Well, that was quick.
I have been, as they say in baseball, "released" by the organization. Cuts were made on Sunday night after the day's scrimmage (that I did not participate in based on my back flaring up again), by text message. By form text message. By a form text message with a typo in it.
Thanks, coach. You're welcome for busting my ass over the last couple months, and I understand if you didn't want to spend a few precious seconds making sure your avoidance of face-to-face contact had correct spelling. Classy.
I did get the chance to talk about it, though. I went in this morning to coach's office, where we talked for a few minutes about what he thought and why. Coach explained that as a non-scholarship player that would only be around for one year, I basically had to show that I was good enough to start to be kept on the roster. There were too many other players that either had already been given scholarship money and couldn't get cut, or were freshmen who had 5 years to learn from the organization instead of one. So for me, they would rather use a bench slot on someone else. And there was no point in keeping me around for the next few weeks of training and fall ball when they knew what the outcome was going to be.
I understand why they made that decision, and I can't sit here and say that they should have done something different. A decision like that comes down to a coach's philosophy of what is best for his program, and that's up to him. They evaluated my talent correctly. The kicker is, I could have saved us all a bunch of time and TOLD them this was going to happen. I could have said, "look, I'm not good enough to be a starter. I don't hit for enough power, and my arm's not strong enough. My use to this team is going to be through foot speed and leadership." And coach would have said, "I understand, and a roster spot is too valuable to spend on a player that brings that to the table."
And so I would have been saved all the throwing up I did over the summer. BOY did I spend a lot of time on this.
But you know what? I'm not sorry. I'd do it again. To be part of a D-1 program, to get the gear and be part of the team, and see that I was one of the 35 most talented players on the field at this point in time (even if some of these freshmen project pretty well), was worth it and I'd do it again. Besides, I got some great writing material out of it.
--
So now what? My baseball career is finally over. After 17 years, hundreds of games, thousands of at-bats, and who knows how many swings and games of catch, my playing career has finished. What a ride! Baseball has certainly been the defining part of my life to this point, and has taught me much about life: hard work, success, teamwork, failure, disappointment, management, fitness, even spirituality. But oddly enough, I'm not as sad as I thought I would be. I feel less like I'm being forced out of something I love, and more like I finally finished working on a huge project, where now I'm sitting back and thinking what a great accomplishment it was. I think the fact that I knew it was going to end soon, whether it was this last May, or now, or next June, made me think about it and come to terms with it before it happened. Adding to the list of positives is that there's an awful lot of stuff that I have now been freed to be able to do:
-- I have an extra 30 hours a week. 30 hours! I talked to a professor yesterday for a half hour, and I think I'm going to be able to start doing research in his lab. I mean, I AM here for academics, anyways.
-- I can golf! I haven't been able to golf more than a handful of times since I got serious about baseball. I LOVE golf. I'll have to work on my swing, certainly, but I've got some time for that now.
-- I can snowboard! Same deal; the danger of wrist injury kept me away from snowboarding all through high school and college. I have some money saved up that I think I'm going to spend on some new gear: boots, bindings, board, maybe some pants, the works. And student rates for season passes are in the $300 range, which is AWESOME.
-- I can visit friends! I had to tell all of my friends at the end of school, when we all went our separate ways around the country, that I didn't know when was the next time I would be able to see them. Now I have the time to make a few trips and spend some time with people who are important to me.
-- I can drink! Maybe this isn't a big deal for some of you, but I do occasionally like to sit down and have a drink, maybe two, maybe get blind drunk and pass out with my shoes on. Pretty normal for a 22-year-old. But while most of my peers were enjoying their newfound legality over the past few years, I was staying sober for training and baseball. I don't think I'll develop into a steady drinker, but I like at least having the freedom to do so.
-- I'm not constantly in pain! I don't have to throw a baseball for as long as I want. I don't have to swing a bat for as long as I want. I can let my hands, my elbow, my shoulder, my back, my foot, everything on me that hurt at least a little ALL THE TIME finally take a rest. I can lift and run when I want, and take a break when I want.
That's a pretty good list, and that's just the start. I don't think I will be hurting for things to do in the meantime.
But...
It's not springtime yet. And when spring comes, and the grass is growing, and spring training starts, and the frost gives way to new grass, it will be baseball season. And I won't be playing. When I had to sit out a year for my shoulder, the track guys all made fun of me because I kept telling them that it smelled like baseball season. Spring will always mean baseball to me. And I will miss it the most this time around.
Even though my playing days have ended, my relationship with the game has not and never will. In recognition of that, it might be time for me to get my feet wet in the coaching world. I liked being a captain on my old team, and I quickly built a reputation with the younger players here as someone who was knowledgeable and to be respected. I think that translates well into an assistant coach, especially at the high school level; I would hope to focus on hitting, baserunning, and outfielding-- my specialties. I want to learn what it's like to be a head coach from a position that would let me observe from very close, with an established head coach at a good program.
At the end of my conversation with Coach, he told me he knew the head coach of a high school in town that has had a successful program, and he would give him a call and recommend me as an assistant. I don't know yet how that's all going to work with school and class and my other newfound activities, but I think this is a step in the right direction. And it's a way to stay involved in the game that has meant so much to me.
