Baseball is definitely more than "just" a game

If you love baseball... you can absolutely relate to this story.

Stand strong

Given the unfortunate and horrific events of yesterday in Boston... I felt prompted to post this video - which is about a very dark day in America - 9/11.  But even in the midst of such tragedy - good things emerge and this video is evidence of that in my opinion.  Enjoy...

Baseball is just a game or is it?

The next time someone tells you that baseball is just a game - have them watch this video which tells the story of Josiah Viera...




How much do you love baseball?

Don't stop relievin'

I don't like the Yankees much. Granted I may actually dislike the Red Sox a little more - but I have no love for the Yankees what-so-ever. That being said, I do have a great deal of respect for Mariano Rivera and I do hope he makes a comeback. To that end... I present to you a great parody:



You have to love baseball fans for their passion and creativity, don't you?

Welcome back Vladimir Guerrero

Vladimir Guerrero is back. He has signed a minor league deal with the Toronto Blue Jays. It's somewhat fitting that he could end his career north of the border. In any case - I'm glad he's able to have at least one more go of it and as a tribute to his coming back, I present to you a trip down memory lane:

Next stop Chi-Town, Lido put the money down...

I love baseball commercials because so many of them are well done and downright funny. This one lives up to that very standard. Enjoy!

Where's Darin Erstad?

I love stuff like this... my only question is where's Darin Erstad? Isn't he the head coach at Nebraska? Just saying...


Thanks to the OC Register's Landon Hall for bringing this to our attention.

This is what it's all about

With a big hat tip (for the tip) to the great blog Pitchers Hit Eighth, I present to you a super fan video that just makes every non-Cardinal fan jealous. I was at game 7 in 2002 with my wife Cheryl when we experienced this, but that was ten years ago. We are ready to experience this again.

This Dirt Bag is a great baseball player and a pretty good actor

I have an affection for Dirt Bags... as in Long Beach State Dirt Bags and this video shows Troy Tulowitzki getting the best of an MLB Fan Cave contestant.Tulo is quite convincing to the point that I actually felt bad for the kid doing the interview.




On a serious note... Kevin Kennedy interviewed Tulo last year and that interview is here:

Evan Longoria is mentally tough

I have an affinity for Dirt Bags - especially those like Evan Longoria who are making a real impact in the major leagues.

As one of my goals for this blog, I want to bring you stuff that hopefully helps you connect with baseball on a variety of levels. One of the best ways I can think of is through stuff I find on the internet... Like this video from ESPN I found on YouTube:



We don't hear nearly enough about the mental side of baseball and we probably should....

Video of the week

Some people say that baseball is just a game, but try telling that to Andy Pointer.



Baseball is most certainly more than a game; for some it's a dream and nothing is more powerful than having a dream. It's bigger than any goal and larger than life itself. The story above comes courtesy of Make-A-Wish-Foundation and ESPN.

Grand slams and unbridled joy

When I look back at my time as a baseball fan, I naturally reflect back to my years growing up. Even though I never played little league baseball, I was always drawn to the game.

I remember “different” things; like Willie McCovey’s deliberate warm up swings as he stepped into the batter’s box. He always looked so big and imposing. Seems like I every time I saw him on television he was hitting grand slams. Even though I know that wasn’t the case – my earliest recollection of any grand slam is of him (he did hit 18 in his career).



Looking back at him now - he seems much smaller than I remember him. Funny how that works.

My fondest memories about baseball are more about the celebrations that took place rather than the actual event. I’m talking about the unbridled joy players have expressed when they’ve just been a part of a big moment.

I love seeing athletes celebrate special moments in sports. I love it when it’s unscripted and demonstrates pure joy. I hate celebrations that pre-planned or more along the lines of “mugging for the camera.”

Kirk Gibson rounding the bases after his pinch-hit homerun in the 1988 World Series was pure joy on display. A player standing to watch one of his homeruns leave the yard on the other hand leaves something to be desired. Give me the guy running around on the field with his hat flying off and his arms swinging in all different directions over the guy who stops to purposely pose for the camera any day of the week.

I’m talking Tug McGraw kind of enthusiasm.



When I think back to my early days of watching baseball – I always remember Tug McGraw. I remember his intensity. Watching him wear his emotions on his sleeve was always compelling to me. I couldn’t take my eyes off him and when he did something great – watching him celebrate was magical.

That kind of enthusiasm still makes an appearance every now and sometimes we’re lucky enough to see it happening and if we’re really lucky – we get to take part in it.

