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Nick Faunce's Baseball Blog
May 24, 2009
Nick Faunce's Baseball Blog
May 23, 2009 I realize my blog posts have been nonexistent for a spell and I apologize but finishing up my school year and time at KU have been of prime importance to me the last few weeks and limited my desire to write. I also find it difficult to top the banana pants but here goes: Weather- As I sat in centerfield at the BIG 12 Championship and watched the shadows of the lazy clouds pass while sweat poured down my face, arms, and hands I recalled the conditions we've played through this season and the frenzy that follows. Here at KU we play whether the weather is good or whether the weather is bad and it seems all sorts of weather has tried to impair our season. We've played through freezing temps, rainstorms, thunderstorms, hail, snow, and tornado sirens so finally to feel the renowned Midwest heat and humidity was a bit of a relief. As I stated about the Wichita State home game it was one of the most bone chilling games I've ever played in but that was succeeded by the Baylor game where 30+ mph winds whipped at our ears while errant snowflakes dropped.
In the Midwest, rainstorms are a standard that you can count on in the spring and several have plagued our ability to play games. The most prominent recounts of those were at home as we closed out the Oklahoma State series in extra innings. The rain fell. The field mudded and puddles formed in the baselines causing concern about whether we would be able to continue the game after 10 innings of fighting but with Tony (Thompson's) line drive off the wall all doubt was ended.
Moreover, the games at Oklahoma were as much of a scene as I have ever seen. Again questions were raised about the playability of the field as outfielders ankles were enveloped by the standing water. The saying "ducks on the pond" took on new meaning as outfielders waded in the treacherous waters of the outfielder. In fact, before our early wakeup at 7 a.m. I was woken in my hotel room at 4:03 a.m. by the crash of thunder. I arose and went to the window and looked out to see rain pounding the rock roof of an adjacent building without any rain hitting the parking lot directly below. I returned to bed, but moments later I was up again at the window due to a loud crash of thunder and this time water flooding the parking lot and spilling out of the adjacent gutter in a fierce fashion that I've never seen before (keep in mind I'm from Oregon).
The next day was capped by a fantastic slip-n-slide catch by Bruno (Jason Brunansky) who was sliding so fast he had to dig his spikes into the grass like a mountain climber plants his crap-ons it an icy slope.
Then, there were the tornado days. The first day began with a set of delayed flights which ended in a cancellation on our way to Lubbock. Everything seemed to be in disarray being delayed, delayed, delayed, and then cancelled we were at the Fort Worth airport waiting for hours. Then, Skip (Coach Price) had to deal with flight rearrangements and we left the airport for a hotel around 11:30 p.m., jumped into shuttles driven by crazed taxi drivers that sent us shifting and swaying as people stood grasping to poles in the confined buses. We got in around 12:30 a.m. and the first group left for the airport the next morning at 6:30 a.m. A debacle.
The next tornado excitement was on the alumni day when we played Nebraska. We were all set to start when the tornado sirens began wawa-ing and instructions over the PA called for people to seek cover. As sick as it sounds, I waited to watch the sky--and the possibility of seeing a tornado in the distance. The sky turned an eerie green and darkness, clouds blacker than I've ever seen, shifted to the north. I watched the winds and movement of the clouds projecting funnel formations. Needless to say the day's game was cancelled.
The last tornado scare was on the way to K-State. It was actually fun to watch the progression of the storm as we passed through the Flint hills that gave us a vantage point from the bus to see distant rain clouds as they opened up and poured over the hillsides. It was enjoyable until the clouds enveloped our bus and the downpour of rain covered the view of the highway in front of our bus driver. Then, a few "storm-chasers" drive by our bus in modified tanks like the ones seen in Twister. Suddenly, the bus ride was tense and uneasy but we got out from under the cloud and played the game with a tremendous sun setting armageddonish rays onto the thunderheads rising high into the eastern sky.
