Gardner WebLog

Two years ago, after I finished my first ‘pro’ season in Salem, Oregon, I came home to Virginia, and started working at the National Academy of Public Administration in Washington, D.C.  The adjustment was a big one, but the people at NAPA were great (and still are) and they supported me in my ‘lifestyle change.’  Not that it was a huge difference, but the baseball world is very different from the ‘real world,’ or the non-baseball world, we’ll call it.

My girlfriend Ellen, obviously sensing my apprehension towards this strange new non-baseball world, sent me a very supportive email, outlining exactly what some of the finer differences are between life in pro baseball, and life in the real world.  I thought that you guys might be interested in what she wrote.

 i hope you have fun settling into real life.  i still think you need a twelve step program to adjust from your summer of baseball life:

1.  about half of the population is people you haven’t seen in 3 months…GIRLS
2.  do not sign autographs when you meet people
3.  wake up before noon
4.  girls are not objects
5.  no spitting
6.  no scratching (down there)
7.  most people have to work more than every 3 days
8.  no slapping butts
9.  showering in large groups is no longer appropriate
10. there will be no stupid mascot tricks at the office
11. your paychecks won’t be from a baseball team
12.  arguments can no longer be settled by ‘throwing one high and tight’
 
love,
ellen

In an (unusually) succinct manner (I’ll get a strongly-worded email for that one too), Ellen was able to effectively convey to me what was and was not acceptable in the non-baseball world.  It’s this wonderful, supportive, network of people that enables me to continue chasing the dream.

One other funny thing about re-emerging into reality from the fantasy land of baseball (yea right) is that telling people stories from the season must sometimes be translated.  For example, saying “My buddy was a side-armer who signed out of a Juco in 2004, but he got shut down for a year after his Tommy John, which makes his rule five year one later than mine, so he’s got a little more time to figure it out,” really won’t make any sense at all to anyone outside of baseball.

So anyway, while I’m still a good 5 months away from having to go through the whole ‘transition’ period again, I was thinking about it today, as I feel more and more engrossed in the baseball lifestyle.  Come to think of it, there’s probably an equally hilarious set of adjustments that had to be made coming from the DC professional world BACK into baseball…but that’s another blog for another day.

So today was supposed to be the ‘big day,’ where everyone finally found out where they were going.  I’m still in the San Jose group, so barring any last minute call-ups or downs, I’ll be on the way this Monday.

Things have been busier and busier around here.  I’ve had to travel the last few days on away games—this means leaving the park after lunch and playing games at other teams’ complexes, then facing brutal Phoenix traffic in the bus on the way home (air conditioning—optional).

After finding out that I was still in the San Jose group, I was informed that I would pitch for Group 2 today—the Norwich AA group.  So we go out to the Angels place, and I find out that I’ll be closing.  After waiting through the first few pitchers, the pitching coach tells me to go get warm early because one guy wasn’t going to make it out of his inning under his prescribed pitch count.  Before I knew it, I was standing on the mound, bases loaded, with one out, facing AA hitters.

I got out of the jam, then had a good 9^th inning as well.  I also hit 90mph a couple more times, probably because I was really nervous and the adrenaline was flowing.  Basically, the difference between AA and A hitters is that the guys higher up don’t swing at bad pitches.  They realize that as soon as they get ahead in the count, pitchers will throw them fastballs, and they’re really good at hitting fastballs.

So the countdown is on.  We’re all waiting to ship out on Monday, and looking forward to starting the season.  More details later, sorry for the short entry!

Caleb:  “Adam, you haven’t given up any runs yet in spring training, huh?”

 

Adam:  [silence]

 

Caleb:  “Gardner.  Runs.  Spring training.  Any?”

 

Adam: [silence]

 

Caleb:  [silence]

 

Adam:  “Well, there goes that.”

 Conversation in the bullpen before Adam goes in to pitch today against the Brewers:
 

Nick:  “Sometimes I think that it’s better for a pitcher to just give up a bomb, you know, to reset, and let him refocus.”

 

Adam:  [silence, pensive]

 

Nick:  “I don’t know, I think that it makes them feel better.  Nobody else on base, you can start over, you know?”

 

Adam:  “OK, there’s two outs, I should warm up.”

