The Ongoing Eligibility Saga

Man, this is getting old.

I've run into yet another hiccup on my way to winning eligibility for the upcoming season. Maybe "winning" is the wrong word; there are a certain set of rules that apply to student-athletes, and if you meet them, you are eligible, and if you don't, you're not. It seems like a very cut-and-dried approach, and it should be easy to work through.

Months later, I have learned it's not quite that simple.

So what's so complicated about it, you ask? Part of it is the fact that eligibility runs over lots of different categories. You have to be medically eligible, academically eligible, amateurly (that's so not a word) eligible, NCAA-eligible, and so on. All of these categories requires paperwork, as well as somebody signing off that what I say I did is actually what happened. A doctor has to sign that I don't have any heart murmurs, my athletic director at my old school has to confirm that I only competed for three years, my old school has to confirm that I did actually graduate... you get the idea. On top of that, I have to pay $50 to register with the NCAA so that they, as an independent body, know that I exist. Gets to be a headache, a little bit.

I fall under a special group of student-athletes. Most of the time, when one transfers, they have to sit out a year before they compete again. Ardent followers of major college football and basketball will be familiar with this rule. But since I went to a D-3 school, and I graduated, and I've transferred (kind of) to a D-1 school, and...(Imagine that I'm listing off a list of odd, seemingly arbitrary rules for the next minute and a half while you zone out and drool on yourself.)...and if you fall into that category, you don't have to sit out a year! Incredibly, ALL OF THOSE RULES APPLY TO ME, so I actually get to use what's called the "one-time transfer exemption" to be immediately available to play.

Not so fast, say the fates. Apparently somebody at my old school had marked down that I had been recruited to play there, which would make me...*GASP*...ineligible! Upon receiving this information, I was crushed, to say the least. I was also confused, since we actually used to poke fun at our coach and tell him how lucky he was to have the best players on his team fall into his lap without having recruited them. I certainly don't remember being recruited, but maybe it was possible that I did something that I didn't realize, 4 years ago, would compromise my status? I re-read NCAA Bylaw 14.5.5.2.10.1 (I didn't make those numbers up), which explains the eligibility for the exemption, and I looked up NCAA Bylaw 13.02.12.1 (also not making up), which defines who has or has not been "recruited." Let's take a look:


13.02.12.1 Recruited Prospective Student-Athlete

Actions by staff members or athletics representatives that cause a prospective student-athlete to become a recruited prospective student-athlete at that institution are:

(a) Providing the prospective student-athlete with an official visit;

(b) Having an arranged, in-person, off-campus encounter with the prospective student-athlete or the prospective student-athlete's parent(s), relatives or legal guardian(s); or (c) Initiating or arranging a telephone contact with the prospective student-athlete, the prospective student-athlete's relatives or legal guardian(s) on more than one occasion for the purpose of recruitment.

(d) Issuing a National Letter of Intent or the institution's written offer of athletically related financial aid to the prospective student-athlete. Issuing a written offer of athletically related financial aid to a prospective student-athlete to attend a summer session prior to full-time enrollment does not cause the prospective student-athlete to become recruited.


Get that? If Coach had called me MORE THAN ONCE, or if the school had paid any of my travel costs to visit the school, thus making it an official visit, that counts as recruiting! I was surprised, shocked, amazed at the overwhelming absurdity that is the NCAA monolith... and that this still didn't apply to me.

That's right. None of that happened to me. I was never recruited, just like I thought. So now I have to go back to my old school, ask them why, exactly, they screwed up my record, prove it, fix it, have everyone sign off on it, then forward that to my new school so they can review it for NCAA compliance purposes.

Man, this is getting old.

Size Doesn't Matter ... As Long As You're Fast

I am not your typical baseball player size. Nor am I your typical baseball player shape, actually. My natural build is perfect for soccer, which is actually what I was playing and excelling at until my brother decided that baseball was his sport of choice, and since I wanted to be just like my big brother, I dropped soccer and track in favor of baseball. My worst sport of the three, actually. Oh well. I digress. Doesn't really matter, since I'm stuck with it now.