--
Where does that leave Inside the Lines? As a project, it has fulfilled its purpose. I intended to chronicle my time trying to walk on to a D-1 program, and I have done that. I hope the readers have learned a little more about what it's like to live the life of a collegiate baseball player.
I think that for the time being, ITL will remain dormant. I could figure out a way to view my coaching exploits, if they happen, into an extension of what it's like to live inside the lines... but I might have to write a new intro. Maybe re-qualify my opening statement. Something. Whatever. You guys will know what's up.
I guess this is goodbye for now. Thanks for reading.
-- Your Loyal Baseball Scribe
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Scrimmage 1
We had our first actual scrimmage this morning. I was DH... for both teams. Apparently that happens occasionally to get guys more at bats. It meant I got 4 instead of the 2 or 3 that most others got, so I was okay with it. I was 1-4, with the hit coming in my first at-bat. That makes three consecutive schools that my first at-bat has been a hit (high school, college 1, college 2). Awesome trend. Oh, and everyone hit with wood bats today.
AB #1: Pitcher was a righty, threw 91-92 fastball. The hit was a clean single into short right field off of a 3-1 outside fastball. This was the only good pitch to hit I saw all day.
AB #2: A total waste. Pitcher was a lefty, 87-88. First pitch was a high outside fastball that I tried to drag bunt down the 3rd base line. Bad combination; I should have let it go, but I lunged for it and got just enough of it to pop it about 3 feet into the air. The catcher took one step, caught it, and I was out. I was furious.
AB #3: Tough at-bat. Righty, 90-91. First pitch I got a sign to push bunt, and I shit my pants and moved straight through the fastball and missed it, 0-1. Next pitch was one of the filthier change-ups I've seen in a while; it's like the pitch just stopped and dropped about 5 feet from the plate. I swung over it and looked silly. 0-2. Next pitch was a high curveball I let go by, 1-2. Next he went high and away with a fastball, and I swung and missed. K.
AB #4: Different pitcher, similar stuff, 90-91. First pitch was low and in, but questionably called a strike. Next pitch was a curveball for a strike, 0-2. He threw a fastball in the dirt, 1-2. Then I fouled off a high outside fastball, and he threw a changeup in the dirt low and away, 2-2. Last pitch was a curveball that started at my face and fooled me some, but I got enough on it to hit a fly ball to shallow right field.
Honestly, I felt it was a decent showing. I got a hit in my first at-bat since May, off of a 92-mph fastball, with a wood bat. So that's a plus. My hands feel quick and my weight is sitting back, and I'm seeing the ball and reacting. I'm in a very good starting position. I need to get those bunts down, though... I've been bunting great in practice, but I failed on two of them today. Both of them were movement bunts, and I just need to remember not to start my weight toward first until contact has been made.
Room for improvement, but a good beginning. Scrimmage 2 is tomorrow.
AB #1: Pitcher was a righty, threw 91-92 fastball. The hit was a clean single into short right field off of a 3-1 outside fastball. This was the only good pitch to hit I saw all day.
AB #2: A total waste. Pitcher was a lefty, 87-88. First pitch was a high outside fastball that I tried to drag bunt down the 3rd base line. Bad combination; I should have let it go, but I lunged for it and got just enough of it to pop it about 3 feet into the air. The catcher took one step, caught it, and I was out. I was furious.
AB #3: Tough at-bat. Righty, 90-91. First pitch I got a sign to push bunt, and I shit my pants and moved straight through the fastball and missed it, 0-1. Next pitch was one of the filthier change-ups I've seen in a while; it's like the pitch just stopped and dropped about 5 feet from the plate. I swung over it and looked silly. 0-2. Next pitch was a high curveball I let go by, 1-2. Next he went high and away with a fastball, and I swung and missed. K.
AB #4: Different pitcher, similar stuff, 90-91. First pitch was low and in, but questionably called a strike. Next pitch was a curveball for a strike, 0-2. He threw a fastball in the dirt, 1-2. Then I fouled off a high outside fastball, and he threw a changeup in the dirt low and away, 2-2. Last pitch was a curveball that started at my face and fooled me some, but I got enough on it to hit a fly ball to shallow right field.
Honestly, I felt it was a decent showing. I got a hit in my first at-bat since May, off of a 92-mph fastball, with a wood bat. So that's a plus. My hands feel quick and my weight is sitting back, and I'm seeing the ball and reacting. I'm in a very good starting position. I need to get those bunts down, though... I've been bunting great in practice, but I failed on two of them today. Both of them were movement bunts, and I just need to remember not to start my weight toward first until contact has been made.
Room for improvement, but a good beginning. Scrimmage 2 is tomorrow.
80's Aerobics Party
In the interest of chronicling more than just the on-field exploits of a college athlete, I figured I ought to tell a few stories about the party we had the other night. There was a "mixer" between the baseball team and a certain sorority, whose greek letters are meaningless because they're all the same anyways. We'll call them Eta Omicron Sigma... or HOS. Because good lord, these girls were slut-tastic.