 OK.  Now cut to a slow motion shot of a hitter in a Brewers uniform, wide-eyed and salivating.  He sees the ball, up and away, and immediately recognizes a curveball.  Swinging out of his shoes, eyes closed, he connects with the ball.  Silence.  Somewhere a baby cries.  A hawk circles above.  In slow motion, the impact is truly violent.  The bat, the ball, the look on that poor lefthander’s face, everything stops for a second.  The ball takes off.  Were it not for the ear-shattering smack the ball made as he hit it, the batter might think, based on its trajectory, that it might just be a line drive.  But this was no line drive.  It just keeps going.  Flash to the pitcher’s face.  Sadness.  Flash to the batter’s face, now running to first base.  Elation.  Flash to the dugout.  Awkward glances.  The ball is still in the air, halted finally by the net, maybe 15 feet above the left-center field wall.  It’s over.  Hitter keeps running.  Pitcher kicks dirt.
 Cut.
 

Haha.  This is why in baseball, you never (ever) mention streaks, no hitters, or generally anything that someone is doing consistently well.  Because as soon as you draw attention to it, it will come to an end.  Watch on TV, while a pitcher throws a no hitter, as the other players avoid him at all costs, trying to make conversation about anything but baseball in the dugout.  Nobody wants to ‘jinx it.’  Well, maybe I was jinxed.  Maybe I just left a curveball in the exact right spot for a rather large and lucky hitter this afternoon.  Either way, that ball was hit really hard.  And it’s spring training, so we can all laugh about it.  But seriously.  Don’t ever tell someone they’re throwing a no hitter.

Today I thought I would offer a beginner’s guide to baseball terminology.  So many words used on the diamond make no sense in real life.  In case you find yourself in the middle of a baseball dugout anytime soon, keep this guide handy and use it well.  Spanish translations appear in italics.

Gas, Cheddar, Fire (fuego), Chunder, Thunder, Bringing it, Fuel (Gasolina), Petrol (or any other flammable liquids or gases) – A pitch thrown at a high velocity.  Ex. “Dude, Whit was throwing absolute thunder yesterday.  He broke two bats.  I wish I could bring it like that.”

Bomb, Bam, Laser, ‘Jumping ship,’ ‘Leaving the building,’ ‘Saying you will,’ ‘Leaving the yard,’ ‘Losing one,’ Par la calle (I really don’t know what it means in Spanish but it has something to do with hitting it in the road—even when no road exists on the other side of the fence), ‘Going yard,’ ‘Dropping Head’ – Home run, or the act of hitting a home run.  Ex.  “I left a curveball up in the zone, and he hit a laser over the left field wall.  First bomb I’ve let up this year.  That guy drops head.”

Deuce-piece, Hammer, Mr. Nasty, ‘Dropping off the table,’ breaker (old school), ‘meat ball’ (only by a certain guy on the Salem team about my curveball…thanks), ‘Snapping one off’ – Curveball, or the act of throwing a curveball.  And for the record, a curveball is a pitch that breaks more top to bottom (think 12 to 6 on a clock…actually how we describe pitches…”His curveball breaks 12 to 6…”), and a slider breaks a little more side to side, or diagonally (think for a lefty from 10 to 4 on a clock).  Both a slider and a curveball are ‘breaking pitches,’ or ‘breaking balls.’  This might help you decipher TV announcers.  Ex.  “He started off with two fastballs inside, and then dropped a straight HAMMER—who knew he had a deuce-piece?”

Hack, Cut – A swing.  Ex.  “I was over taking hacks in the cage with the other pitchers—man, we’re really athletic.”  …or… “Hey, they let the pitchers take cuts yesterday—wow, they were just flailing at the ball.”  You pick.

The Yips – A pitcher has ‘the yips’ when he suddenly becomes unable to throw strikes.  Many times this just happens out of the blue, and he will miss the catcher entirely.  Also used when describing some pitchers who cannot throw to bases during routine plays in the field.  These players, as my last article detailed, are few and far between, no matter when Coach P says about ONE play last year.  It never ends.

These are just a couple I could think of quickly.  As I think of more I’ll come back with another glossary entry in a few days.  You hear things every day which anywhere else would be random words with no meaning.