It's difficult to deal with such tumultuous conditions but playing in the Big 12 requires a toughness and drive to overcome the competition and fight through the deliberations, delays, and cancellations because here at KU we play whether the weather is good or whether the weather is bad.
April 14, 2009 In recent developments, (Jimmy) Waters has been pushed to alternative rallying methods. The rigors and stress of a homecoming to Omaha and Rosenblatt Stadium caused Waters to become seemingly manic. In fact, the intensity of the situation, under the national spotlight of CBS College Sports, was reason enough for Waters to play the game with a banana in his pants. Literally. The rally banana was only good for one hit but it got him a clutch RBI early in the game.
In all actuality, Waters was a casualty of the carefully plotting prankster Buck Afenir. As the story goes, Waters picked up a bushel of browning bananas that had been trashed by the nutritionist and littered Buck's locker and catchers bag with the bananas. After finding the bananas, Buck tossed all of the bananas but one which he put aside to use at a later date.
Buck has cultivated this tactic well where he uses one's treachery against them. After a series of dueling shenanigans with Buck a few years ago I came to the locker room one day and picked up my bag to carry it out to the field when I noticed an awful stench. I emptied and clawed through my bag to find a sun fish placed in the depths of one of the pockets of my bag.
So as Buck put the banana aside it was bound to be used again. His moment came when Waters' left his packed bag open as he went around the corner to use the restroom. Given this opportunity, Buck snatched the banana and stored it in Waters' jock and waited to see when he'd find it.
We got to the field and players began randomly mentioning bananas. Waters' changed and still had not discovered the banana. We got through BP and Waters' still had not discovered the banana. All of this time people are telling Waters' how they were craving a banana to Waters' cluelessness. Finally, it was game time and Waters' STILL had not discovered the banana. This may sound cruel to let a teammate play on national TV with a banana in his pants but honestly in the back of our heads we kept saying what if he goes 3 for 4 or has a game winning home run with a banana in his pants would he intentionally do it next game? So we held back from telling him. All the while Waters' was awkwardly readjusting and squirming as he felt uncomfortable but was oblivious about the source of the discomfort.
The game went on and as Buck put it "I just wanted to see if someone could really play an entire 9 innings with a banana in their pants--because I thought it was impossible." Well after our extra inning victory Waters' had made it 10 innings and almost 7 hours with a banana in his jock. And as we joyously celebrated the great victory we headed to locker room where the night was capitalized by watching Waters' obliviously remove a banana from his pants. The raucous laughter that erupted from that locker room was a moment to be remembered.
March 31, 2009
Gusting sighs:
Prior to our UNC (Northern Colorado not the hated North Carolina) games we had a violent battle as the tarp and gale winds of middle-America besieged our mini infantry. First, the facilities workers of Allen Fieldhouse and Hoglund Ballpark, maybe 8-10 of them, braved the fierce winds to pull off the tarp so "Peanut" could prep the infield for UNC's batting practice (during early games we let the opposition take batting practice first so players can fulfill the "student" responsibility of their "student-athlete" moniker).
I watched the tail end of this units advance as they finished pulling the tarp into left field and then walked toward our dugout emitting a defeated look. They had successfully won the battle by pulling the water-weighted tarp off the field but had not won the war by folding it up.
Right on cue, as soon as workers left (assistant coach Kevin) Frady sent a rallying cry through the locker room that the tarp needed to be folded and stowed in order for UNC to begin their batting practice session; so the six of us in the locker room hustled out to the field to try and fold the tarp.
We first tried to do a hinge fold where you start about 15 feet from the front at the seams and pull it toward the front so that it overlaps (this technique makes it easiest to unfold for the next time the tarp has to be used because you can just grab the straps and pull it straight out). But it was apparent within seconds that this effort would be futile because of our lack of man power. Frady, at one end, hollered for everybody to "suck it up and pull" while (assistant coach John) Scefz griped, on the other end, about its impossibility. The wind was howling and as we tried to pull from the middle the front of the tarp folded over in disarray.