First of all, it's worth noting that these kinds of parties, apparently, are very difficult to get into and are highly sought after. Earlier toward the start of school, I was over at "the baseball house" for a gathering. When I arrived, two of the larger members of the team were at the door of the house...as bouncers! And they were turning people away! I got in simply because of my current membership as part of the team, but I hung around to watch what happened. A large group of girls came to the door, and the "bouncers" filtered through the group and admitted the hotter half of the girls, but not the uglier half. There was a brief moment of awkwardness, and then an unspoken exchange between the girls: "Sorry, but I want to hook up with a baseball boy more than I want to be your friend. Catch you later." And then the ugly girls went home. Absolutely astounding, and very sad for me to watch.
On to the party:
-- The Theme. 80's Aerobics. Gentlemen (HAHAHAHAHAHAAHAyeah right) were attired mostly in short shorts, tights, crop tops, sleeveless shirts, headbands, wristbands, all in miserably clashing neon colors. Ladies (HAHAHAHAHAAAAAAeven less likely) were attired in jumpsuits, tights, side ponytails, far too much makeup, and anything that would reveal their boobs and/or butts. This was not an occasion for modesty.
-- The Girls. Never have I encountered a group of individuals with lower self-esteem. Since I am, for the most part, three or four years older than most of these young ladies, they're not exactly my type. I'm not your typical creepy old guy predator (actually, I'm more attracted to the older, more mature type...but that's neither here nor there), so I politely told the drunken jailbait flashing their breasts at me that I wasn't interested in nailing someone I could have babysat at one point. I heard one girl, after getting rejected for the third time in about 15 minutes, annouce to nobody in particular, "c'mon....*stamps foot*...I have to fuck SOMEbody..." Ladies and gentlemen, the future of America!
-- The Guys. I could not believe how unsure of themselves some of these guys are. Not that I wasn't when I was that age...I probably would have been the MOST awkward of all of them. But I thought this would be different-- these kids have been very successful in baseball, and with success comes a lot of attention. Attention from girls, attention from coaches, papers, etc., so most of these kids have been exposed to social situations that other college freshmen haven't. Regardless, an 18-year-old boy remains an 18-year-old boy. Girls were THROWING themselves at these guys, doing everything short of dragging them back to their rooms, and the guys were still wondering if they had a shot with the girls. Unbelievable.
-- The Drunkenness. While the others got absolutely shit-hammered, I nursed two beers over the 5 hours I was there. When I got in my car to drive home, a bunch of guys tried to stop me; they had seen me chatting with people, having a good time, laughing, and so naturally assumed I was hammered. I hope they learn that you can have fun without alcohol, too. Although I think it's only the wonders of beer that lead to our second baseman furiously rounding the bases with a freshman HOS member IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CROWDED BASEMENT WITH PEOPLE SURROUNDING THEM. I honestly think they thought they were alone. Which leads us to...
-- The Story That Makes Me Worried For The Future Of Mankind. DISCLAIMER: This story is unthinkably graphic. We're talking quadruple-X, send the kids to bed, my-parents-won't-believe-this-happened graphic. So if you understandably would rather not know, skip to the Safe Zone.
***BEGIN UNTHINKABLY GRAPHIC SECTION. YOU ARE NOW LEAVING THE SAFE ZONE.***
You sick fuck. Of course you want to know what happened.
Our saga begins with a freshman catcher. Because of his racial background, we'll refer to him as Chief Joseph, or CJ for short. On this night, CJ was, in every sense of the word, blackout drunk. He had little comprehension of what was going on in the surrounding world. That does not in any way excuse him for his actions.
Let's rewind to practice that day. One of the players who lives in the house, an upperclassman pitcher, Southpaw, was not pleased about having the party at his house. He informed everyone that under NO CIRCUMSTANCES was ANYONE to even TOUCH THE DOORKNOB to his room. It was off limits to the Pope. It was on lockdown. I don't think he had anything he was hiding, he just wanted to protect his things from unpredictable drunken actions. (File this under obvious foreshadowing.)
That night, things were going rather well for CJ and a young lady, identity (thankfully) unknown. By "going well" I mean that they were both so drunk that their minds had regressed to unconsciously controlling basic life functions: eat, sleep, produce offspring. It was only 11:00, and they were quite full of beer, so that left only one other task. CJ took his lady friend by the hand and gracefully led her up the stairs to find some privacy (or maybe he carried her; it was unclear if she could walk at this point). Obviously, they found Southpaw's room unoccupied, and they quickly climbed into bed.
The young lady of questionable morals, unfortunately, was undergoing a medical process we like to call "bleeding out of her genitals." Sorry, I meant "menstruation." And she had neglected to tell CJ about the onset of her condition before inviting him to jackhammer her with impunity. And he didn't notice. So after they had sex, they turned on the lights to the sight of a deep red Jackson Pollock painting ALL OVER SOUTHPAW'S WHITE SHEETS. There was so much blood, in fact, that it soaked through the sheets to his mattress pad.
