After watching the Red Sox pull off perhaps the most amazing feat of any Major League Baseball team ever, I just can’t sleep. I love this game. And I love writing my thoughts, so I figured I would post a little bit of my personal, long, and ever-continuing love affair with this game called baseball. Baseball has always been one of the loves of my life, although I have not posted many baseball thoughts on stewieBLOGS. For the most part this blog has been reserved for my “two families,” the two greatest loves of my life, but now and then I can reserve some time and space for a close third.
“The one constant through all the years… has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It’s been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But, baseball has marked the time. This field, this game, is a part of our past… It reminds us of all that once was good, and could be again.”
– Terence Mann (James Earl Jones) in “Field of Dreams”
When I was born I was given a baseball glove by my uncle Jim, and before I was a year old my family members were teaching me how to say words like, “Pete Rose, Johnny Bench, play ball!” We even had a dog named after the Reds’ manager “Sparky” Anderson. My dad built me a batting tee, a pitching rubber, and a home plate, and my back yard became my own field of dreams. I remember one day when I was 10 years old we were throwing in the yard, and the local police officer came driving up through our neighborhood with his new radar detector in his car. He stopped beside our house and pointed the radar gun at a few of my pitches and clocked me at 54, 52, and 56 MPH. I was on my way!!!
In Little League I played for a team that came close to winning the BIG championship 3 years in a row. And then finally, in my fourth and final year we won it all, and I was named MVP. After the regular season I played for the Big Bend All-Star Team and we went to two different tournaments and won them both (in one game of one of those tournaments my mother was ejected by an umpire and ordered to go sit at least 500 feet away from the field… but you’ll have to ask her about that… LOL… now I’m in trouble).
Pretty much the same exact story happened during my Pony League years, only this time the radar guns were clocking my pitches between 76-82 MPH. I was ready to begin preparing for my future in baseball.
During my high school years I carried a weighted baseball around school constantly. I did reports on books written by Pete Rose, Orel Hershiser, and Nolan Ryan. I carried a book on Pitching in my book bag and read it whenever I had extra time. I dug up addresses and names of Major League scouts, wrote them letters and invited them to watch me play. During high school I went to a few local tryout camps conducted by the Reds and the Pirates. By my senior year my fastball had hit 85-86 MPH.
I have often taken some time to ponder my personal history and realize that the decisions I made post-high school (and the influence of my parents on those decisions) were without a doubt some of the most significant decisions of my life in determining where I am today. I know most people could easily say the same, but if I had gotten my way I’m certain I would not be where I am today. The fact is baseball has never been my first love. Maybe it was for a while, but Jesus took that place in my heart from the time I was 12 years old. From that time God began to shape me into His plan for my life, and on a couple of occasions I attempted to take over the reigns. But He was ultimately in control.
I remember writing my Mom and Dad a letter after I had received an offer from a University coach to transfer to his school and play baseball for his team. I had gone to Kentucky Christian College because I sensed God’s call on my life to serve Him full-time in ministry, but the mistress of baseball was always there, seducing me. Through prayer and heart-felt, honest conversation my parents convinced me to keep the course God had set me on, and I did. Baseball would soon be a thing of the past. Or would it?
After college graduation in 1994 one of my friends from the KCC baseball team invited me to attend an open tryout for a team that was in a newly formed professional baseball independent league called the Frontier League (today one of the premiere independent professional baseball leagues from whom several Major League scouts draw). The team was in Chillicothe, Ohio. I had just accepted a full-time youth ministry position at a church in Waverly and was loving my job. I was even coaching a Pony League baseball team in Waverly. But I agreed to go to this tryout with my friend.
At most of the tryouts I had attended previously I went as a pitcher. Most of the time when a scout would look at me in college it was as a pitcher. I had heard the same story 100 times… “Your fastball is decent (by this time it was around 88 MPH tops), and your off-speed pitches are decent, but you are small for a pitcher (5’10), and therefore your potential for growth is very limited…” I had heard those lines enough, and this tryout was just going to be for fun, so I decided to try out for the outfield. A position in which I had limited experience, but thought I could do okay with the long throws to third and to home plate. My arm had always been my greatest strength.