As a side note, I just finished watching the Villanova-Boston College NCAA basketball game while I wrote this (that was just a terrible sentence—if anyone can think of a better way to express what I was trying to say…help me.)  Anyway, I was pulling for Villanova the whole time.  After their overtime win, I excitedly picked up my bracket, ready to triumphant mark down my first correct pick of the evening—only to find that I picked Boston College, not Villanova.  Sometimes you win, but really, you lose.  Go George Mason—pride of Fairfax, VA!

Pitchers are just non-athletes!  Not only can we not be trusted handling the ball in play after it’s hit, but we surely cannot hope to ever contribute offensively in a game.

I’ll describe a perfect example.  The pitcher, after making a good pitch, gets the hitter to ground out right back up the middle.  Coming off the mound, he fields the ground ball, and prepares to get the out at first.  Before he can toss it over, however, dozens of screaming coaches and bench players scream out “STEP AND THROW!!!  EASY OVER THERE!!!  LOTS OF TIME!!!”  As if the pitcher is thinking—‘OK, I need to throw it first, and then step’…or ‘try to rush it over there.’  Cmon.

The perception that pitchers are not good athletes is just tired.

I might just start yelling “Step and throw” when the shortstop gets a ball hit his way.  “Hey, Johnson, step and throw, buddy, real easy over to first, bud!”  I’ll yell.  Don’t tell me that pitchers throw the ball away more than position players, because it’s not true.  Step and throw.  Maybe “Swing and run” would be a good thing to yell when the hitters are up.  “Swing, then run towards first!”

In working on rundowns, first and third defenses, and all other defensive drills, pitchers are taught that we are not athletes.  “Just field the ball and give it up,” they say.  No matter that the runner is barreling toward you, and you can just tag him after a couple steps—“Give the ball up.”

I think the better explanation for why we are restricted in our involvement in baseball outside the 15 foot diameter dirt mound area on the field is that coaches fear the easy error.  They don’t remember the ground ball that took a bad hop and got by the 3^rd baseman, they remember that time five years ago when ‘what’s his name,’ the pitcher, threw the ball into right field on a routine grounder.  Step and throw, step and throw—their mantra.

Pitching itself is surely not an athletic action.  Propelling a five ounce leather ball up to 100 mph (some of us…a little slower), or making the ball plummet from head to foot over a 60 foot path requires no athleticism at all!  Being the closest person on the field (about 50 feet away after each pitch) to very large, angry hitters, some of whom routinely hit balls over 400 feet?  Sure, we’ll do it, but we’re not athletes, so we’d better watch out!

This is all tongue in cheek of course, but as we hear over and over again, pitchers are by far the least athletic people on the baseball field.  It’s as if we walk around with two left feet and drool a lot—unable to function like normal baseball playing humans.  Critics come full circle, however, in late September during playoff races, when strangely, the teams with the best pitching routinely extend their seasons past other teams.

So we’ll wear the ‘non-athlete’ label, and then carry the team in the end.  All the while, stepping and throwing.

Today I was trying to think of what I’d want to know about professional baseball when I was like 9 or 10.  I would probably first wonder about the free stuff.

When we signed, we got spikes, a jacket, a fleece, shorts, hats, a glove, pants, a few shirts, a cool duffel bag (that I took to Austria last November), and a plane ticket out to Scottsdale for mini-camp.  Since then, the free stuff has tailed off.  When guys talk about getting 4 pairs of shoes in the mail, most of the time it comes from shoe deals with Nike or Reebok.  To get these deals, you either have to be a high draft pick, or have a really good agent who can convince a marketing rep that you’ll be the next Roger Clemens.  The perception of pro ballplayers that get everything for free is blown a little out of proportion.  I had a guy ask me for my baseball bag at a game in Salem.  I thought, “Um, yea, I’ll trade it for your briefcase and we’ll call it even?” 

Next, I’d wonder what the whole deal with baseball cards was.  When do you get one?  When do you get a real one made by Topps or Donruss or Fleer or something.

I had a card made in Salem, my first year, then last year in Augusta as well.  They’re cool because it’s a picture of me with my name on a baseball card, but not done by Topps or anything.  That will happen when you’re invited to big league training camp, get called up in mid-season, or when someone at Topps thinks you’re going to be good enough to merit a baseball card.  Each year, we all sign ‘contracts’ with Topps—the rep comes into the clubhouse, and cuts us $10 dollar checks.  He explains that this means Topps can make baseball cards of us without telling us.  We think this is cool.  We sign the papers.  He leaves.  We wonder when our card will come out.  For most, probably never.  But it’s cool to officially be under contract with the Topps Company.  The checks are fun too.