To Southpaw's credit, he was displeased, but realized the humor in the situation and stopped short of eviscerating CJ (which is what I would have done). All CJ has to do is take the girl's spandex shorts, which she was wearing at the party, and wear them to lifting on Monday. And, basically, be Southpaw's bitch for the forseeable future.
Unbelievable.
***YOU ARE NOW RETURNING TO THE SAFE ZONE.***
Parties like this are pretty standard fare for nights before off days, the next of which we have this Wednesday. I shudder to think what will end up topping this.
First of all, it's worth noting that these kinds of parties, apparently, are very difficult to get into and are highly sought after. Earlier toward the start of school, I was over at "the baseball house" for a gathering. When I arrived, two of the larger members of the team were at the door of the house...as bouncers! And they were turning people away! I got in simply because of my current membership as part of the team, but I hung around to watch what happened. A large group of girls came to the door, and the "bouncers" filtered through the group and admitted the hotter half of the girls, but not the uglier half. There was a brief moment of awkwardness, and then an unspoken exchange between the girls: "Sorry, but I want to hook up with a baseball boy more than I want to be your friend. Catch you later." And then the ugly girls went home. Absolutely astounding, and very sad for me to watch.
On to the party:
-- The Theme. 80's Aerobics. Gentlemen (HAHAHAHAHAHAAHAyeah right) were attired mostly in short shorts, tights, crop tops, sleeveless shirts, headbands, wristbands, all in miserably clashing neon colors. Ladies (HAHAHAHAHAAAAAAeven less likely) were attired in jumpsuits, tights, side ponytails, far too much makeup, and anything that would reveal their boobs and/or butts. This was not an occasion for modesty.
-- The Girls. Never have I encountered a group of individuals with lower self-esteem. Since I am, for the most part, three or four years older than most of these young ladies, they're not exactly my type. I'm not your typical creepy old guy predator (actually, I'm more attracted to the older, more mature type...but that's neither here nor there), so I politely told the drunken jailbait flashing their breasts at me that I wasn't interested in nailing someone I could have babysat at one point. I heard one girl, after getting rejected for the third time in about 15 minutes, annouce to nobody in particular, "c'mon....*stamps foot*...I have to fuck SOMEbody..." Ladies and gentlemen, the future of America!
-- The Guys. I could not believe how unsure of themselves some of these guys are. Not that I wasn't when I was that age...I probably would have been the MOST awkward of all of them. But I thought this would be different-- these kids have been very successful in baseball, and with success comes a lot of attention. Attention from girls, attention from coaches, papers, etc., so most of these kids have been exposed to social situations that other college freshmen haven't. Regardless, an 18-year-old boy remains an 18-year-old boy. Girls were THROWING themselves at these guys, doing everything short of dragging them back to their rooms, and the guys were still wondering if they had a shot with the girls. Unbelievable.
-- The Drunkenness. While the others got absolutely shit-hammered, I nursed two beers over the 5 hours I was there. When I got in my car to drive home, a bunch of guys tried to stop me; they had seen me chatting with people, having a good time, laughing, and so naturally assumed I was hammered. I hope they learn that you can have fun without alcohol, too. Although I think it's only the wonders of beer that lead to our second baseman furiously rounding the bases with a freshman HOS member IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CROWDED BASEMENT WITH PEOPLE SURROUNDING THEM. I honestly think they thought they were alone. Which leads us to...
-- The Story That Makes Me Worried For The Future Of Mankind. DISCLAIMER: This story is unthinkably graphic. We're talking quadruple-X, send the kids to bed, my-parents-won't-believe-this-happened graphic. So if you understandably would rather not know, skip to the Safe Zone.
***BEGIN UNTHINKABLY GRAPHIC SECTION. YOU ARE NOW LEAVING THE SAFE ZONE.***
You sick fuck. Of course you want to know what happened.
Our saga begins with a freshman catcher. Because of his racial background, we'll refer to him as Chief Joseph, or CJ for short. On this night, CJ was, in every sense of the word, blackout drunk. He had little comprehension of what was going on in the surrounding world. That does not in any way excuse him for his actions.
Let's rewind to practice that day. One of the players who lives in the house, an upperclassman pitcher, Southpaw, was not pleased about having the party at his house. He informed everyone that under NO CIRCUMSTANCES was ANYONE to even TOUCH THE DOORKNOB to his room. It was off limits to the Pope. It was on lockdown. I don't think he had anything he was hiding, he just wanted to protect his things from unpredictable drunken actions. (File this under obvious foreshadowing.)
That night, things were going rather well for CJ and a young lady, identity (thankfully) unknown. By "going well" I mean that they were both so drunk that their minds had regressed to unconsciously controlling basic life functions: eat, sleep, produce offspring. It was only 11:00, and they were quite full of beer, so that left only one other task. CJ took his lady friend by the hand and gracefully led her up the stairs to find some privacy (or maybe he carried her; it was unclear if she could walk at this point). Obviously, they found Southpaw's room unoccupied, and they quickly climbed into bed.