It was a comical event for UNC to watch, I'm sure, as eight men tried to organize and tame a whipping tarp with surface area of approximately 10,000 square feet.
At first, UNC coaches denied our requests for support and extra manpower but seeing our squabbles they finally came and stood tacking down the front and sides of tarp which controlled much of the disorder.
Then, after Szefc's appealing, we decided to fold the tarp like a blanket, end-to-end. UNC players lined the perimeter of the tarp and a few helped us grab the far end of the tarp near the left field wall and pulled it to the front near the infield. Keep in mind the wind was blowing west-to-east and our pulling was in the direct face of the wind. We tried to keep the tarp low to limit the wind from entering the curl of the tarp but as you can imagine air and wind is ambient and the tarp quickly filled into a sail adding more resistance and uncertainty.
Once the tarp filled, we were at the winds whim. Everybody pulling the tarp kept low trying to prevent an ambush. The first few folds were difficult but the help from UNC made it manageable.
Suddenly though a rogue gust blew whisking the tarp from the feet and hands of the perimeter. Somehow (Brett) Bochy and I found ourselves consumed by the beast in different areas of the tarp. My reaction at first was to remain calm hoping that my weight would anchor the giant sail but as the wind continued I felt weightlessness and lift-off from the ground. This made me uneasy. Then, still airborne, the tarp folded over my head and darkness consumed me.
I became frantic. For me, I felt the undeniable sensation of being held under water and tried to scramble mid-air for safety. To be honest, in those short moments of liftoff, I envisioned the tarp sailing over the cages in left field and leaving me in oblivion. Frankly, I was terrified.
Bochy said he felt like an avalanche had gripped him. He admitted that in a panicked attempt he began breast-stroking as advised by specialists to free himself from the debauchle.
We were at the whims of the wind.
Finally, the gust subsided and with greater alertness we realigned the tarp and finished its folding.
Throughout my years here I have been curious of this event wondering if and when we would come to the field and notice the tarp missing only to find it tangled in the branches of the oaks or wrapped around the entrance of the rec center. In earlier tarping events I've found myself diving on it to weigh it down or momentarily losing the ground but by far this was the most chaotic experience because it was unintentional and we were at the winds whim.
I've had a day to reflect and celebrate this weekend's knock-off of No. 1 Texas and writing a detailed recount of the weekends events won't exact the aura of the sweep.
Let me step back a minute, I'm not sure if it's because of all the down time but the people in baseball (players, coaches, fans...for the most part, and announcers, Tom Hedrick) have struck me as some of the most unique and charismatic personalities and when these fruitful minds get together some amusing rituals develop.
Throughout this season other teams performed there own entertaining (maybe only to me) traditions as we stuck to our standard hat-shaking and finger-licking when the scoreboard reads the fabled 2 balls, 2 strikes, and 2 outs (generally when the batter or pitcher needs the extra energy of the dugout, or so we think). And earlier in the season, in an attempted response to Arkansas' calling in Pig Souie during the seventh inning stretch we tried out the arm-locking pre-game sway as Mr. Padget's granddaughter sang the alma-mater similar to Texas' interaction with their fans during before the game with the Longhorn anthem (that mimics the melody of "I've been working on the railroad").
Some of the more modern renditions of rituals by Northwestern and San Diego State were fairly memorable. For example, with the 2-2-2 situation Northwestern players would clap their hands on their knees twice and then murmur a hiss in tribute to Dodgeball. SDSU used a blitzkrieg attack where the whole dugout was silent and then erupted in a riotous scream when one of their players touched first base. It was enough to startle everyone on the field who looked up thinking a runner was stealing, a coach was tossed, or something game-changing occurred.
In the past I've been a part of a few nuanced rituals that were fairly fun and brought a light-hearted approach to serious games such as the "fear the stache" campaign when we nearly swept Texas at home in '05 and the lasso tradition which seemed ludicrous for a Jayhawk, especially while playing the Cowboys of OSU.