Finally, every young kid asks for a ball.  I remember catching a foul ball at the High-A Potomac Cannons field when I was like 11 and holding it, thinking that I’d keep it forever and show it off to everyone.  It was so clean and…new.  That being said, I think that specific ball is buried out in the yard right now back home at my parents’ house…but that’s neither here nor there.  I think kids’ fascination with the ball, and rightly so, is that all the balls you grow up throwing around and ratty, nasty, water-logged, boring leather rags.  The balls that we play catch with at camp are white, dry, new, crisp ‘pearls,’ we call them.  They smell leathery—just like baseball gloves—I guess because they’re leather too—duh—and the organization will break out cartons of new ones every week.

So every once in awhile at a game, you’ll hear a 10 year old behind you, with his glove on his head, half a sno-cone spread all over his little league jersey, whining “Can I please have a ball?  Please?”  And then you take the ball out of your pocket, and before even winding up to throw it across the fence to him, his eyes get huge, the glove comes off the head, knees bent, and he’s ready to play third for the Yankees.  You toss it to him, he catches it, and then looks at it just like you did when you were 11 and caught one.  We all lie and say that we never did it.  But still, part of you knows that you made a kid’s night.  Fast food, bus rides, and all, that’s a pretty cool feeling.

We have a third baseman in our group who everyone calls ‘the bear.’  It’s a strange name, because I’ve never seen a bear that won’t stop smiling.  He’s a short, pudgy guy from the Dominican Republic who is barely 19 years old, and is one of the best, biggest athletes I’ve ever played with.  He runs around the field during defensive drills, whistling, yelling, and laughing the whole time.  The kid barely speaks English but everyone in camp loves him.  You can talk to him, and while understanding about 1 out of the 10 words you’ve just said, he’ll just smile in your face and say, “Gardner, you funny!” and run off somewhere, knocking another guy’s hat off on the way (As a side note, the Dominicans can’t seem to pronounce my last name, and it comes out either like ‘Garnier,’ the shampoo, or ‘Garnet,’ the basketball player…)

We’ll practice pick offs, and he’ll be whooping while chasing a guy down the line, like party time, then when the play is over, he’ll celebrate with his hands in the air saying “Got you!”  He has enough fun on the field for an entire team of stale minor leaguers.  Even guys with perma-frowns are cut up by his crazy demeanor and nutty “Spanglish” jokes.  He provides welcome comic relief for a now-routine spring training group.

Speaking of Spanglish. 

When you combine native speakers of both Spanish and English, stubborn attitudes, and a word-intensive sport like baseball, the result is Spanglish.  Everyone wants to speak each other’s language.  Dominicans all think they speak flawless English.  Coaches all think that telling a Dominican “You pitch ball here at head, then run first base-o” is passable Spanish.  What results is a no-man’s-land of unintelligible half-Spanish, half-English, combined with facial contortions and hand gestures that are absolutely hilarious.

Dominicans speak with lots of vocal inflection—I hope I used that word correctly—so coaches, when trying to speak ‘Spanish,’ think that tagging an -o, -ie, or -iso onto the end of any English word will make it a Spanish one.  Incorrect.

Here is a typical player-coach interaction, with Hollywood non-verbal clues as well.  They’re talking about backing up third base after giving up a hit:

Coach:  Eh.  Coh here.  [Motion player over]

Player:  [quizzical look, mentally preparing for impending Spanglish]  Ya?

Coach:  [speaking slowly, with wide eyes and as many gestures as possible—the more pointing the better]  If you throwie dee ball, and he hittie dee ball, you gah get to turd basie, yea?

Player: I know, I do this last time, but you no see it.  [innocent shrug]

Coach:  Si.  Si.  You know?

Player:  [pause, hearing the coach just answer, “yes, yes,” but sensing absolutely no understanding from him]  Yes.  I sorry.  I got it. (sounds more like “Aye gah-dee.”)

Coach:  [smile]

Player: [blank look, to smile]

[Coach and Player both share a palpably semi-awkward moment, because coach doesn’t know how to bring closure in Spanish (or Spanglish)…]

[player looks at ground, kicking dirt]

[awkward high-five]

The end.

