My original video commentary script

The following commentary is based on a column I wrote earlier this semester.  I wrote of a personal experience where I played in the Northwoods Summer Collegiate Baseball League.  It was only a small piece of one of my greatest experiences up to this point in my life.  The following commentary will hopefully illustrate how the two fearless hot dog lovers made it all possible for me.

In the spring of 2007, I had, by far, my best baseball season as a Loper.  My velocity was close to the 90 mph mark which made my specialty, the curveball, a.k.a. the number two, the bender, Uncle Charlie, Lord Charles, biter, breaking ball, deuce, dew drop, hammer, folly floater, snapper, Mr. Snappy, nose to toes, pull the string, tumbler, yakker, or whatever you want to call a curveball, even better.

Along with personally having a good season, as a team, we were close to the top of our division going into the conference tournament.  We went on to win the tournament for the first time in UNK baseball history.  After that, we moved on to the regional where we beat Sonoma State, the number one team in the nation.  Although we lost the next two games to end our season, we managed to shock the Division II baseball world.

In the time leading up to the summer, I contacted the coach of the San Diego Black Jacks , a college summer league team, and he invited me to play on the team.  It wasn’t the best league, but there were some talented players coming from quality Division I programs who lived in the San Diego area.  The baseball was ok but going to the beach everyday in the perfect 80 degree heat and swimming in the warm Pacific seemed more important at the time.  That went on for about a month.

Until I got the call.

One of my fellow Loper pitchers was playing for the St. Cloud Riverbats at that particular time.  I answered the phone and we carried on a standard greeting like two close college baseball teammates might have…and then the conversation turned.

He began explaining to me that their pitching staff had two open spots and their General Manager was interested in having me pack up my stuff in San Diego, and make my way to St. Cloud Minnesota.  And without hesitation I told him that I would be there.  The next day the General Manager called me, and I had an interview of sorts with him that went very well.  And it was settled I was heading to Minnesota to play in the best Summer Collegiate baseball league in the country.  It was a once in a lifetime opportunity that I could not pass up.  It was one of those things where you don’t have a shred of doubt in your mind.  Like a job opportunity to work for the best company in your career field. You have to do it.  I did it.  I figured I had my whole life to spend time on the beach.  Only a small bunch of players in the nation get that opportunity each summer, and my number was called.

The Northwoods League is perennially filled with Major League draft picks.  And not just draft picks, first round draft picks. Granted, I wasn’t one of them, I was still playing with them and against them. The cream of the baseball crop.  Our right fielder was the 37^th overall pick in the following MLB draft.  One of our pitchers went a bit later in the first round, and now plays for the Detroit Tigers and I regularly see him pitch on TV.  Our second basemen went in the second round.  I watched our catcher start in the College World Series in Omaha for Texas A&M.  And many others from the Riverbats went later in the draft and currently are scattered throughout the minor leagues.

On top of that, the fan support around the league was tremendous.  We played in front of thousands of people night in and night out.  We signed autographs for people of all ages for about 30 minutes following each game.  In between each inning there were fan games. There were tricycle races, people throwing intertubes over partners, fans spinning over a bat with their forehead placed on the knob of the bat and racing to first base, and many more.  One of my personal favorites happened between innings when were playing against the Madison Mallards.  Normally the people spinning over the bats make ten rotations and then race to first base. Well this time, the announcer had them do more like 25 turns.  One of the contestants proceeded to came out of the shoot directly for our dugout.  He crashed and burned right into the fence at the top of our dugout, stood up, and gave a “woo hoo,” letting the crowd know he was more than a bit intoxicated.