I'm a 5'9", 170 pound white guy. Although that is what I'm listed at, it's not one of those comically inflated listings that you'll often find for undersized athletes. No, if you lined me up next to a tape measure, and put me on a scale, these are the numbers you would actually get.

This is pretty small for a college baseball player. I was almost the smallest player on my last team, and I expect to be the smallest on this team. This is not out of the ordinary for me, since I have almost always been the smallest player on my team (and occasionally in my league). I got a lot of snickers in Little League when I'd drag a bat my size to the plate to face an early-developed man-child who already had whiskers peppering his chin. The snickers stopped, though, when I hit .683 or whatever. Still, I've rarely been the best player on my team; all throughout club baseball in my teens, there were always other players who were the stars.

I'm very thankful for the fact that I've always had somebody better around me. You always see kids who peak in their early teens because they have a growth spurt and dominate for a year or two, and then they get complacent because they figure they will always dominate like that. It's the guys who are always working and always fighting that stay in it and never drop out. Always having great competition is why I'm still around in baseball now. Well, that and being fast.

I have ALWAYS been the fast kid. I was always the fastest on my team, and I was commonly the fastest in the league. I always had a lot of fun messing with people on the basepaths, because if other teams knew about me, I attracted great amounts of attention because they worried so much about me stealing bases. I LOVE scoring from first, which happens a lot, since I'm on first a lot (as opposed to second or third, since you'd actually have to hit with power to be in that situation). We were not very strong in track in high school, but I used to look at the meet times in the paper and find that I had run the 100m faster than our best sprinter...in the rain...in tennis shoes...without blocks. I am not otherwise supremely talented: I have poor eyesight, I have a weak upper body, I have decent bat control, I have a miserable throwing arm (part of that is surgically induced, but it wasn't great before I hurt it either), and I'm injury-prone. But hey...speed never slumps.

So I hope to continue to ride that wave onto this team. I don't expect to be the fastest anymore, since I expect there will be some excellent athletes on this team. I'm certainly not going to make it based on my hitting power, although hopefully my contact hitting will be passable. I really hope the coaches aren't looking when I throw. I can't let myself get derailed when I face one of the 6'5" pitchers, or take batting practice with a round of guys who all weigh 210 or more. As long as I can beat them all in the sprints and run down some ridiculously long fly balls, maybe I can sprint my way into a jersey.

New Schedule!

Update: major goal achieved. I have been officially placed on the fall roster for the baseball team. I got an email today telling me so, and with it I received a whole list of things I have to do. Eligibility is a BITCH. Paperwork, physicals, academic records, paperwork, scheduling, meetings, paperwork...yikes. Worth it, though.

I also got the new schedule from Coach. Starting with the first day of fall ball, on Oct. 1, we have:

Monday, Wednesday, Friday: Lifting from 6-7:30 AM, followed by practice from 2:30-5:30 PM.
Tuesday and Thursday: Practice from 1-4 PM.
Saturday and Sunday: Scrimmage from 9 AM to...whenever Coach decides we're done.

For those of you keeping score, that ends up being about 30 hours a week. When I said I would probably end up being the guy in the lab at 8:00 on Friday night because I have work I need to finish up, I wasn't really kidding.

And keep in mind, this is the offseason.

Going Pro In Something Other Than Sports

I have mentioned previously that I am not a scholarship athlete. This is kind of true. I'm not quite the same as other walk-ons (for many reasons, but we'll just focus on one here). Most walk-ons are the true warriors; passed over for scholarships, they decided to enroll in school at a program they wanted to be a part of, paid out of their own pocket for the privilege of attending, and fought their way onto the team.

Suckers.

