It's Your Pitch!

 

I arrived at the ballpark today in plenty of time for today's two games.

The equipment got set up and I was just waiting for the lineups.

I spied a couple of boxes of baseballs and picked one up. I just held it for a moment as I stood there in the empty press box of Posypanko Park in Oxford, CT.

I was just standing there, waiting for lineups before the Quintown (NH)/Hudson (MA) game. The winner would advance to tomorrow's Cal Ripken 11U New England Regional.

That's when it hit me.

Think of Roy Hobbs, sitting in a hospital bed in The Natural, talking about how he wished his dad could see what he had accomplished before stopping himself.

In that moment, in the quiet of the booth, knowing I'd be standing outside calling baseball in a short time, I had a similar moment.

I looked out at the field.

"God, I love this game," I said.

I know, I know. How cheesy!

The screenwriters would no doubt feel nauseated.

And yet...

A short time later, I walked down from my perch to walk to the concession area.

Lou Fernandes, Oxford's coach and my contact for this experience was standing with Ken Smith from Babe Ruth/Cal Ripken baseball.

Lou called my name and spoke words that I don't think have ever been said to me.

They both asked me to throw out the first pitch before one of the two games. Ultimately, they both felt it should be before the West Hartford/Bethel game since those are Connecticut teams.

After making sure they were serious, I accepted. I tried to avoid 1) crying and 2) wondering if they had nobody else and had reached the bottom of the barrel.

Now if you know, you know. I just talk. I don't see myself as a celebrity or anything special. I'm just a guy. A dad. An uncle. A person.

Important people throw out first pitches. Sponsors. Volunteers. Not me.

Every kind word about my work means something. Every mean word challenges me.

But I tend to just do my job and leave.

So the first game went by in a flash and it was just a joy of a game to watch. Hudson beat Quintown 2-0 in a game that took just over an hour. 

In fact, there was then about an hour before the next game.

I spent the time wrapping up the first broadcast, making some notes, having a bite to eat, and doing everything to not think about the first pitch honor.

I don't know how other people do these things. I'm too emotional. Too sensitive.

Then Lou reached for a ball from the very boxes I was looking at a few hours before and tossed it to me. It had been used. It would be treasured.

I'd made the decision to open the broadcast and just leave the crowd mic open. Lou was on the PA system and I figured he could just fill the air time, along with natural sounds of music and crowd noise.

I went down to the field and had a perspective I never have.

I watched the players get introduced, standing near the Bethel dugout. I stood to the side, quietly, for the intros and the national anthem as well as the Babe Ruth code that is read before each game by a player.

Then Lou began to introduce me. 

I stepped through the Bethel players and coaches and heard polite applause.

I thought of -- but tried to not think too much of -- Mom, Dad, and the loved ones that I wished could be there with us. You can probably guess who would mean the most to share the moment with.

Ultimately, I reminded myself to stay humble and enjoy it.

I waved. Honestly, I don't know who I was waving to, but I waved.

I held the ball up as if to say, "OK, here comes whatever this is."

I reminded myself I didn't need to bring a fastball or anything fancy.

I just needed to reach the plate.

Before I threw, I thought of Derek Jeter, because shouldn't everyone? OK, honestly, I thought of him because of what he said to then-president Bush when he threw out the first pitch before the 2001 World Series.

Jeter told the president that he had to go out to the mound and throw the pitch. Then, because he's Derek Jeter, he added, "Don't bounce it. They'll boo you."

JUST a bit outside!

In my case, it wouldn't be 60 feet, six inches between the mound and the plate.

Bethel's catcher, Noah Burke, picked the short straw to earn the "honor" of catching me.

And it was time. As I've done so many times since I was a little kid, I kicked my leg and threw.

Then I felt it. My left foot --my plant foot -- slipped in the dirt of the mound.

Oh no. I'm going to fall, or uncork a wild pitch.

But something wonderful happened. Noah reached for it and grabbed it.

I walked in to him, gave him a fist bump and told him he did a nice job.

No, it wasn't a strike, but it felt like a dream.

Literally, I was a little boy, watching Joe DiMaggio and Mickey Mantle and the countless others who I have watched throw ceremonial first pitches.

And I was a bit older, watching Vin Scully do the same.

I was on a field, in a place that felt so different to me.

The attention was so uncomfortable.

I heard kids cheering my name.

Even the umpires shook my hand and congratulated me, telling me how much they have enjoyed hearing me as they worked a game.

Humbled, honored, and emotional, I departed through the Bethel dugout, wishing them well. I waved to the West Hartford dugout but they didn't see me.

I floated back up to my spot and put the headset on.

I didn't have the words.

I couldn't have the words.

And the usual thing came to my brain

There was a game to call and it's not about me.

But this was a wonderful moment.

I've never been the best. Never the annual all-star. I'm not a Hall of Famer.

I'm just me. The grinder. 

I report with integrity and try to give a dignified effort while making the athletes feel like pros.

So to have this moment was a true honor.

And an emotional one.

Thank you to Lou, Ken, and Oxford Babe Ruth/Cal Ripken. Thank you to the listeners and supporters. Thank you to Brett Conner for asking me to do this tournament months ago.

And I hear other teams are looking for my contact info. That's an amazing compliment.

I still have three more games to call in this tournament.

Oh, for the record, I've thrown out a first pitch once before, as part of a four-man team on WGCH for a Bridgeport Bluefish game back in Aug 2002. 

I didn't bounce that one either.