The young lady of questionable morals, unfortunately, was undergoing a medical process we like to call "bleeding out of her genitals." Sorry, I meant "menstruation." And she had neglected to tell CJ about the onset of her condition before inviting him to jackhammer her with impunity. And he didn't notice. So after they had sex, they turned on the lights to the sight of a deep red Jackson Pollock painting ALL OVER SOUTHPAW'S WHITE SHEETS. There was so much blood, in fact, that it soaked through the sheets to his mattress pad.
To Southpaw's credit, he was displeased, but realized the humor in the situation and stopped short of eviscerating CJ (which is what I would have done). All CJ has to do is take the girl's spandex shorts, which she was wearing at the party, and wear them to lifting on Monday. And, basically, be Southpaw's bitch for the forseeable future.
Unbelievable.
***YOU ARE NOW RETURNING TO THE SAFE ZONE.***
Parties like this are pretty standard fare for nights before off days, the next of which we have this Wednesday. I shudder to think what will end up topping this.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
More Injury Updating / What is Control?
So they were half right...there was a lower back muscle pull, but that wasn't the only thing going on. I had some inflammation in the SI (sacroiliac) joint, which you can feel if you lift yourself out of your chair using just your arms and let your hips feel like they're hanging. That stiffness in your back/hips? Your SI joint. That's still kind of sore, and that might be something that stays sore for a while and I just play through. Back to the hurt/injury dichotomy, I guess. Good news is I think the muscle is about healed, and swinging a bat today felt stiff but possible. I was probably at 60% today on those swings, so if I can go 80-90 tomorrow, I should be ready for the scrimmages this weekend.
A few guys got cut after practice yesterday. The fall roster is down to 43 names. Only 35 make the spring roster...and that might include redshirts, which isn't what I originally thought. I thought it was 35 active players, but it seems more like it's 35 players PERIOD. I've overheard some guys who were on the roster last year talking about being redshirts, so that seems to be evidence enough. I can still pick out 8 guys that I think I should make the team ahead of, but you could make an argument either way. And let's say it comes down to me and a catcher, or me and a pitcher, or someone else who I'm not directly competing against...how does the coach decide which one of us is more important to the team? Regardless of who he chooses, how can I make an argument that he's right or wrong?
It's nice to have a forum here to let these thoughts out, because I know I can't waste too much time worrying about things like that. A lot of the mental game of baseball concerns maximizing the things you can control, and not waste mental energy on the things you can't. A lot of players will beat themselves up, maybe even fall into a slump, after an 0-4 or 0-5 day at the plate. But a closer look might reveal that the hitter hit a long fly ball in the gap that the center fielder made a diving catch on; a sharp line drive right at the second baseman; a screaming ground ball down the line that the first baseman made a lucky stab at; and a grounder to the right side that advanced a runner. He had a fantastic day at the plate! The fielders and the plays they make are not something that he can control, so he can't spend time and energy worrying about them.
Obviously, I'm going to be thinking about my chances of making the team. I wouldn't be here unless I cared about making it. There's a reason that I took the fall roster, highlighted all the outfielders, and put marks by players' names designating what I think their chances of making the team are. At the same time, I need to focus on controlling my mental approach, the quality of my work in the cage, staying healthy, and making sure I NEVER get out-hustled. Those are all things I can control.
A few guys got cut after practice yesterday. The fall roster is down to 43 names. Only 35 make the spring roster...and that might include redshirts, which isn't what I originally thought. I thought it was 35 active players, but it seems more like it's 35 players PERIOD. I've overheard some guys who were on the roster last year talking about being redshirts, so that seems to be evidence enough. I can still pick out 8 guys that I think I should make the team ahead of, but you could make an argument either way. And let's say it comes down to me and a catcher, or me and a pitcher, or someone else who I'm not directly competing against...how does the coach decide which one of us is more important to the team? Regardless of who he chooses, how can I make an argument that he's right or wrong?
It's nice to have a forum here to let these thoughts out, because I know I can't waste too much time worrying about things like that. A lot of the mental game of baseball concerns maximizing the things you can control, and not waste mental energy on the things you can't. A lot of players will beat themselves up, maybe even fall into a slump, after an 0-4 or 0-5 day at the plate. But a closer look might reveal that the hitter hit a long fly ball in the gap that the center fielder made a diving catch on; a sharp line drive right at the second baseman; a screaming ground ball down the line that the first baseman made a lucky stab at; and a grounder to the right side that advanced a runner. He had a fantastic day at the plate! The fielders and the plays they make are not something that he can control, so he can't spend time and energy worrying about them.
Obviously, I'm going to be thinking about my chances of making the team. I wouldn't be here unless I cared about making it. There's a reason that I took the fall roster, highlighted all the outfielders, and put marks by players' names designating what I think their chances of making the team are. At the same time, I need to focus on controlling my mental approach, the quality of my work in the cage, staying healthy, and making sure I NEVER get out-hustled. Those are all things I can control.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Injury Update
Good news, everyone. Turns out the knife in my back was just a pulled muscle (erector spinae, for you anatomy geeks out there...right near the sacroiliac joint). I did a bunch of therapy today and over the next few days, the trainers think I should be pain-free and ready to practice. The schedule coming up is for practice through the week, except for Friday off. Then we will scrimmage on Saturday and Sunday, both days starting at 8 AM.