Which reminds of a question I have to ask. Why do people leave early when games are close? Watching a walk-off win - especially in person is about a great a sports moment as there is. I will never understand it when people leave games when things are tight.

In closing this post... I wanted to say a few words about this blog.

I’ve been absent from this blog for quite some time now and I thought this would be a fitting way to re-engage myself and anyone kind enough to read what I have to write.

When I started The Baseball Docent, I started the blog as an outlet for all my baseball thoughts that weren’t necessarily about the Angels (I blog about them at True Grich). My real goal was to engage friends, acquaintances, and just about anyone who had a voice to participate in this thing. I love to hear why people love baseball and I love reading or hearing about their stories and memories.

I hope to get back to making regular contributions to this blog and more importantly will again try to reach out and get others to participate.

Baseball is about joy for me and I’ll leave you with this nice little piece about the Texas Rangers front office – who had reason to celebrate in game 2 of the ALCS when Nelson Cruz hit a walk-off grand slam.

Thad Levine, the Rangers assistant GM had this to say about the event and the celebration that took place from the suite where he and his colleagues were watching…

"We don't aspire to be the professional group that acts like we've been there," assistant GM Thad Levine said. "We want to celebrate every one of these minutes as if it may be the last. When somebody in our group, and Nellie is in our group, does something special like that, we want to celebrate it and remember that forever. The experiences are the currency of life and Nellie gave us one [Monday] and we're not going to miss it."

Here, here.

Welcome back to the Baseball Docent folks.

I know that name....

My wife Cheryl does this thing every now and then when she sees or hears a player’s name; she says to me, “I went to high school with a so-and-so.” For the most part, the player has no relation what-so-ever to the person she went to high school with, but that doesn’t discourage her from going down that road every now and then.

A few years ago, I mentioned a name of a baseball player from Long Beach State; his name was Sean Boatright. I don’t remember the circumstances surrounding the conversation, but as soon as the name came up, Cheryl says to me “I went to high school with a Bob Boatright.” She went on to tell me that he was a pretty big time athlete at Millikan, where she went to school.

Turns out – that Sean Boatright is the son of Bob Boatright.

So, why do I bring up Sean Boatright today? Well, Marcia C. Smith of the Orange County Register wrote a column Thursday about Sean Boatright’s attempt for a come-back.

Sean played at Long Beach State with Troy Tulowitzki and Evan Longoria along with Jered Weaver. Rather than try to retell the story that Smith writes, I invite you to read her column.

There’s something that’s always intriguing, interesting and even inspiring about a person who sets out to achieve a dream.

Coincidently, I saw Boatright this past January at the Long Beach State Dirtbag Alumni game at Blair Field in Long Beach and meant to tell Cheryl about it and then promptly forgot until I read the column in the OC Register.

Boatright will begin his come-back with the Calgary Vipers, an Independent League team. He has a long road ahead of him, but here’s hoping his dream comes true. It would make for a great story for sure.

I know two people (Cheryl and myself) who will be tracking his progress towards his goal!

February 2, 2011 Baseball Docent Tour Stops

It is with great pleasure that I bring you a link to a story about Stephen Strasburg and his connection to a young boy named Michael who reached out to Stephen because of something they had in common. In this day and age when so many people have a sense of entitlement, this is a refreshing story about a kid who wasn't seeking anything at all; instead, he offered encouragement and was rewarded in a big way.

It's just the kind of story I love and I'm sure you will too. Please read Injury leads to Major League Connection courtesy of Charlie Leffler of The Mechanicsville Local.

Next tour stop - Rob Neyer formerly of ESPN has a new gig. He's now at SB Nation and his first piece is about being one of "us." I'm somewhat of a Rob Neyer fan; in that I love it when he tells baseball stories. His analysis and such aren't necessarily the reason I read his stuff.

In any case - yesterday was his first day on the new job and he's already written three pieces at last count. Find his first blog post: HERE.

January 28, 2011 The Baseball Docent Tour continues

It's been a while. I could bore you with why, but rather than do that, let's just get back at it, shall we?

Today's tour takes us to a great blog called "The Henry Wiggen Blog" - and a post from January 3, 2011. It's about a baseball story and one that I'm sure you'll enjoy. It's about Mickey Mantle and who doesn't love a good Mickey Mantle story?

This one has a long title; it's called: Lure of the ball field... is it lost on the modern player? An inviting conundrum from Jane Leavy's new biography of the Mick. Enjoy....

Next up is the work of one of my favorite wrtiers and someone who will no doubt be mentioned on this site a lot over time. He's Joe Posnanski and he did an interesing piece about the Hall of Fame.