I noted that my previous school was a highly regarded academic institution. When I graduated high school, my academic background put me in the position that I could attend just about any university in the country. I ended up selecting a school because it featured a very strong engineering program, a competitive baseball team where I could be a team leader, and some other criteria (one of which, apparently, was hideous girls. I really wish somebody would have clued me in on that).

After a successful undergraduate career at said highly regarded institution, I again put myself in the position to go to just about any graduate school I wanted. I picked the university where I am now because it was a great fit; great professors, a program that focused on what I wanted to study, great weather, hot girls (FINALLY). On top of that, part of the offer was to waive my tuition and pay me a living stipend. So obviously, I was going to come here even if there was no baseball team at all.

Quick note: Engineering grad students getting paid is fairly common. PhD students always receive some sort of payment, while it is much more rare for master's students to get paid. As a master's candidate, that is why this situation is so awesome.

So I am getting a scholarship, kind of. But it puts me in an interesting position. For many scholarship athletes, their sport is a vehicle for a better life. For many of these students, their academics alone are not strong enough to warrant their entry into a reputable university, or a four-year college of any kind, in some cases. And really, when you consider how the vast majority of these student-athletes are not going to go on to professional sports of any kind, you realize how important that opportunity is; a chance to get a college education, which opens up a world of career paths compared to what might have been available to them otherwise. Athletics become an aid to further academic success, which, ultimately, is the important pursuit.

Then what the hell am I doing? I'm taking an academic scholarship, given to help me further my academic pursuits, to be used toward my career that will be based on my ability to use my mind, to... spend half my time playing baseball? When, by the way, my career earnings from professional baseball will most likely be zero (0) dollars. This is like a can't-miss NFL prospect coming out of college and saying he's going to pass up the draft and attend the Berklee School of Music because he just really loves playing the violin, which, yeah, he's decent at, but there are so many other better violinists around that there's no chance for him to make a living doing it.

Hey, you can't put a price on a dream. I just hope my academic advisors don't erupt into a purple-faced rage when I tell them that, well, I really like playing baseball.

Recovery Time

At the start of this project, I set a couple of goals, in increasing difficulty. I knew that just to go out and say, "I'm going to make this team!" was not going to be sufficient. So, I worked out a couple of steps on the ladder, so to speak.

One of the main goals was to get my body and my joints in good enough shape to be able to work out every day. Not necessarily a brutal, leg-shaking workout every day, but to get my recovery time down so that I could do at least something every day. I was really worried about this, because of my history of being broken and the ease that I come down with overuse injuries (tendinitis, shin splints, wrist pain, etc.). It's so easy, if you don't ice, take anti-inflammatories, get enough sleep, to let your recovery time creep over 24 hours. If that happens, well, you're screwed, because you can't take days off to rest up. Amazingly, this seems to be working out well for me; the workouts are tough, but I'm not waking up sore and stiff and tight every morning.

This is what amazes me the most about professional baseball players; not necessarily the effort and skill that they put out in any individual game, but the fact that they do it EVERY SINGLE DAY for MONTHS. I'm sure there are fantastic players, hitters, pitchers, fielders, who had the talent to be all-stars in the big leagues, but their bodies simply couldn't handle playing every day. Their natural recovery time was more than one day. And people wonder why players take human growth hormone? Seriously, if it was still legal and I could afford it, that would be a no-brainer.

The fun part is when one of my buddies joins me for a workout because they say "oh come on, it's can't be that hard." Well, sometimes, it's not. I've had friends who work out and are in good shape join me for lifting, and when we're done, say, "Wow, that was hard, but hey, I finished." (To be fair, I've also had friends quit halfway through because they needed to go vomit. So there's a scale, certainly.) And then I say, "Actually, that's pretty good. By the way, in ten hours, do you want to come work out on the field? I'm going to hit, throw, and catch fly balls for two hours."

