon turns rabid, armed with sharpies and cameras. The impromptu autograph session would last for the better part of the next hour.

“Are you a real player,” an old lady, maybe 70, asks the Mike Schmidt wannabe.

“I’m a minor leaguer. Double A. Remember my name because I’ll be up in a few years,” Yeager responds.

He’s correct in telling the woman he’s a minor leaguer…. …in Emerson College’s Intramural Whiffleball League, where the college junior hit a buck-seventy last season. Signing autographs for old ladies and little kids is the closest he’ll ever come to living out his big league dreams.

Secretly, I’d like to believe that the assembled crowd knows he isn’t real. But Yeager isn’t a 300-pound fat guy wearing something purchased at Wal-Mart. His 6-foot-3 well-built, athletic frame makes it obvious that he’s an athlete. At just 20, he’s slightly younger than Jonathan Papelbon and Prince Fielder, two of the best young players in the game. And his costume, ranging from the Authentic Collection turtleneck to the red belt and matching armbands, is as good as it gets. Which makes it hard not to admire how real he looks… even if he can’t hit a whiffleball.

“He’s like the Phillies’ Santa Claus,” notes his father, Rich. “People want to believe he’s real.”

Yeager walks into the team store and is immediately recognized by some of the employees. With the costume, he’s both the best customer and a walking billboard. The crowd, now smaller, starts to form around this real-life talking mannequin.

“Here! Stand next to the bobblehead Thome,” someone shouts. “Smile!” CLICK.

How did it all start? Yeager going from rabid fan to an almost imaginary figure.

“The jersey was for my 16th birthday,” he remembers. “After 9/11, MLB put the American Flag on the back of the jerseys and I really wanted one. That’s why 16 is on the back.”

He found the pants on eBay for 20 bucks and the idea of building an entire uniform was born. Three years later Yeager had refined his act, eagerly enjoying his cult status at the ballpark, especially with the ladies.

“There was a rain delay on the night Jim Thome hit his 400th homer,“ he laments. “This was only my second time at the new ballpark so I wanted to get a feel for the place. All of the sudden a whole luxury box of 16- to 18-year-old girls start shouting my name and waiving to me.”

The story gets better.

Twenty minutes later he wanders again. This time a man shouts out for him and invites him into his private suite. Turns out the suite was owned by Lincoln Financial Field, home of the Eagles.

“The guys wanted to know what the deal was with the jersey. They offered me free food, snacks, beer, everything,” Yeager said.

And better.

The girls, who were previously screaming his name, were in the suite next door. Once they figured out that the look-a-like in the Phillies uniform was feet away, raging hormones took over.

“I was mobbed,” he jubilantly says.  “Turns out it was a birthday party and one of the girls invited 19 of her closest friends to the game.”

And better.

“One of the guys in the suite was a ticket broker, and he ended up setting my family up with seats for a Rockies-Reds game at Coors Field when we went out there. Oh! And the Phillies won too.”

By this time it was clear that the act was a winner. Since then he’s continued to wander the stands of Citizens Bank Park periodically on those hot summer nights when he’s got a ticket. He says he enjoys the attention, the little kids and being recognized as a hardcore Philly fan.

“Younger and older guys make fun of me,” he admits. “But that’s because they can’t pull it off like I can.”

On another dreary, damp, cold night last April, I introduced Yeager, dressed in full uniform, at Fenway Park no less, to Red Sox ball girl Kelly Barons. The pony-tailed vacuum cleaner has made quite a name for herself the past few seasons, protecting fans from screaming line drives down the baselines. She has also used her newfound celebrity to make waves in the television industry, making an appearance as co-host on ESPN’s Baseball Tonight in 2004 and co-hosting “Bruins All Access” on NESN this past winter.

I’ve stated in an earlier column that I believe Kelly’s role has become part of the overrated lore associated with “nouveau-riche” Red Sox Nation. She is after all just the ball girl, not some ballpark sex symbol.

But she’s also got a pretty good story, too.

Kelly Barons isn’t just the “cute ball girl” with the job everybody dreams of. She does nitty-gritty office work, visits hospitals and makes a bunch of charity appearances in addition to her game day duties. By the time I mention that she’s also a full-time college student, it’s pretty obvious that she does more than show up at the ballpark with her glove and smile.

In the past few seasons in her duties as “ball attendant” (There you go PC police) she’s made quite a few plays worthy of Baseball Tonight’s WebGem status. Not surprising for a former collegiate catcher. But there have been some forgettable moments as well, including a game last summer where she had to be helped off the field, in tears, after being hit with a batted ball.

Crying on television? Bucknering balls in front of 36,000 people? A small price to pay for her front-row seat to baseball history.

Two years ago when the Red Sox won their first World Championship in 86 years, Barons was right there in St. Louis with them, hitchhiking her way to Busch Stadium before ending up in the middle of the greatest on-field celebration one could imagine.

“I was in tears. Sobbing because I was so happy,” she recalled in an interview last December. “David Ortiz comes up to me and says ‘Girl, we just won the World Series! Why are you cryin?’ It was certainly memorable to say the least.”

Am I jealous? You bet I’m jealous. I’m also pretty bitter about the whole thing, too.

I had tickets to the final two games of the 2004 World Series. As far as I’m concerned, if the Cardinals hadn’t laid down and died, I would have been there on the Fenway Park field celebrating with her.
 
Three days later, more than 3 million Red Sox fans paid tribute to the beloved “Olde Towne Team” with a “Rolling Rally” through the streets of Boston. Barons, as a team employee, was on one of the Duck Boats for the ride.

“I thought that once the players ducks passed people would leave,” she remembers. “But they stayed and cheered us, I don’t know why. Some even threw roses at us. The whole experience was unbelievable.”

The on-field celebrations? Baseball Tonight WebGems? Parades? Let’s face it. Kelly Barons has lived the ultimate dream for any sports fan. Make your team, the one you live and die with, your own. That’s what superfans like Cole Yeager try and do when they put on the uniform. Sure, some of it might be an act, or even desperate cries for attention. But would you rather see: three dorks sitting in three-piece suits at a Mets game in the middle of August?

I sure as hell wouldn’t.

Jake Duhaime covered the 2006 Olympic Winter Games for Atomic Sports Media. He can be reached at jake.duhaime@atomicsportsmedia.com.