Who's really good enough to get in? Let's start with Willie Mays; in fact, Joe would like to use Willie May as the criteria for such an esteemed honor. How so? Read "The Willie Mays Hall of Fame" for some entertaining insight.

Okay... so we have a link to something about Mickey Mantle and one to something about Willie Mays. Not a bad day's work eh?

I really can't top that - but I will leave you with something that's about another Hall of Famer... This is a tribute to Dave Niehaus, the legendary voice of the Seattle Mariners who passed away in 2010.

Enjoy...



Special thanks to Sam Miller of the OC Register who brought this video to our attention.

In Baseball As in Life: A Mother’s Perspective

By Elizabeth Crabtree

I don’t really know much about the game of baseball. After more than a decade of heading to the field with my son, Aaron, I still have to ask him what “RBI” means, why a foul also counts as a strike, and when it is acceptable to supportively exclaim, “good try!” after an error or when you’re just better off pretending that you didn’t see it. As a parent, it’s sometimes best to keep your head down and gently say nothing at all. I’m also completely perplexed by all those peculiar and secretive hand gestures among the coaches, runners and base players. I don’t know how they seem to instinctively figure out that stuff, but still can’t manage to feed the mewing cat or remember to take the garbage out on schedule before the truck arrives at the front door. It must be a ‘guy-thing.’

I have supported my son’s enthusiasm for the game of baseball all the way back to tee-ball. His first debilitating moment on the field was a pop fly catch that missed the confident and eagerly outstretched glove of a five-year-old, bouncing off his top lip and resulting in a bloody yelp that beckoned a chorus of mothers rushing to the field with sympathies and ice packs in hand. That was a tough moment – not because he met with minor injury, but because in that passing instant he would now forever realize that the excitement, joy and fun of playing baseball could also really hurt and bring about great disappointment, embarrassment and fear. Oh, the mother’s agony of nervously waiting and wondering if this early experience would forever shatter his fledgling exuberance and fragile ego. A hint of anxiety and sadness did set in, but only momentarily. It seems that a little humility and a sore fat lip can sometimes be a strong motivator. He could have sulked and sat on the bench, but the next at-bat brought focused determination. He crushed the blood-stained ball with a long baseline grounder that hopped past several foiled fielders and landed him victoriously in a belly-slide at third base. Home plate was within easy reach. He was safe and smiling once again.

Thereafter, we were both hooked and soon got into the habit of practicing for the big game. Aaron graduated tee-ball and was recruited into the little big leagues where he quickly became a go-to pitcher. As an awkward single-mother of an athletically-minded boy I tried my best to fit in with all the dads at the field and took the time to throw the ball around in the yard with my son from time to time – just like all the neighboring dad’s seemed to do. I was really getting the hang of it and found that I was having a little bit of fun, too. After a while I felt so confident about my baseball training prowess that I bought myself a nice new leather glove at our next trip to the sporting goods store. Aaron was even impressed and thought that I was good enough to be his team’s coach. I beamed with pride. Who needs a dad, I thought? Although Aaron had a loving father, we were separated and his time commitment to Aaron had always been fragmented. So I thought that being able to not only be a mother, but a surrogate dad to my son by playing sports with him was an important achievement, which validated my ability to do it all, be it all and never surrender to my worries, doubts and fears. Then, just when I was feeling quite satisfied with myself, I took a hard fast ball on the shin from the kid while catching for him at age seven. I immediately gave up on my budding and bruised coaching career. Who knew baseball could be so painful, I thought? Was he throwing so hard and fast to try to hurt me?! Jeesh! “No more of that,” I said, “Go play with your friends!” And that’s how it’s been ever since. I’ve surrendered to my limitations. I can’t do it all. So I just have to live with doing my best at what I can.

So each weekend, I am there – retreating to the safety of the sidelines, lugging out my chair and cooler, slathering on the sunscreen or rather, opening up the umbrella and shivering under a blanket. After all, this is New England baseball we’re talking about it. Still, each weekend, I am there. Cheering on the team, trying to remember all the players’ names, being proud of my son - or sometimes dismayed - but overall, I’m just hoping for a good day. I do admit that there is a competitive streak in me that would like to see my son’s team win their fair share of games, but at the end of the day, it’s not really about all of that.