In a tryout situation all outfielders are instructed to go to deep right field (about 8 feet from the wall). One of the coaches then hits you 3 ground balls and 3 fly balls, you field them and throw them to third base… then the same scenario to home plate. I’ll never forget picking up the first ground ball hit to me, crow hopping, and cutting it loose only to watch it soar about 10 feet over the third baseman’s head and go crashing into the 3rd row of seats. Immediately coaches come wandering out with clipboards in their hands. I thought I was in trouble for sure.
Not so. After the individual field workouts the coaches sent about half of the 88 players home, and the rest of us each hit about 10 batting practice balls, then we were done for the day. I had a great time. I was sitting in the stands gathering my equipment and thanking my friend for inviting me, and all of a sudden I hear my name being called out. My friend jabbed me in the ribs and said, “Dude, they’re calling you back next week.” I was shocked. They took 8 players from that tryout and invited them to a special invitational tryout, and I was one of those players.
The second tryout was a whole different level of ballplayers. There were guys from colleges all over the country, and even out of the country. I met guys from Puerto Rico, Mexico, LSU, Chicago, UCLA, USC, etc… they were all invited to attend this tryout. There were agents there ready to sign new players to contracts. There were die-hard Chillicothe Paints fans there watching to see who the new rookies were going to be. I hadn’t fully taken in what was happening. I originally just did all of this for fun… but these guys were cut-throat serious. Many of them had saved money in order to travel all over the country from tryout to tryout, just hoping to get picked up by a team. I on the other hand had recently gotten married, begun a full-time youth ministry job, and was coaching a group of Pony League kids.
The invitational tryout was run much like the open tryout, except after the individual workouts the coaches then selected 16 position players and 6 pitchers to play in a scrimmage game where they then evaluated each player in a game situation, and from which they would either immediately sign new players, or invite them to participate in a draft the following week with all of the Frontier league teams. This time, out of 128 players, I was selected as one of those 16 to play in right field. I played okay in the scrimmage game. I remember getting hit by a pitch, flying out, grounding out, and getting one base hit up the middle. When the day was done I was not given an immediate contract, but invited to participate in the upcoming draft for all of the Frontier League teams.
I couldn’t believe it. The dream of my life had been to play professional baseball, and the opportunity sneaks it’s way into my life after I had settled into my ministry and could finally see God beginning to mold and shape the days of my life. This, I think, was significant. If the opportunity had come sooner, I doubt I would have had the maturity to turn it down. But on the drive from Chillicothe back to Waverly that evening… after a full day of baseball and an offer to come back and get drafted… I just began singing and praising God. I knew that I would not go back. I knew that God had answered the question of my heart, which was… “Could I have played at least in a minor, independent league if I wanted to?” I was content. And I never went back. From that day forward I began pouring myself into ministry, and graduated my baseball abilities to coaching.
As a baseball coach, I never thought I could ever enjoy the game as much as I did as a player… but I do. I may have had more “enjoyment” playing the game. There really is nothing like it. However, I know I “appreciate” the game more as a coach.
Yes, Terence Man, I agree. Baseball may not have been the only constant throughout the years of my life, but it most certainly has been one of them… and a big one. Thank you, God, for baseball. You have taught me many complexities of life through such a simple little game. It has been a recreation that has brought me much joy over the years, and I look for it to bring me much more for many years to come.
This is good stuff!
Posted by: Jared | October 21, 2004 at 09:32 AM
Wow that batboy on the left sure is cute!
Posted by: Stefani | October 21, 2004 at 05:08 PM
Who would have thought that the skinny kid with socks pulled up to his knees and pants pulled up under his armpits would grow up to possess such Godly wisdom? I knew it all along. :-)
Posted by: Cindy | October 22, 2004 at 09:49 AM
I'll never forget that throw over 3rd base and into the stands. People were in awe! I will say it was on line, just high. I think it was still going up when it went over 3rd, LOL!
Posted by: Steve | October 23, 2004 at 11:41 AM
That's right, Steve, you were there! Do you remember what you told me one of those old men said who were sitting near you?
Posted by: chris | October 23, 2004 at 12:19 PM