If I had to guess, I think I will be completely off again tomorrow, then some light stuff Wednesday afternoon, and a real practice on Thursday. Then Friday I get to rest, and I'll be golden in time for scrimmages on Saturday and Sunday. Time to get those quick hands moving.
If I had to guess, I think I will be completely off again tomorrow, then some light stuff Wednesday afternoon, and a real practice on Thursday. Then Friday I get to rest, and I'll be golden in time for scrimmages on Saturday and Sunday. Time to get those quick hands moving.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Today Was Pro Day... For The Other Guys
Well, I was wrong. I was unaware of the irony at the time of the last post, but little did I know that the lower back pangs that I struggled with on Friday wouldn't get better over our off day. So here I am on Sunday, having attended but not participated in our Pro Day, waiting my 10:00 AM appointment with the athletic trainer on Monday. This is a pain I'm not used to, and just in case it falls under injury pain instead of sore pain, I figured that blowing out my back to participate in pro day wouldn't be worth sacrificing the rest of the fall season. Unthinkably frustrating, though, especially since I was penciled in as the second team center fielder.
I did get to sit and evaluate, though, which was nice. I got to watch every single position player hit, play the field, and run a 60-yard dash, and I got to watch all the pitchers pitch. This was something I hadn't been able to do yet, so I was glad to have the opportunity, even though I bad-lucked into it.
These guys throw HARD. Good lord. One of the freshmen was clocked at 94. The slowest guy was in the low to mid 80s. I have some pretty serious doubts about my ability to hit this pitching. Everything else aside, I need to show that I can be competitive at the plate. And oh man, will that be difficult. Whenever I step into the box, my consciousness will have to become my eyes, my hands, and nothing more. The confidence took a hit today. Both being injured and observing the level of pitching didn't help.
At the same time, though, of 17 pitchers going through three hitters each, there were only 6 hits. Nobody stood out as a great hitter, and it's obvious that all the hitters are getting back used to seeing pitching again. So even though I'm behind where I think I need to be in my own mind, it's possible I'm not actually behind the other hitters at all.
We'll see. I need to get my back healthy first so I can take a full hack and throw again. Or run even. I couldn't do anything today. I sure am glad I trained for months to lower my 60-yard dash time and then couldn't run it at pro day. Balls.
I did get to sit and evaluate, though, which was nice. I got to watch every single position player hit, play the field, and run a 60-yard dash, and I got to watch all the pitchers pitch. This was something I hadn't been able to do yet, so I was glad to have the opportunity, even though I bad-lucked into it.
These guys throw HARD. Good lord. One of the freshmen was clocked at 94. The slowest guy was in the low to mid 80s. I have some pretty serious doubts about my ability to hit this pitching. Everything else aside, I need to show that I can be competitive at the plate. And oh man, will that be difficult. Whenever I step into the box, my consciousness will have to become my eyes, my hands, and nothing more. The confidence took a hit today. Both being injured and observing the level of pitching didn't help.
At the same time, though, of 17 pitchers going through three hitters each, there were only 6 hits. Nobody stood out as a great hitter, and it's obvious that all the hitters are getting back used to seeing pitching again. So even though I'm behind where I think I need to be in my own mind, it's possible I'm not actually behind the other hitters at all.
We'll see. I need to get my back healthy first so I can take a full hack and throw again. Or run even. I couldn't do anything today. I sure am glad I trained for months to lower my 60-yard dash time and then couldn't run it at pro day. Balls.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Week 1 Complete.
I completed the first week of practice in one piece. Barely, though, I was thinking as I was sitting in an ice bath for 15 minutes after practice today. There's something about doing squats and weighted ab exercises at 6 in the morning that slows down your running just enough during practice later in the day that something gets thrown out of whack. So after my ice bath to soothe the burn in my quads, I had ice bags wrapped onto my left hip flexor, my lower left back, my right shoulder, and my right elbow.
But tomorrow is a day off! Which means no throwing! In fact, as soon as practice ended, my arm felt better just knowing that I had a full day to take off from using it. Funny how pain can be so mental at times.
--
In years past, I have sat out of practices and out of games for a lot of different reasons: some in my head, some real pains, but I would never claim to have a high pain tolerance. My desire to play has often been questioned, since I've been very unwilling to play hurt. I think it rose less out of a fear of the pain, or that I would get even more hurt, but more that I was scared to play and have to be depended on when I knew I wasn't going to be at my best. I let it affect me, basically.
Something in me changed over the last year or two. I think a lot of it was the simple fact that my arm hurt all the time, and I surprised myself in games by doing things hurt that I didn't think I would have been able to do. Especially my junior year: I hurt my groin at the end of my sophomore year, and it was a very deep connective tissue injury that nagged me throughout the next two years. But it never got worse; it only stayed the same level of pain. So I learned how to distinguish between different types of pain: pain that was a warning of further injury, pain that was simply uncomfortable and could be defeated mentally, or pain that was good, a sign that lifting or stretching was working. I found that much of the pain that I had held myself out of games for had been of the discomfort instead of injury variety.