I don’t really know much about the game of baseball. Even though I grew up playing a lot of it in the back alleys and vacant lots of the rural South with my three scrappy brothers and their rowdy friends who cheated their way to a win practically every time. There wasn’t as much to it in those days. You could buy a ball at the local hardware store for about fifty-cents and you seldom ever got a new bat or glove – you inherited a nicely broken-in one from your father or an older brother or perhaps your mom snagged a deal on a used one at a local rummage sale. If you were lucky and your birthday came around during the spring or summer, you might be surprised by a new bat or glove, but that generally meant you had an obligation to share it with your siblings, friends and other team mates on a regular basis that in the end, nobody really knew who actually owned it. Forget about cleats, we were lucky to own a pair of sneakers that weren’t two sizes too small by summertime. Nowadays, it is common knowledge that this year’s model hybrid fusion bat is much better than last year’s model and no kid can be respectable at the field without a pair of leather batting gloves, shatterproof sunglasses and sweat-minimizing, anti-chafe, high-performance underwear.

Seriously. When I was a kid we did walk a few miles to get to school each day and we never really knew all the rules of baseball or just how dangerous the game could be. In our neighborhood, a good pitcher or catcher could get a runner out on a steal by simply pelting him with the ball. You might be considered mean-spirited if you hit the runner in the head, but other body parts were fair game and there was no need for an umpire. For us, the rules of dodge ball, kickball, baseball and red rover were all interchangeable and in any dispute, the majority (or biggest fist) ruled. Those boys made me crazy as a kid, but I think of them with fondness as I remember the game of baseball before it became such a serious, business-oriented venture:

Before the business of baseball
There were more battered knees than
Bruised egos:

No midnight strike deadlines
Or board room brawls
No home run fireworks
Or strategic press releases
No boasting million dollar contracts
Or boisterous billboard-sized players

Before the game became a sport
Before the sport became a business
Before the business became a circus

Before the business of baseball . . .

There were sun-tanned boys with
Puffy red-cheeked faces
Bashing sweaty shots in
Back alley lots across
Fields of dandelions and through
Choruses of crickets
Stealing bases and little girls’ hearts
Until the final call for
Suppertime ….

All for the sake of a simple joy:
Playing ball.

The times might have changed, but it’s still a joyful gift to play and watch this insane and unpredictable game of baseball, especially with a fine team whose animated players suit up on a sunny day and meet the sky with high-five winks and self-assured grins, yet never really know what the game will throw their way. I enjoy seeing my son with his coaches and teammates, working hard to learn a thing or two about playing a good game of ball. It takes a lot of commitment, dedication and sacrifice to become a better, stronger and faster player. And even then, there’s still a very good chance that you’re going to screw up, strike out and lose it all in the end.

I sometimes miss my fantasy coaching days, but it is really much easier to be a back-seat coach from the comfort of my lawn chair where I can pretend that I know what’s going on, second-guess the team’s strategies and curse the umpire’s calls under my breath. It’s truly much harder to actually step up to that plate, take that chance, and be that coach in real time. Scheduling games, herding players and placating parents appears to be the most difficult task of all. So I applaud the valiant efforts and perseverance of my son’s coaches all the more. It’s really my business as a mom to do exactly what I do best. Sit back, try to relax and let him live it – injuries, heartaches, errors and all. It’s just part of the game and perhaps, too, it’s a little part of life.

Aaron, now fifteen, already learned a hard life lesson during baseball season six years ago this June. I enrolled him in his first sleep-away camp – Little League’s regional headquarters baseball camp in Bristol, Connecticut. He was so excited and proud to go. We got there after six long hours of driving. The place was so beautiful – ‘fields of dreams’ you might even say. And the college-player coaches were loads of fun and distraction for Aaron while I stood in the long registration line for yet another hour. However, when I got to the head of the line and eagerly gave his name and whipped out my checkbook to pay the account balance, the camp director quickly came over to me with a sense of grim despair. There was an urgent, emergency phone call from our family back home. I stepped aside to dial my parents and was informed that Aaron’s father had died that morning – suddenly and tragically at age forty-one from a stress-induced heart attack. Game over.

I stood there in silent tears shocked and confused as my son impatiently questioned me about what was wrong. I wasn’t at all ready to be called up for something like this. It just couldn’t be true. I never saw it coming. I hadn’t planned for it. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Not now. Not here. Not ever.

So just how do you tell an eight-year-old boy whose joy of the moment was playing baseball that his father just died and their big and woefully overdue summer plans of fishing and swimming and roller-coaster riding would never be realized? Baseball camp, too, would have to wait.