Players in the dugout are always thinking of new ideas when old traditions tire and seeing some of the creative ideas other teams perfected this season started the wheels in some of our player's heads, namely Wally (Marciel) and Andy (Marks). Although not publicly seen or heard our days were ignited by the blasting techno music in the locker room to satisfy our disco Canadian, Dave (not entirely new as Mike Fitch was known for his techno outbreak in the locker room at 6 am weights in `04/'05 season).
***
Moving from pre-game to the top of the ninth in game two with 2 outs, runners on second and third after each getting themselves into 0-2 and seemingly surviving the at bat and continuing the game for the `Horns their next hitter Brandon Pelt came up.
He too fell to two strikes and then battled, with the game on the line, fouling off pitch after pitch after pitch that (Paul) Smyth offered. At some point the count went to 2 balls, 2 strikes, and 2 outs. The Texas players tore off their backwards rally caps and shook them from side-to-side. Then as Smyth began to deliver I noticed the players in our dugout take off their pinwheel hats and wave them in a circular fashion towards the dugout seemingly tempting Smyth and the rest of into the dugout for the victory. Pelt must have seen 10 or 12 pitches during his at bat lolling us to sleep in the field and tiring the arms of the players in the dugout until finally he stroked a ball to the warning track. After racing backwards spinning wildly and scaring onlookers, the ball sank into the pocket of my glove (it was one of the greatest at bats I've seen, but the pitching was even better). The players in the dugout willed us to a victory.
Although the pinwheel-spin was my favorite, on Sunday new traditions continued with the "stanky leg," a grotesque leg shimmy, during a 2 balls, 2 strikes, 2 outs situation. I believe the hitter was out, but the atmosphere in dugout was light-hearted and confident - not nervous or anxious that we were playing Texas, the current No. 1. Additionally on Sunday, savvy fans embraced a ritual I have seldom seen at KU as they came to the park with brooms to help us close out the sweep.
March 14-15, 2009 After stepping on the Royals/Rangers spring training facility we were left with many events that will forever be remembered. I am not a person who gets star struck. That said, I do believe in the undeniable mystique and atmosphere of history and as we stepped off of the bus in the players' entrance and walked amidst the luxury cars labeled with historic and front office names I was reminded of the former feats of the Royals organization when they were an upper echelon team in major leagues. My father, in fact, was a die hard Royals fan while growing up and always indicated George Brett as an icon. I've always had George Brett posters, held onto his MVP cards, and a few years ago for Christmas I was given a signed card by Brett. So as we walked by the labeled parking spots and past the batting cages a bell began ringing reminding me of my fathers' passion for the Royals. Strolling alongside the batting cages, as the warm sun beat down on us, a succession of murals of past greats began building the mystique that puts butterflies in my stomach and send chills down my arms (similar to the effects of the pre-game videos in Allen Fieldhouse that outline the past of Kansas basketball: Dr. Naismith, Phog Allen, Wilt Chamberlin, National Championships, All-Americans, and the inspirational effects those people have hand on fans for decades).The illustrations included the likes of John Mayberry, Brett Saberhagen, Brian McCrae, and climaxed at the end of several faces with George Brett. Passing Brett's visage made my hair stand on end as I realized the importance of my fathers' icon to the Royals and to admirers across the nation. We ushered past the murals to Frank White practice field, a name I am ignorant of, but was foreshadowed by a guy in the airport who name-dropped him saying he was his lawyer and was supposed to be having an evening cocktail with him if he made it on the plane with his stand-by ticket. After our warm-up on the practice field, we watched the end of the Rangers-Royals game and saw former Jayhawker Travis Metcalf playing third base for the Rangers right in front of us. I've met Travis a few times in Lawrence and whenever his name is brought up by our mutual teammates (he was a year before me) the players speak about his--still orbiting--bomb he hit off of Houston Street (University of Texas closer) an unstoppable pitcher at the time that was a defining moment where my older teammates knew he was destined to be special (besides his 18 home runs that season). The sight of