Fast-forward to this last year, my senior year. We were playing in a tournament held at a field with brick outfield walls. In the second inning of the game, I ran full-speed into the wall with my left knee trying to catch a ball. It hurt. A LOT. I figured I just had a contusion, so I walked it off and kept playing ( I finished the game 1-2 with 2 walks and a HBP). It started to feel funny around the fifth inning or so, and it was stiffening up. I rolled my pants up to take a look at it, and BOOM! It had started to swell WAY more than it should have. By the end of the game, it was getting tough to bend. The trainer and I went to work on it with wraps and ice, but by that night, my left knee was three times the size of my right knee.
The next day came around and I could barely walk. I had to sit out that day's doubleheader, something I was furious to have to do. But when I tried to jog, I couldn't put any weight on that leg. I worked all day long to reduce the swelling, alternating ice and compressive wrap and bending exercises for the next 8 hours. It started to go down, and by the next day, I could walk. I told myself there was no way I was going to miss another game, and since I had played the rest of the game in which I had been injured without any functional problems, I didn't have a fractured kneecap or torn ligament that could get worse with more playing. So I played. And although I was very uncertain at game time if I could actually play, I was surprised at how much ability I actually had when I got out onto the field.
I gained a major lesson out of that experience (as well as a numb spot on my left knee where I destroyed the nerve tissue, and a dent in my kneecap). I found that it if I tried to do something until I failed, instead of guess that I was going to fail and not risk trying, I could do far more than I originally would have imagined. When I was limping in between stations at practice today, and then finding I could actually gun it full speed during drills, I was thankful for that lesson.
--
Back to reality. After a week, I'm absolutely sure that I belong in this class of athlete, and I'm ecstatic that this is the case. I'm still unsure, however, if there will be a spot for me on this team. I looked at the fall roster today, and there are 46 names on it. Only 35 get to go on the roster come springtime. I looked at it and, from what I've been able to see, which isn't very much, I tried to make some honest judgments about what I would do with some of the players. Redshirt, grayshirt, cut-- I went through the names. I went through one time, and came up with 34 guys that I thought should be on the team outright (including myself). So for now, I think I make it... barely. Of course, it depends on what the coaches are thinking. If there was a hustle award for the first week, I would have won it. Nobody has separated themselves from the group in terms of hustle like I have. If that matters to the coaches, that raises my value. If they put more value in, say, power hitting, or arm strength, then it definitely drops. We'll see. I might ask one of the coaches at the end of next week to give me some feedback about where I stand and what I should focus on improving over the next few weeks.
But tomorrow, I'm going to rest.
But tomorrow is a day off! Which means no throwing! In fact, as soon as practice ended, my arm felt better just knowing that I had a full day to take off from using it. Funny how pain can be so mental at times.
--
In years past, I have sat out of practices and out of games for a lot of different reasons: some in my head, some real pains, but I would never claim to have a high pain tolerance. My desire to play has often been questioned, since I've been very unwilling to play hurt. I think it rose less out of a fear of the pain, or that I would get even more hurt, but more that I was scared to play and have to be depended on when I knew I wasn't going to be at my best. I let it affect me, basically.
Something in me changed over the last year or two. I think a lot of it was the simple fact that my arm hurt all the time, and I surprised myself in games by doing things hurt that I didn't think I would have been able to do. Especially my junior year: I hurt my groin at the end of my sophomore year, and it was a very deep connective tissue injury that nagged me throughout the next two years. But it never got worse; it only stayed the same level of pain. So I learned how to distinguish between different types of pain: pain that was a warning of further injury, pain that was simply uncomfortable and could be defeated mentally, or pain that was good, a sign that lifting or stretching was working. I found that much of the pain that I had held myself out of games for had been of the discomfort instead of injury variety.
Fast-forward to this last year, my senior year. We were playing in a tournament held at a field with brick outfield walls. In the second inning of the game, I ran full-speed into the wall with my left knee trying to catch a ball. It hurt. A LOT. I figured I just had a contusion, so I walked it off and kept playing ( I finished the game 1-2 with 2 walks and a HBP). It started to feel funny around the fifth inning or so, and it was stiffening up. I rolled my pants up to take a look at it, and BOOM! It had started to swell WAY more than it should have. By the end of the game, it was getting tough to bend. The trainer and I went to work on it with wraps and ice, but by that night, my left knee was three times the size of my right knee.
The next day came around and I could barely walk. I had to sit out that day's doubleheader, something I was furious to have to do. But when I tried to jog, I couldn't put any weight on that leg. I worked all day long to reduce the swelling, alternating ice and compressive wrap and bending exercises for the next 8 hours. It started to go down, and by the next day, I could walk. I told myself there was no way I was going to miss another game, and since I had played the rest of the game in which I had been injured without any functional problems, I didn't have a fractured kneecap or torn ligament that could get worse with more playing. So I played. And although I was very uncertain at game time if I could actually play, I was surprised at how much ability I actually had when I got out onto the field.