There was nothing I could say to him except the God’s honest truth. A doomsday omen and career-ender, I thought. That long six-hour ride back home changed the game of baseball for Aaron. Somehow though, it didn’t completely break him. A few months later he picked up the bat and was swinging for the fences again. And each summer since, we’ve spent every Father’s Day and the anniversary of that loss with some team, somewhere on a baseball field.

Even though I don’t know much about the game of baseball, it has meant a lot to our little family. After everything Aaron and I have been through these past many years it occurs to me now that baseball somehow prepares us for a lot of life’s lessons. I’m glad that Aaron never lost his love for it, even though one of his earliest memories of baseball coincides with one of the greatest tragedies of his life. After a recent heartbreaking game Aaron simply smiled, patted me on the back, and said, “It’s too bad that we lost, but we played a good game and it was a fun day.” My sideline frustration and disappointment vanished and I readily replied, “You’re right, you guys did play a good game and it really was a beautiful and fun day.”

My boy is fast growing into a young man with a head full of dreams and great expectations. I often find myself wondering what odyssey there will be for us yet ahead and what kind of father he will be someday since he lost his own so early in life. Our days at the field seem plentiful and long, but summer can be all too short and fleeting so I try to savor each and every one as they are sure to be some of the best of our lives. I still find that as a mother much of my energy is spent planning, organizing and worrying until I finally just have to give up, sit back and hope for the best. I can’t control everything. I can’t fix everything. I can’t be everything. And I’ll never really know that much about the game of baseball. Like every inning of every game, his future no matter how well conceived or prepared will always be uncertain.

For in baseball, as in life, you just never know how far you can go or how it will end. But hopefully, you’ll play a good and honorable game, enjoy living in the moment, and have a chance to make your way home safe every now and again.

October 26, 2010 Baseball Docent Tour

Today’s tour of all things baseball is all about taking you to other places on the internet. This is something I had planned to do when I started this blog and well… better late than never, right? Look for me to do this more often moving forward.

First up, is a story that’s bigger than any baseball game. It’s really about the mission of Jamie and Karen Moyer. Jamie is a major league pitcher currently with the Philadelphia Phillies. He and his wife Karen started Camp Erin…

Rather than try to explain what Camp Erin is all about here, I invite you to watch this video instead:



There are a great many baseball players like Jamie Moyer (and his wife) trying to make a difference in the world (many are listed on the left). The Moyer’s mission is “to offer encouragement, comfort and support to children enduring a time of profound emotional, physical or financial distress.”

One of my missions is to bring stories like that of the Moyer’s to you.

To learn more about the Moyer Foundation, please visit their web site.

Ready for more?

Next up on today’s tour is Joe Posnanski. Posnanski is a senior writer at Sports Illustrated, who worked as a columnist at The Kansas City Star from 1996-2009. During that time he was voted the best columnist in America by the Associated Press Sports Editors. If you’ve ever read Posnanski’s material, you know why. If you haven’t, I invite you to read this piece about “The Heart of Los Angeles.” I promise you; you will not be disappointed.

Joe Posnanski is my favorite sports writer. He also happens to blog and his web site: Joe Posnanski – Curiously Long Posts should be a frequent stop for anyone who loves baseball and sports in general.

Something Joe wrote in a post he had written about the Harlem Globetrotters’’ opponent for years and years – The Washington Generals and their coach Red Klotz inspired me. His blog focused on Klotz and what Posnanski called “The greatest quote ever,” but it wasn’t Klotz’ quote that caught my attention; it was something Posnanski wrote about himself as he was talking about the quote.

Posnanski said, “I have tried hard to write about the fun side of sports, the optimistic side of sports, the bright side of the street.”

That little statement has stuck with me and is part of the inspiration for this blog. I’ve given you just a taste of Posnanski here and with the link above. Again, I invite you to explore his material in greater detail.

Last, but not least today I invite you to think about something Rob Neyer had to say about the “Limits of our Knowledge” in his blog the “Sweetspot.”

Neyer makes a great point in that piece about the way we analyze and scrutinize what our baseball teams do or don't do. He talks about how there are limits to what we can know about what happens behind the scenes. Check out Neyer’s piece and keep what he says in mind the next time your team makes a move that you can’t understand. It really appreciated his perspective.

One more piece from Neyer that I enjoyed a great deal is about a letter he wrote to Chadd Hartman, who was a minor league ball player in the San Diego Padres system. It’s the kind of piece I just love to read. It’s about a baseball player, but not one who did his job in the spotlight of the national media or before 40,000 fans. It’s one of those "off the beaten path" kind of stories that’s easy to relate to.