They often look at me like I'm kidding. "But I can't move my legs," they say. "I know," I respond, "but don't worry. If you come with me tomorrow at this time, we'll run sprints for an hour and a half and it'll shake that tightness right out."

Them: When do you get a rest day?
Me: Next Sunday.
Them: But it's Monday.
Me: Yes. That's when I get to do active rest.
Them: What the hell is active rest?
Me: The principle that on an off day, if you can get your blood moving and heart pumping a little bit without straining your joints, that will aid your body's recovery more than if you just sat around for a day.
Them:...So when's the next day that you do nothing?
Me:...When I retire.
Them: Damn.

Again, to reiterate: I'm not complaining; I'm educating. I'm not a scholarship athlete (well, not really...see the next post), so nobody makes me do this. Nothing but free will brings me to do this. This is my choice. I'm simply explaining myself, because I'm tired of going out after work for drinks with a group of friends, ordering only water, and getting heaps of shit for it. NOTHING sucks away the bounce in your step like alcohol. Well...I can think of some things that are probably worse. But alcohol is not a performance-enhancer by any means.

Radio DJs are dumb.

So I was driving back from my lift yesterday morning (another puker...those 3x10 squats at 70% of max with a minute rest in between just floor me) and the guys on the radio were talking about the olympics. One of them made the point that hey, what really separates us from them is the time that got put into training, that everyone pretty much has the natural talent to at least be a collegiate-level athlete. The guys on set agreed with him that if only they would have gone back and focused on one thing back in junior high or highschool, that they could have been able to compete at a decently high level.

I was displeased, to say the least. I have no respect for people who downplay the achievements of others by claiming that they could have accomplished the same thing if they wanted to. It's no different than the kid who says sure, he's smart enough to get an A in the class, but he just didn't feel like putting in the effort. Or maybe someone you work with claims that really, he should have gotten your promotion, but he didn't want to kill himself so he had time to be at home with his wife.

There's no difference between "I could have, but..." and "I didn't." And by the way, the road to high school and college athletics is littered with people who did try, and tried as hard as they could, and still didn't make it because they didn't have the natural ability.

This is part of the reason that I wanted to write about this in the first place. The disconnect between regular people and athletes is wide enough that there's not an understanding of what really goes on or what it's like to operate at that level of athleticism. Here's an example: on a scale of athleticism, I'm closer to your average guy than I am to an NFL player. So it's safe to say that I'm far enough removed from the life of an NFL player that I don't really know what it's like for him. Earlier this summer, I was invited to work out with an NFL running back. He is still playing, although he is nearing the end of an illustrious career. He has been criticized in recent years for slowing down and not having as much explosiveness as compared to his younger self or other running backs around the league.

Look, I've always thought of myself as fast and explosive. I ran the 100 and 200 in college, and I ran a 4.6 40-yard dash in high school. As a 5'9" white guy, I have no trouble dunking a baseball. But compared to this NFL player, I was nothing. He was so much faster, so much stronger, so physically gifted that it stopped me in my tracks. He could give me a head start, run me down, and knock me off my feet with an open-hand slap if he so chose. And he's fighting to stay in the league.

I could have started at birth and absolutely perfected my technique for being a cornerback (my natural position on a football field) with hours of practice every day, and I would never, ever be good enough to play collegiate football. To say that I could if I had wanted to would unfairly take away from the guys who have the talent AND put in the time needed to excel.

I'd love to get a radio DJ in the box in "just a collegiate baseball game" and start a 91-mph slider at his hip, just to see if he wets his pants.

Week 1 complete! I am TIRED.

One down, uh... eight to go. Holy crap. The toughest day of the week was probably this morning. It's difficult to work through a full-body tired feeling in order to squeeze out more repititions. It's all mental though; it's surprising, when you push yourself, to find out exactly what you're physiologically capable of instead of what you think you should be able to do.