Metcalf on the field, surrounded by the big-league squad next to Omar Vizquel and Michael Young, suggested the real possibility, however small, that all of us have to become major league baseball players. Currently, only three players from KU are in the majors: Tom Gorzelanny, Mike Zagurski, and Metcalf. Though the chances are slim it was a reminder of the ultimate goal of everyone's dream. Next we stepped over the rail and into left field to let the Royals players clear out of the dugout. The players walked by, signing autographs and giving cordial hellos to the loyal fans who made the voyage to Arizona to watch the lackadaisical and outwardly unmotivated play of spring training. But as the players filtered out, the coaches, Kevin Seitzer, Trey Hillman, and Rusty Kuntz concluded their interviews and approached our team welcomingly shaking hands, giving words of encouragement, and adding slapstick comments to break the apparent awe of our players/coaches. George Brett approached shaking hands, maybe ten or fifteen in a row, introducing himself (as if he needed introduction), and rambled happily as our team crowded around. The next morning we went to the Royals Big-League workout and this happened again. Brett was really the star of the show, performing for his audience much like his baseball career, as the team crowded around him we tried to get a read on what kind of a man he was and gather any kind of knowledge we could. The topic became more personal as he indicated his wife is a KU alum and he elaborated on his visits to the Wheel in Lawrence for post-game celebrations with his wife. Brett left us with three clear messages: First, always marry a Kansas woman; second, in pressure situations softer is always better than harder; third, always, always remember when you have a microphone on (reference youtube: George Brett mic'ed up). Several other memorable experiences I'd like to speak of but not in depth were: John Buck hitting batting practice with the KU pinwheel hat, Kuntz telling Frady to coach the base-running drills, and reminding Alex Gordon about hitting the longest home run ever seen at Hoglund Ballpark. To sum up the experience, we would really like to thank the Royals organization and staff for being so cordial and welcoming. For a few moments we felt the gap between college and major leagues closed. The generally egotistic perception of big-leaguers was nowhere to be seen as we were able to see them as people with personality and affection. I look forward to our next KU/Royals co-op experience when we play Mizzou at Kauffman ballpark. Thanks to Andy Marks for knowing first and last names of current and past Royals. It's probably why he is undefeated in the baseball name game... and he gladly accepts challengers.
March 31, 2009
Gusting sighs:
Prior to our UNC (Northern Colorado not the hated North Carolina) games we had a violent battle as the tarp and gale winds of middle-America besieged our mini infantry. First, the facilities workers of Allen Fieldhouse and Hoglund Ballpark, maybe 8-10 of them, braved the fierce winds to pull off the tarp so "Peanut" could prep the infield for UNC's batting practice (during early games we let the opposition take batting practice first so players can fulfill the "student" responsibility of their "student-athlete" moniker).
I watched the tail end of this units advance as they finished pulling the tarp into left field and then walked toward our dugout emitting a defeated look. They had successfully won the battle by pulling the water-weighted tarp off the field but had not won the war by folding it up.
Right on cue, as soon as workers left (assistant coach Kevin) Frady sent a rallying cry through the locker room that the tarp needed to be folded and stowed in order for UNC to begin their batting practice session; so the six of us in the locker room hustled out to the field to try and fold the tarp.
We first tried to do a hinge fold where you start about 15 feet from the front at the seams and pull it toward the front so that it overlaps (this technique makes it easiest to unfold for the next time the tarp has to be used because you can just grab the straps and pull it straight out). But it was apparent within seconds that this effort would be futile because of our lack of man power. Frady, at one end, hollered for everybody to "suck it up and pull" while (assistant coach John) Scefz griped, on the other end, about its impossibility. The wind was howling and as we tried to pull from the middle the front of the tarp folded over in disarray.
It was a comical event for UNC to watch, I'm sure, as eight men tried to organize and tame a whipping tarp with surface area of approximately 10,000 square feet.