It’s about statistics and numbers, but not in the dry lifeless sense, it’s about bringing numbers to life in a way that only baseball can do it.

And that concludes today’s tour. Again, I hope to do this more often. If you have an idea that you think I should check into, please don’t hesitate to contact me (contct information is on this page). I promise you that I will give your thought every consideration. Also - I’m still open to receiving “letters” about why you love baseball.

Until next time….

Catching up with "Rosey" Part 2

Welcome to part 2 of the “Catching up with Rosey.”

As I mentioned last week Chris Rosenbaum was kind enough to respond to my email about what he’s been up to since his last blog “And so it ends.”

Some of what you are about to read actually took place before his last blog and it’s included to fill in the gaps.

After being released by the Angels, Chris went back to his part time job with H&R Block in Tempe, Arizona. Meanwhile his girlfriend was finishing up an internship at Athletes Performance in Phoenix. When tax season ended Chris got in touch with Jaime Cevallos of The Swing Mechanic who is noted for his work with Tampa Bay Rays Ben Zobrist before his monster 2009 season.


Chris went to go work out with Cevallos for a week in Dallas. He had been trading video assessments with him. Cevallos is known for helping hitters get the most power out their swing (which was one of the knocks against Chris’s hitting).

He was hoping to hook up with an Independent League team. While there, he signed a contract with the Washington Wild Things of the Frontier League.

Chris went to their spring training for two weeks and during the process he decided his time was probably going to be better spent elsewhere focusing on what he called his “real career” which would either be in business or possibly in the front office side of baseball.

Being from up-state New York, Chris returned to Albany, New York to begin his quest. Armed with an under-grad degree in Finance and an MBA he decided to focus on investment banking. He looked at the field as the “professional baseball of the finance world.” As he would soon learn, it would be just as hard to break into as baseball.

He started from ground zero, cold calling and emailing banks; mostly small to mid-level sized banks. He knew the competition at the bigger institutions would be steep and those armed with Ivy League degrees and internships would have an advantage.

While searching for a job, Chris taught himself about “modeling” through an on-line course. He learned different ways to value companies; something that wasn’t one of his strengths. Just like in baseball, he realized he had to work on his weaknesses in the business world as well.

He spent a lot of time talking to people; looking for “someone who knows someone.” According to Chris, networking is very important part of breaking into the industry. Chris put in the effort, but the results weren’t coming along as he had hoped.

While Chris has had some luck talking to people, the interviews weren’t as plentiful. His most promising opportunity came at a full service investment firm in Tampa, Florida.

It all happened right around the third week of August. Chris flew down to Tampa with his family to help his sister, who was going to be a sophomore at the University of Tampa move back into school. Afterwards, he ended up flying back to California to help his girlfriend drive cross country to take her new job as an athletic trainer in Mobile, Alabama working with the baseball team at the University of South Alabama.

Along the way while traveling to Tempe, Alabama and back to Albany, Chris learned the bank was no longer interested in discussing a position with him.

Chris noted that his lack of experience in modeling and in working in the industry in general didn’t help his cause. Even though he has an MBA he lacks relevant work experience; something that’s hard to gain when you’re playing baseball. Chris said, that when push comes to shove, experience was “trumping education.”

That’s the finance side of the career search.

On the other hand, a few weeks back Chris started sending our “blind emails” to major league baseball front offices. He contacted somewhere between 15-20 teams. He’s now trying to network with this group to find out how they got involved in professional baseball.

Chris has discovered the best way in to a front office job is probably through an internship. Some are paid and some are not. His focus is on a paid internship, realizing that teams that put an emphasis on hiring from within are more likely to pay to get good quality people that they can retain if things pan out.

He believes his best shot is an internship with a Scouting Department. Chris may have found his best career path. As his girlfriend pointed out to him – he might not stand out when applying for a job in the finance world, but in baseball he’s unique because he not only has playing experience (“playing three years at a high level in a well-respected organization;” the Angels) he also carries an MBA with him.

So, that’s basically where he stands right now.

He also mentioned that he may do an internship with a AA team in Mobile, Alabama near his girlfriend. He hasn’t ruled out an internship in the business world. He’s basically looking to do anything to get some more relevant experience on his resume for either career path.

And that’s where our friend is today. Not the story book ending we might have hoped for, but then again – Chris’ journey is far from over.

We'll be sure to check back with Chris in the near future to see if there are any new developments.

If you're finding us for the first time - be sure to read Part 1 of this post as well.

Catching up with "Rosey"

When I first started writing True Grich I hadn’t really read a lot of other blogs. If I did, I probably didn’t even realize they were blogs.