I gained a major lesson out of that experience (as well as a numb spot on my left knee where I destroyed the nerve tissue, and a dent in my kneecap). I found that it if I tried to do something until I failed, instead of guess that I was going to fail and not risk trying, I could do far more than I originally would have imagined. When I was limping in between stations at practice today, and then finding I could actually gun it full speed during drills, I was thankful for that lesson.
--
Back to reality. After a week, I'm absolutely sure that I belong in this class of athlete, and I'm ecstatic that this is the case. I'm still unsure, however, if there will be a spot for me on this team. I looked at the fall roster today, and there are 46 names on it. Only 35 get to go on the roster come springtime. I looked at it and, from what I've been able to see, which isn't very much, I tried to make some honest judgments about what I would do with some of the players. Redshirt, grayshirt, cut-- I went through the names. I went through one time, and came up with 34 guys that I thought should be on the team outright (including myself). So for now, I think I make it... barely. Of course, it depends on what the coaches are thinking. If there was a hustle award for the first week, I would have won it. Nobody has separated themselves from the group in terms of hustle like I have. If that matters to the coaches, that raises my value. If they put more value in, say, power hitting, or arm strength, then it definitely drops. We'll see. I might ask one of the coaches at the end of next week to give me some feedback about where I stand and what I should focus on improving over the next few weeks.
But tomorrow, I'm going to rest.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
I'm Arguing With My Elbow... And Losing
Yikes. My right forearm near my elbow is throbbing. I've been icing most of the night, and I have two Aleve in me. I'll have to ice more in the morning. Only two more practices until Saturday, then I get a full day off.
This is occasionally a problem for me. As previously mentioned, my right (throwing) shoulder has been operated on once. For the orthopedic surgery geeks in the audience, I had an anterior capsular instability caused by putting too much stress on my capsule when throwing. For regular people, the front side of my shoulder was loose, so when I tried to throw, the head of my humerus would wiggle around enough for it to be blindingly painful. So the surgery I had took my loose capsule, folded it over on itself, and stitched it up, leaving it much tighter.
In a sense, the surgery worked, because I've never had instability problems in that shoulder again. However, I'm now four years post-surgery, and I'm still loosening my shoulder out to the range of motion that a baseball player is supposed to have. As a result of that tightness, when my shoulder gets tired, I put a lot of stress on my elbow when I throw because I'm compensating for the power that should be coming from my shoulder. When that happens, boom, the muscles around my elbow blow up.
We did outfield cutoffs today, which is where we are hit balls in the outfield and we throw them to bases. My first two throws were fine, and then it just tailed off from there. I let loose some balls that I'm not at all proud of, and when I was finished, my arm was hanging like a limp rag at my side. At least I hit the cutoffs. A weak throw on target is better than a strong throw that can't be caught. But a strong throw on target is much better. It was frustrating because I clearly had the weak arm in the outfield. This does not bode well for me. Although, I always knew I was going to have a weak arm relative to everyone else, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised. It remains the same: I'm going to run my way onto this team. I did make a sliding catch during outfield drills, and I got some compliments on my speed. That does bode well for me.
So that's why I'm sitting here icing. It didn't help that we did a bunch of push-ups again this morning, which helped put plenty of pressure on an already sore joint. But on the flip side, I did measure a 30.5" standing vertical leap. I disagree with the statement that white men can't jump.
This is occasionally a problem for me. As previously mentioned, my right (throwing) shoulder has been operated on once. For the orthopedic surgery geeks in the audience, I had an anterior capsular instability caused by putting too much stress on my capsule when throwing. For regular people, the front side of my shoulder was loose, so when I tried to throw, the head of my humerus would wiggle around enough for it to be blindingly painful. So the surgery I had took my loose capsule, folded it over on itself, and stitched it up, leaving it much tighter.
In a sense, the surgery worked, because I've never had instability problems in that shoulder again. However, I'm now four years post-surgery, and I'm still loosening my shoulder out to the range of motion that a baseball player is supposed to have. As a result of that tightness, when my shoulder gets tired, I put a lot of stress on my elbow when I throw because I'm compensating for the power that should be coming from my shoulder. When that happens, boom, the muscles around my elbow blow up.
We did outfield cutoffs today, which is where we are hit balls in the outfield and we throw them to bases. My first two throws were fine, and then it just tailed off from there. I let loose some balls that I'm not at all proud of, and when I was finished, my arm was hanging like a limp rag at my side. At least I hit the cutoffs. A weak throw on target is better than a strong throw that can't be caught. But a strong throw on target is much better. It was frustrating because I clearly had the weak arm in the outfield. This does not bode well for me. Although, I always knew I was going to have a weak arm relative to everyone else, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised. It remains the same: I'm going to run my way onto this team. I did make a sliding catch during outfield drills, and I got some compliments on my speed. That does bode well for me.
So that's why I'm sitting here icing. It didn't help that we did a bunch of push-ups again this morning, which helped put plenty of pressure on an already sore joint. But on the flip side, I did measure a 30.5" standing vertical leap. I disagree with the statement that white men can't jump.
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