The good news is that aside from a strain in my left anterior deltoid (front of my shoulder), I have escaped the first week of workouts without major injury. No shin splints, no forearm tendinitis, so that feels like a victory. I was able to do everything in the workout plan, although I probably used more rest time in the running workouts than I should have. Whatever... I feel entitled to rest for a few minutes after I run 200 yards in under 35 seconds, 8 times in a row (with a minute rest in between). The strength and conditioning coach might disagree with me, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

The hardest part of these kinds of workouts is never during the workout. Everyone who has made it to this level of athletics is competitive and driven enough that they can dig deep and make themselves get through those last couple repititions. It's amazing to see how energizing it can be to tell a group of oxygen-deprived, butt-locked athletes, "hey...do you think that (insert rival here) cares if you're tired? What do you think they're doing right now?", and watch them bust out on the next run.

No, the hardest part is getting started. It's hearing your alarm go off at 5:30, and shaking yourself out of sleep to go kick your own ass. Or it's getting home from work, tired already, knowing full well that you'll be throwing up in about 45 minutes, after which you'll have to finish the last third of the running. It's the anticipation of the pain that's way mentally worse than the experience itself.

Having said that, there's no better feeling than finishing. Part of it has got to be the actual chemical flood of endorphins into your system, but part if it is knowing that you just gave it everything you had, and it made you better. That's the feeling that gets you up the next morning.

What's going on here?

I finished the running workout. Not just finished it, but finished it to perfection. All my times came in under the specified times, I rested exactly as prescribed, and I didn't have to push myself past the vomit threshold. So why am I not overflowing with glee?

Something odd is occurring here. There is no way I should have been able to finish this workout, given my current fitness level. You can grind and grit your teeth and push through to your limit, but you can't cheat your VO2max. I can't figure out why I'm in as good of shape as I am. This is good news, obviously, but I'm in that mode where I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. I've been very injury-prone throughout my career, and I've never been able to handle a lot of lifting or running volume without breaking down somewhere.

I guess we'll wait and see. Maybe my body is finally producing the natural testosterone and human growth hormone levels required to keep up with this level of training. That would be AWESOME.

On another note, today is my birthday. How did I start it? I got up at 5:30 and was in the gym by 5:50, doing the next workout. Why? Because the rest of the conference doesn't give a shit that it's my birthday.

Ruminations on Pain

When I rolled out of bed this morning and found that I had quite a bit of difficulty moving my shoulders (stiff and sore is an understatement) I reflected upon some comments that I recently wrote for another venture. They detail a point that is hard to identify while watching a contest, since adrenaline can do a pretty good job of hiding ailments. But here goes:

--

If there's anything I've learned from being a four-year, two-sport college athlete, it's the simple fact that athletics at an elite level HURT. There's ALWAYS something that's sore, that needs ice, that feels funny, that is pulled, or strained, or is inflamed. Anti-inflammatories are a godsend, but painkillers are worthless; pain is a message, and ignoring the message makes it worse. Sleep is unparalleled in value, as is decent nutrition. I made the comment the other day that I will never again think poorly of an athlete when I hear that they took human growth hormone; to wake up in the morning, and be able to go through the day's workouts without having to grit through the pain, and finally being able to play to your potential instead of to what your creaking joints will allow, is a dream for most of us. And for professionals, whose performance determines their livelihood, and the ability for their kids to eat, well...it's easy for everyone to sit around and whine about "tarnishing the game," but they don't understand. Needless to say, my immediate company when I made these comments was appalled. Oh well.

And lest my intentions be lost in my observations, knowing what I know now, how much it hurt, how hard it was, would I do it again? Absolutely. No doubt. And next time, I'd do it harder.

--

And I just remembered that I forgot to take Aleve this morning. Shoot. I'm supposed to hit tonight after running... but we'll see if that's possible.

Day 1!!