All that changed in the past year as I went looking to find the best baseball blogs on the internet. Turns out there are quite a few of them. Some are written by professional writers like Sports Illustrated’s Joe Posnanski and many of them are written by every day folks just like me.

And then there are those that are actually written by professional baseball players. You might be surprised by who actually blogs (I have a list of some of them on the left).

I recently found a real gem called “Looking through the Mask” written by Chris Rosenbaum (Rosey), a former minor league baseball player from the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim farm system.

Chris does an amazing job of telling his audience what it’s like to be a professional baseball player who is trying to achieve the ultimate goal of making it to the major leagues.

He had this to say in 2008:

For the lay baseball fan, it often goes overlooked that we are really baseball players in training, and that the final product on the field every night is not always going to be well polished. The time put in everyday working on hitting, fielding and pitching mechanics often goes unnoticed during days that usually begin five to seven hours prior to game time. Playing at the Class A level, we still have four more rungs to climb to get to the Majors (A-Advanced, AA, AAA, MLB). While we go out every night trying to win a baseball game, our primary objective is to develop as a player so that we are better players at the last day of the season than we were when we arrived in Cedar Rapids.

As you read through all his blog entries, you get a sense of what it must be like working your way through the minor leagues. He talks about his interactions with the fans, his relationships with teammates, the struggles of making it on a meager salary, the long days and so much more.

I found this piece regarding his relationships with teammates interesting:

Everyone in this business is trying to make it to the top. It is paradoxical that while no one can get to the Major Leagues by themselves, there is not enough room for everyone to make it. This is a team game played by individuals. While everyone is striving for the team to win, players are looking out for their individual success along the way. This balance is often strained and is a major reason why the relationships you develop with people should be kept professional with minimal vested emotion. There is only so much of the pie to go around, and no one around you is afraid to take your share.

Since Chris was a catcher and more importantly a catcher in the Angels organization that has Mike Scioscia’s thumb print all over it – it was a natural for Chris to talk about what it meant to be an Angels catcher.

He said this:

If there is a common thread throughout all of the teachings throughout the organization as it pertains to catchers, it is the strong emphasis on the pitcher and catcher relationship. When a pitcher is comfortable with his catcher, he is confident and will perform at his highest level. For this reason, fostering and maintaining these relationships is crucial for a catcher’s success in the Angels organization. These working relationships are so strongly valued that they are viewed at the same level of any other stats kept track of by the organization and can be enough reason to keep a mediocre performing offensive catcher around for several years.

Chris’s love for baseball was evident throughout his posts.

Several people have questioned why I put myself through this lifestyle when it appears that I could take my Bachelor’s and almost Master’s Degrees and go get a lucrative job in corporate America. I stick around because I love to play the game. I love the challenge that every day presents and how you never know what the next baseball discovery you will uncover. I stay in the game to experience the moment I did when we defeated Clinton in the divisional semifinals Thursday night. The excitement that our team shared that night with each other and with our devoted fans that made the trip is something I will never forget. This was the first playoff series Cedar Rapids had won since 2000, and it was amazing to see the energy of the team and the fans after winning that series.

More revealing tidbits from his blog:

The hardest part about minor league baseball is that there are no guarantees. What I mean by this, is that tomorrow is never guaranteed; you never know if you will have a job tomorrow, nor can you even be certain where you will be and who will be around you….

It is unfathomably hard to invest so much time and energy into something that can be gone without warning. Playing baseball is such a fickle profession where knowing the right people and being in the right place at the right time can be just as important as performing well on the field. However, the love of the game keeps most going during the long bus rides, minimal pay, unjust personnel decisions, and time away from home. It is the dream that most of us have had since we were young of playing in the Big Leagues that gets us through the setbacks to face another day.

Chris’s blog is all about his journey through baseball and like all journeys they eventually come to an end.

His final post “And so it ends” was posted on July 3, 2010. In this post Chris says good-bye to baseball. This post was actually the first post I read by Chris. It was so compelling, that I foun myself going back to read all of his previous posts. When I was done, I decided to reach out to Chris to find out what happened to him.

So I emailed him and much to my surprise he replied. We exchanged a few emails and Chris gave me an update on what he’s been up to. That will be the subject of my next post (coming soon). So… stay tuned.

In the mean time, I encouage you to visit his blog. If you really love baseball, you will probably enjoy learning about "Rosey." I encourage you to read all of his posts. Trust me, it will be like reading a good book.