If a Spanish teacher heard the words being invented at camp, she would freak out.  I wish I could remember more of them.  While many Dominican players take English classes offered by the Giants organization, coaches trust more in their own language creation schemes.  Anyway, it’s all great entertainment.

 Thanks again for everyone who reads and comments on the Blog.  It’s great to see that people are checking it out.  I’ll try to keep putting new things up every day, if not every other day.  Also working on pictures.  The once blazing-fast internet at the Days Inn now struggles to maintain dial-up pace, so any frills might put it over the edge.  Stay tuned though.
 Congrats to Nathan, who just got his first college acceptance letter from UCLA.  A good school, but we all know that any school in Southern CA with an enrollment over 4000 is suspect…

So the outing against the Athletics went well the other day—two strikeouts, no runs, and my curveball finally arrived in Scottsdale after a long hiatus.  I was able to throw strike one, which was good, and threw two solid innings.  Phew.

A couple friends from Pomona (Tom Woo, Andy Barnette, and Ryan Suneson) are out from Los Angeles for the weekend, and I’ve been trying to keep up with them on the golf course over the last two days.  This has been quite frustrating.

I think that golf and pitching are very similar activities.  Most variables are controlled—especially time—and most if not all mistakes are one’s own fault.  It’s not like you have to get that iron shot in before you get blindsided by a 250 pound defensive end.  If the shot goes left, it’s because you made it go left.  If it lips out of the hole, it’s because you didn’t putt it straight in.  These sports are great when the outcome is positive, because players can take more credit, but when things go badly, the blame can’t be directed anywhere else.

I played well off the tee, but the magic ended there.  My iron play was atrocious, and my putting (and composure on the green) was brutal, with infantile post-putt outbursts a regular occurrence.  Why does McCormick Ranch Golf Club have water to the left of every single fairway?  Was that a necessary feature?  This goes back to my theory on the plight of left-handers living in a right-handed world.  We have to put up with things like water traps on the wrong side of golf course fairways.  Of course, on the other hand (puns are great), it’s the quickest path to the major leagues.  The jury is still out.  If you don’t believe me, imagine trying to shift a manual transmission car from the passenger seat, left-handed.  This is what I am faced with on a daily basis.

Golf is also like baseball in that it’s an inherently passive game.  You can talk, golf, talk more, eat, golf, and four hours later you’ve finished a round.  Imagine how the game of golf would change if you had to get a round finished in under three hours!  With their golf carts souped up and turbo-charged, golfers would be more like polo players whipping around the course, with little time for cigars, fellowship, and bad clothes.

There was little baseball talk in this entry—I was criticized the other day (by an unnamed blog ‘critic’ – ha!) for straying too far away from baseball.  I think, however, that the critic would be OK with a little golf talk.  Anyway, the fact that we have time for playing golf out here is excellent—I left the game today at 3.30 and made a 4.20 tee time.  

It seems like the organization supports golf as well—it is conspicuously absent from the “Forbidden Activities” List in our contracts.  This list includes anything fun outside of baseball that may bring harm to your body.  I think even “boating” is included—what?  But because golf eats up time and requires significant focus, I think the Giants don’t have many problems letting players get a round in every once in awhile.

So we had a good time this weekend, and I’m once again very thankful to not have to drive back to LA and go to work on Monday.

Well, since Syracuse is out of the NCAA tourney, there should be more time to spend on posts for the next few days…

We’ve started playing games against other organizations’ teams, which means that each AAA team plays its respective AAA team, and AA its AA, etc.  It’s more fun because there are higher stakes and the guys hitting have different uniforms on, but also means that the days are longer.

Tomorrow I throw against the Athletics—and their now-famous Billy Beane hitting approach:  taking pitches, drawing walks, and at all costs, getting men on base.  This means that opposing pitchers must throw strikes, because very few A’s players swing at bad pitches.  We heard that they even get fined for swinging at too many pitches.  Everyone here says that strike one is the most important pitch against the A’s—well, strike one is always important, but against these guys, it’s imperative.