At first, UNC coaches denied our requests for support and extra manpower but seeing our squabbles they finally came and stood tacking down the front and sides of tarp which controlled much of the disorder.
Then, after Szefc's appealing, we decided to fold the tarp like a blanket, end-to-end. UNC players lined the perimeter of the tarp and a few helped us grab the far end of the tarp near the left field wall and pulled it to the front near the infield. Keep in mind the wind was blowing west-to-east and our pulling was in the direct face of the wind. We tried to keep the tarp low to limit the wind from entering the curl of the tarp but as you can imagine air and wind is ambient and the tarp quickly filled into a sail adding more resistance and uncertainty.
Once the tarp filled, we were at the winds whim. Everybody pulling the tarp kept low trying to prevent an ambush. The first few folds were difficult but the help from UNC made it manageable.
Suddenly though a rogue gust blew whisking the tarp from the feet and hands of the perimeter. Somehow (Brett) Bochy and I found ourselves consumed by the beast in different areas of the tarp. My reaction at first was to remain calm hoping that my weight would anchor the giant sail but as the wind continued I felt weightlessness and lift-off from the ground. This made me uneasy. Then, still airborne, the tarp folded over my head and darkness consumed me.
I became frantic. For me, I felt the undeniable sensation of being held under water and tried to scramble mid-air for safety. To be honest, in those short moments of liftoff, I envisioned the tarp sailing over the cages in left field and leaving me in oblivion. Frankly, I was terrified.
Bochy said he felt like an avalanche had gripped him. He admitted that in a panicked attempt he began breast-stroking as advised by specialists to free himself from the debauchle.
We were at the whims of the wind.
Finally, the gust subsided and with greater alertness we realigned the tarp and finished its folding.
Throughout my years here I have been curious of this event wondering if and when we would come to the field and notice the tarp missing only to find it tangled in the branches of the oaks or wrapped around the entrance of the rec center. In earlier tarping events I've found myself diving on it to weigh it down or momentarily losing the ground but by far this was the most chaotic experience because it was unintentional and we were at the winds whim.
I've had a day to reflect and celebrate this weekend's knock-off of No. 1 Texas and writing a detailed recount of the weekends events won't exact the aura of the sweep.
Let me step back a minute, I'm not sure if it's because of all the down time but the people in baseball (players, coaches, fans...for the most part, and announcers, Tom Hedrick) have struck me as some of the most unique and charismatic personalities and when these fruitful minds get together some amusing rituals develop.
Throughout this season other teams performed there own entertaining (maybe only to me) traditions as we stuck to our standard hat-shaking and finger-licking when the scoreboard reads the fabled 2 balls, 2 strikes, and 2 outs (generally when the batter or pitcher needs the extra energy of the dugout, or so we think). And earlier in the season, in an attempted response to Arkansas' calling in Pig Souie during the seventh inning stretch we tried out the arm-locking pre-game sway as Mr. Padget's granddaughter sang the alma-mater similar to Texas' interaction with their fans during before the game with the Longhorn anthem (that mimics the melody of "I've been working on the railroad").
Some of the more modern renditions of rituals by Northwestern and San Diego State were fairly memorable. For example, with the 2-2-2 situation Northwestern players would clap their hands on their knees twice and then murmur a hiss in tribute to Dodgeball. SDSU used a blitzkrieg attack where the whole dugout was silent and then erupted in a riotous scream when one of their players touched first base. It was enough to startle everyone on the field who looked up thinking a runner was stealing, a coach was tossed, or something game-changing occurred.
In the past I've been a part of a few nuanced rituals that were fairly fun and brought a light-hearted approach to serious games such as the "fear the stache" campaign when we nearly swept Texas at home in '05 and the lasso tradition which seemed ludicrous for a Jayhawk, especially while playing the Cowboys of OSU.
Players in the dugout are always thinking of new ideas when old traditions tire and seeing some of the creative ideas other teams perfected this season started the wheels in some of our player's heads, namely Wally (Marciel) and Andy (Marks). Although not publicly seen or heard our days were ignited by the blasting techno music in the locker room to satisfy our disco Canadian, Dave (not entirely new as Mike Fitch was known for his techno outbreak in the locker room at 6 am weights in `04/'05 season).