There are many reasons to love baseball

Every day is kind of like Christmas for me lately. Seems like every time I check my email, there's another story from a baseball fan who wants to answer my question "Why do you love baseball?"

The following post is from Matt Kelsey, who got wind of this blog from his I-70 Baseball colleague Bill Ivie and wanted to take part in the project as well. I'm glad he did....

I love baseball because my dad and my mom took me to games, back in the days when the Royals played respectable ball and you could take a family of four to a big-league ballpark for less than twenty-five bucks - parking and food included.

I love baseball because after the games, my brother and I would go stand around next to the visiting team bus and the home team parking lot, asking for autographs. More players said no than yes, but the ones who said yes - regardless of how they performed on the field - became our favorites.

I love baseball because of my grandmother. A first-generation American, she was born and raised in the small central Missouri town of Loose Creek, and grew up in the days of Ruth and Gehrig. She became a fan of the Kansas City Royals out of spite, for the exact same reason she voted Republican: her husband, the jovial town barber, told her she ought vote Democrat and root for the St. Louis Cardinals. My grandmother did the opposite. Our family friend Ralph Lynch took my grandmother to a playoff game in 1985, and bought her a Royals jacket. The jacket and a commemorative Dwight Eisenhower plate were her prized possessions. She wore that jacket every spring and fall until the day she died.

I love baseball because of that jacket.

I love baseball because of Ralph Lynch. Ralph was the kind of guy who would throw away caps when they became too worn out. Once, when he was over at our house, shucking corn and drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon out of the can with my father, he decided his old Royals hat was too worn out and chucked it in a garbage barrel. I dug that sucker out of the trash and wore it the rest of my childhood.

I love baseball because of Bret Saberhagen. He was the kid pitcher on the Royals in 1985, and he went on to win a Cy Young Award and the World Series MVP. He was my favorite player, and still is, even though he sprayed bleach on reporters while playing for the Mets and wore his hair in a ridiculous perm.

I love baseball because of Game 7 of the 1985 World Series. A Cardinals fan tried to tell me recently that the Royals would have lost the series if Don Denkinger, the guy who blew a call in Game 6, hadn't been behind the plate for Game 7. The Royals won Game 7 by a score of 11-0. Cardinals fans are delusional if they think a different umpire would have changed the outcome of Saberhagen's complete-game shutout or the Royals' offensive explosion. But I digress...

I love baseball because I was six years old during the 1985 World Series. My family watched the game from our living room, in the house where my parents still live. Ralph Lynch was there, too. My brother and I watched from the living room carpet, laid out on our stomachs, our heads cradled in our hands. When Darryl Motley caught the ball for the final out and Saberhagen leaped into George Brett's arms, we pounded on the carpet and screamed until our fists were sore and our throats were raw.

I love baseball because I love hating the Cardinals, and I love hating the Yankees.

I love baseball because of George Brett, the greatest player I ever saw. Years after he retired I witnessed him at an exhibition game. He was joking around with the crowd, signing a few autographs, and then he took batting practice and his expression became deadly serious. He whacked the ball all over the park, with that wonderfully ridiculous back-to-the-pitcher stance of his. I'll bet money George Brett could still hit .275 in the big leagues.

I love baseball because of birthday money. On my birthday, I would get $15 from my parents to spend anyway I liked, and my brother would get $10. On his birthday, we'd reverse it. One year on my birthday, I blew my entire wad on baseball cards. My brother had always had more cards than me, and it was sort of a sore subject. That night I came home and opened all my cards (probably 30 packs - they were a lot cheaper back then), and shoved all the gum in my mouth. Then, with a mouth full of sugary sweetness, I took my cards and stacked them up in a skyscraper. My brother stacked his cards up too. My stack, for once, was taller.

I love baseball because of the gum. My brother's friend once built a small box out of baseball-card gum and stored his valuables inside, because he swore the gum was fireproof.

I love baseball because of Buck O'Neil.

I love baseball because there's an old family rumor, largely propagated by my brother, that we're distantly related to Mickey Mantle.

I love baseball because my wife lets me teach her about the game, and she's come to love it, too, in a way only a perfect wife can, the kind of wife who doesn't just suffer her husband's obsessions, but shares in them.

I love baseball because it's the only game that matters. It's the only game I'll ever truly love. It's a game that belongs to me in the same way it belongs to all fans, and I belong to it as well.

Submitted by
Matt Kelsey
Content Director
I-70 Baseball

Be sure to check out Matt's blog:
The Henry Wiggen Blog

By the way Matt, I too love baseball because of Buck O'Neil