Funny story about the other day.  We were working on first and third situation defenses.  Our coaches described the entire Giants approach for defending against the sometimes-difficult man-on-first-and-third situation.  It was a great day—warm, sunny, and beautiful, and I started looking around, thinking about what I’d write in the blog that evening.  Seriously.  I thought about describing a 19 year old on our team from the Dominican Republic who is probably the happiest person I know, or talking about how we’re nearly halfway through spring training.  The next thing I knew, the meeting was done, and we were on the field practicing the plays we’d just gone over.

Pitchers usually take turns on the mound, wait for the coach to call out which predetermined play we’d use, and then run through it.  I was ready, came set, checked the runner on first, and as soon as I decided to pitch, he left for second.  “STEP OFF,” everyone yelled, and I knew I was supposed to do:  calmly step off the rubber, check the man on third, and throw to the shortstop—ending my involvement in the play.  This, unfortunately, did not happen.  What did occur, however, could be best described as a panic.  I freaked out, first thought to pick the guy at first, swinging my leg in that general direction, then midway tried to throw home, thinking the runner at third was going too, and then finally decided that picking to first was a better plan.  Ugh.  After that interesting bodily contortion that resembled more an awkward ballet maneuver, I turned to home and fired a sidearm, halfhearted flick of the wrist throw that bounced in front of the catcher.  Play over, everyone safe, Adam looks stupid.

I’ve botched this play since I can remember.  In high school I can still see Coach Evers kicking dirt when I messed it up, both Pericolosi and Svagdis shaking their heads in dismay at Pomona, and now Lenny Sakata, an accomplished big league shortstop and manager, wondering why I almost fell over trying to figure out what to do with the ball after a 10 minute meeting on how to do it right.  Oops.

It wasn’t a total disaster—I did it right the next time, and everything was fine—but the whole situation just reminded me that sitting back and appreciating baseball at the wrong time can lead to bad situations.  I’ll save the ‘stop and smell the flowers’ moments for BP from now on.  Happy St. Patrick’s day.

Quote of the day:

“Okay guys, if we win today, we go to states.  Lets do it!”

- San Jose Manager Lenny Sakata, talking about our third straight intra-squad game, apparently trying to get us excited about playing another practice game. 

Threw again today, one, two, three inning again.  This time only 7 pitches, and they were all fastballs.  I got 0-2 on the first guy, and then threw a fastball on the outside half of the plate.  In retrospect, it was a bad idea, since you really don’t want to give a hitter anything to hit in that count, but he let it go for a called third strike.  Fun.

I also had dinner tonight with Coaches Pericolosi and Whalen, out on spring break from Pomona.  It was good to see them.  They came out to the complex in the morning, and the only reason I knew they were there was because a few guys came up and excitedly told me that there was some guy wearing a Pomona Junior College (according to everyone, Pomona is a JuCo) Baseball hat like the one I have.

So we picked up Jase Turner (Pomona, 2005), who plays in the Royals organization, and had dinner in Scottsdale.  Talking with Jase, I decided that the Giants don’t skimp on their minor league spring training as much as I thought.  Apparently the Royals don’t give camp meal money, and Surprise, Arizona, their training camp headquarters, is a little less, uh, developed than Scottsdale.  I’ll be more grateful.

Jase hopes to make the California League team for the Royals, which plays in High Desert, (Adelanto) CA.  Maybe we’ll end up in the same league so that we can participate in the first all-Pomona College athletic confrontation in professional sports history—unless I’m missing something—neither Model UN nor Debate count as a sport.

Tomorrow is ‘the meeting.’  This is the time when the whole organization gathers in a huge auditorium in North Scottsdale and sits through talks by Giants officials on everything from 401ks to the new new drug policy.  Last year, the drug presentation started with a PowerPoint slide with a huge ‘0’ on it.  “What,” the presenter asked, “does this number symbolize?”  Nobody knew.  “It is the number of positive drug tests in Giants history.”  OK, well now I think that number is closer to 10, so we’re not sure if that specific presentation will go the same way.  Stay tuned.

Other potential ‘meeting’ highlights include:  1) the nutritionist calling players on stage at random to analyze their diets; 2) the beer goggles, when the ‘security’ team presents something on why not to drive drunk, and has players try to play catch wearing beer goggles, and finally; 3) A speech by any one of the Giants VP’s—which must include a) a down to earth—‘young people will understand this’—phrase, b) a curse word, or c) a baseball analogy—every three minutes.  Anyway, it should be a fun time.