***
Moving from pre-game to the top of the ninth in game two with 2 outs, runners on second and third after each getting themselves into 0-2 and seemingly surviving the at bat and continuing the game for the `Horns their next hitter Brandon Pelt came up.
He too fell to two strikes and then battled, with the game on the line, fouling off pitch after pitch after pitch that (Paul) Smyth offered. At some point the count went to 2 balls, 2 strikes, and 2 outs. The Texas players tore off their backwards rally caps and shook them from side-to-side. Then as Smyth began to deliver I noticed the players in our dugout take off their pinwheel hats and wave them in a circular fashion towards the dugout seemingly tempting Smyth and the rest of into the dugout for the victory. Pelt must have seen 10 or 12 pitches during his at bat lolling us to sleep in the field and tiring the arms of the players in the dugout until finally he stroked a ball to the warning track. After racing backwards spinning wildly and scaring onlookers, the ball sank into the pocket of my glove (it was one of the greatest at bats I've seen, but the pitching was even better). The players in the dugout willed us to a victory.
Although the pinwheel-spin was my favorite, on Sunday new traditions continued with the "stanky leg," a grotesque leg shimmy, during a 2 balls, 2 strikes, 2 outs situation. I believe the hitter was out, but the atmosphere in dugout was light-hearted and confident - not nervous or anxious that we were playing Texas, the current No. 1. Additionally on Sunday, savvy fans embraced a ritual I have seldom seen at KU as they came to the park with brooms to help us close out the sweep.
March 14-15, 2009 After stepping on the Royals/Rangers spring training facility we were left with many events that will forever be remembered. I am not a person who gets star struck. That said, I do believe in the undeniable mystique and atmosphere of history and as we stepped off of the bus in the players' entrance and walked amidst the luxury cars labeled with historic and front office names I was reminded of the former feats of the Royals organization when they were an upper echelon team in major leagues. My father, in fact, was a die hard Royals fan while growing up and always indicated George Brett as an icon. I've always had George Brett posters, held onto his MVP cards, and a few years ago for Christmas I was given a signed card by Brett. So as we walked by the labeled parking spots and past the batting cages a bell began ringing reminding me of my fathers' passion for the Royals. Strolling alongside the batting cages, as the warm sun beat down on us, a succession of murals of past greats began building the mystique that puts butterflies in my stomach and send chills down my arms (similar to the effects of the pre-game videos in Allen Fieldhouse that outline the past of Kansas basketball: Dr. Naismith, Phog Allen, Wilt Chamberlin, National Championships, All-Americans, and the inspirational effects those people have hand on fans for decades).The illustrations included the likes of John Mayberry, Brett Saberhagen, Brian McCrae, and climaxed at the end of several faces with George Brett. Passing Brett's visage made my hair stand on end as I realized the importance of my fathers' icon to the Royals and to admirers across the nation. We ushered past the murals to Frank White practice field, a name I am ignorant of, but was foreshadowed by a guy in the airport who name-dropped him saying he was his lawyer and was supposed to be having an evening cocktail with him if he made it on the plane with his stand-by ticket. After our warm-up on the practice field, we watched the end of the Rangers-Royals game and saw former Jayhawker Travis Metcalf playing third base for the Rangers right in front of us. I've met Travis a few times in Lawrence and whenever his name is brought up by our mutual teammates (he was a year before me) the players speak about his--still orbiting--bomb he hit off of Houston Street (University of Texas closer) an unstoppable pitcher at the time that was a defining moment where my older teammates knew he was destined to be special (besides his 18 home runs that season). The sight of Metcalf on the field, surrounded by the big-league squad next to Omar Vizquel and Michael Young, suggested the real possibility, however small, that all of us have to become major league baseball players. Currently, only three players from KU are in the majors: Tom Gorzelanny, Mike Zagurski, and Metcalf. Though the chances are slim it was a reminder of the ultimate goal of everyone's dream. Next