The Blunder.
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.