So I finally got my summer workout program in the mail on Friday. It coincides with the end of summer baseball (for most, at least...the college-age summer baseball scene in my hometown is fairly barren, so I've just been doing my own thing since I graduated). The thing is 80 PAGES. I had to put it in a binder, with dividers separating out the weight program, the running workouts, the nutrition guidelines, and the stretching sequences. I was pretty excited for this, because I have always had to work hard to develop my own offseason workouts, and it's difficult to push yourself based on what you plan. It's easier to have a weight sheet, where you know you have to rep this weight 8 times, and it's inflexible. Or at least it is for me. I find if someone sets the bar higher than I want it to be, I can rise to meet it.

So from now until October 1st, or nine weeks, every weekday is planned for me. Lifting in the morning MWF, running in the afternoons on TuTh, and hitting and throwing whenever I can get it in. Oh, and cardio on the weekends. That's the one thing I get to have input on.

I started the lift this morning. It was... intense. As someone who ran collegiate track for a year (in my off year from baseball), I'm no stranger to puking from exertion. I don't have a cast-iron stomach, but I'm not squeamish, either. Only occasionally do I end up pushing hard enough to pass the breaking point.

NEVER BEFORE have I puked from lifting. I didn't even know that was POSSIBLE. I think the other members outside the gym were surprised, too, when I sprayed a quart of liquid and fresh granola bar in the bushes outside the gym via my nostrils.

I'm genuinely afraid of the first day of running tomorrow. Updates to come.

Intro: What is Inside the Lines?

Welcome to Inside the Lines. Put simply, this is one college baseball player's attempt to present our day-to-day lives as student-athletes. From the grueling offseason workouts to the stresses of conflicting games and tests to media pressure to the joy of competing in front of strangers, over the next year I plan to chronicle my own personal journey through these highs and lows.

I have two reasons for starting this project. First of all, for much of the public, college athletes are but transient carriers of school colors and tradition. College teams are followed because of the connection the fans feel to the name on the front of the jersey, not the one on the back. Every year, the seniors graduate, the new freshmen carry the gear, and the cycle of renewal begins again for the players; the fans, however, maintain their focus on the program, and recent graduates immediately fade out of the consciousness. While there are many aspects of this system that are positive, it seems to me that it has a dehumanizing effect on the athletes themselves. They are transformed from unique individuals into faceless uniforms. If we were exposed to the athlete's side of the story more often, I think we would do a better job of remembering that those colors that we cheer for and yell at and support and boo are worn by people.

The second reason is far more selfish. I'm about to embark on something that I don't want to forget about, and this will help me to preserve this story for my own sake. Chances are this will make for interesting reading someday.

Furthermore, my personal history should provide an interesting perspective on this experience. You see, I've graduated already. I've been through this whole process; I've been a gear-carrying rookie, a solid team component and role-player, a team captain, the face of our media guide, and a graduated senior. I have a deep appreciation for the life cycle of the college athlete, an unwillingness to play my last inning, and a loophole that has allowed me one more shot.

I did not play my freshman year because of a throwing injury that eventually required reconstructive surgery on my right shoulder. That left me three more years to play, since non-scholarship-supported college is expensive. I decided to attend graduate school, at a new institution, which leaves me eligible to play for one more year. So here I am, a rather unlikely breed: a 22-year-old walk-on freshman/grad student.

For purposes of personal and institutional privacy, I won't mention names of schools or people. My old school was a very highly regarded academic institution with Divison III athletics, and our baseball program is a perennial Top 25 selection. I majored in engineering, and in doing so averaged writing about a paper and a half every year. I apologize if my writing is overly analytical or sequential; I'm afraid that's often how my mind works. I am continuing in engineering in graduate school, a school with Division I athletics that made the NCAA Tournament last year. I suspect I will often comment on the differences between these two programs, since they are my only reference points.

I'm sure I've forgotten several important points, but I will include them as they become relevant (and as I remember them). Read on and enjoy.

--Your Loyal Baseball Scribe