we stepped over the rail and into left field to let the Royals players clear out of the dugout. The players walked by, signing autographs and giving cordial hellos to the loyal fans who made the voyage to Arizona to watch the lackadaisical and outwardly unmotivated play of spring training. But as the players filtered out, the coaches, Kevin Seitzer, Trey Hillman, and Rusty Kuntz concluded their interviews and approached our team welcomingly shaking hands, giving words of encouragement, and adding slapstick comments to break the apparent awe of our players/coaches. George Brett approached shaking hands, maybe ten or fifteen in a row, introducing himself (as if he needed introduction), and rambled happily as our team crowded around. The next morning we went to the Royals Big-League workout and this happened again. Brett was really the star of the show, performing for his audience much like his baseball career, as the team crowded around him we tried to get a read on what kind of a man he was and gather any kind of knowledge we could. The topic became more personal as he indicated his wife is a KU alum and he elaborated on his visits to the Wheel in Lawrence for post-game celebrations with his wife. Brett left us with three clear messages: First, always marry a Kansas woman; second, in pressure situations softer is always better than harder; third, always, always remember when you have a microphone on (reference youtube: George Brett mic'ed up). Several other memorable experiences I'd like to speak of but not in depth were: John Buck hitting batting practice with the KU pinwheel hat, Kuntz telling Frady to coach the base-running drills, and reminding Alex Gordon about hitting the longest home run ever seen at Hoglund Ballpark. To sum up the experience, we would really like to thank the Royals organization and staff for being so cordial and welcoming. For a few moments we felt the gap between college and major leagues closed. The generally egotistic perception of big-leaguers was nowhere to be seen as we were able to see them as people with personality and affection. I look forward to our next KU/Royals co-op experience when we play Mizzou at Kauffman ballpark. Thanks to Andy Marks for knowing first and last names of current and past Royals. It's probably why he is undefeated in the baseball name game... and he gladly accepts challengers.
March 12, 2009
Sitting in my window seat looking out over the New Mexico desert I can't help but feel the teeming excitement of last nights victory and the approach of difficult two-weeks ahead. Last night we saw Lee (Ridenhour) take the reins and deliver a dominating performance to the Shockers. He pitched eight scoreless innings with the Shockers showing little fight in the bitterly cold game. Lee's post-game comments listed in The Wichita Eagle echoed his enthusiasm to battle through the elements and attack the Wichita State lineup. The game started slow offensively with Wichita State starter Brian Flynn fooling most of the order, that is, until his inside fastball met the cold barrel of Robs' bat, who took the starter out of the park. I called for the wind, reading trajectory and hearing the screaming ping of his bat, and the Gods exhaled as a noticeable draft lifted the limp flag carrying the ball out of the park. From that point on the balance of the game was in our favor. The initial barking and raucous Wichita State dugout was quieted as they threw a slew of arms, cold from idleness on the bench, at us to no avail. To comment on the cold of the game: it was a bone-rattling chill. I remember thinking that I could not imagine how it would feel to wear shorts and a t-shirt and be comfortable at any temperature whether it be 70, 80, or 90 degrees. Lee told me that the seams of the ball felt like a rat gnawing on the tips of his fingers. And on the surface, I could feel the affects of the cold as my shoes felt like flat steel plates under my feet. When a fly ball was hit to the outfield, I recall feeling my legs creak like a brittle oak fighting a gusty winter breeze. As the sun dropped the change in temperature was noticeable. Bruno and I chattered in the outfield about how the soggy outfield was crystallizing into small ice cubes. It's interesting though, as cold as it was on the surface you are able to maintain an inner warmth by determination and competitive fervor only describable as a mania or dementia. People think you're crazy. People think you're stupid. But the frigid chill was thawed and forgotten by the fiery enthusiasm of beating a Shocker.
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