We also had many themed games.  The Vikings cheerleaders came in their uniforms and threw the first pitch one game.  As you could imagine, both dugouts were filled by wide eyed young men with their jaws touching ground.  Another time, former NFL and Chicago Bears great William “The Fridge” Perry signed autographs before and after a game.  He still stands as the biggest human being I have ever seen in person. I met him after the game and he seemed like a real straight shooter.  To my surprise, I later found out from our upper management that he drank over 20 draft beers in a two hour period while watching the game from behind home plate. It didn’t phase his 6’5 350 pound frame.  On the road, we rode on a chartered bus with beds on it.  We ate catered food after games from places like Chili’s, Olive Garden, and Famous Dave’s, to name a few.

After home games we ate burgers and hot dogs from the concession stand, which brings me to the reason why I was able to join that great organization.  After one game in particular, just prior to me getting the invitation to play in the Northwoods, two pitchers got into a physical altercation over a hot dog…that’s right a hot dog.  One pitcher took three hot dogs, when they were only supposed to get two.  The other pitcher didn’t like it very much and spoke his mind.  They were both a couple of hot headed individuals and their tempers rose.  They took the argument out of the clubhouse and into the parking lot.  With fans all around them, they got into a good old fashioned fist fight, and later that night got the boot.  The General Manager kicked them off the team without hesitation.  I wish that I knew those pitchers because I would personally thank them for opening the door to the best experience of my life.  Or maybe I wouldn’t, because I’m not a fighter.

My favorite hot dog ever

A Selfless Player Whose Actions Transcend Time

 It was the last day of 1972.  The sports world lost one of the best humanitarians that it will ever see.  Roberto Clemente died doing hat he felt he was put on this Earth to do, serve others in need.

An earthquake ripped through Managua, Nicaragua on December 23 and deprived thousands of people the necessities to survive.  Clemente had sent three cargo planes chalked full of supplies to those affected by the disaster.  He soon learned that the planes never made it to their destination.  Corrupt government officials overseas were ransacking the planes.  So he boarded a rickety old cargo plane on December 31, to make sure that didn’t happen again.  The plane crashed in the ocean, en route for Nicaragua.

This is one of many courageous acts he performed during his lifetime, but is often the one that sticks out because he died doing it.  Clemente devoted his life to changing the world.  “He had a special trait and certain people are just able to do those types of things and not give it a second thought.  It was natural instincts for him,” said UNK Athletic Director Jon McBride.

He had the same influence on the game of baseball when he signed a contract with the Pittsburgh Pirates in 1955 for $6,000.  When Clemente entered Major League Baseball, he was the first Latin American to play baseball professionally in the United States.

The naked eye could see why he was the first to cross that barrier, as McBride recalls about seeing him play in the early 60’s at Crosley field, home of the Cincinnati Reds, “He [Clemente] was a real physical specimen in great shape. He was like a gazelle when he covered ground so quickly, anticipated things so well which allowed him to play the outfield better than anybody.”

Clemente went on to be the best Latin American baseball player in the history of the game and still stands as the only to be inducted into the Hall of Fame. During the 60’s, he received every conceivable award given out to players in the MLB for his outstanding play on the field.

Along with the physical tools to be a great player, Clemente possessed an inner drive that enabled him to accomplish everything that he did. “He played hard; he went and got the ball. If there was a wall between him and the ball he would have knocked it down trying to catch it,” McBride said.

Professional baseball players today could learn a thing or two from “The Great One,” both on and off the field.

There is headlines everyday on sports programs reporting players “dogging it,” taking plays off, and not hustling after the ball.  Watch a MLB game and each inning you will see a player run down to first with a half hearted effort. Not on Clemente’s watch. He gave everything he had when he played as well as in his humanitarian efforts. “It was a different era, the mindset was to get the job done, and doing whatever it takes. I don’t think you get that as much today,” McBride said.

Nowadays, for a big leaguer to be a “franchise player,” their organizations require them to give to charity and exploit it by spending millions of dollars to advertise it. Even players who give back to society on their own will make sure there is a video camera in attendance.  Many do it to improve their image. Clemente did it because he truly cared about the welfare of others.

“He was genuinely affected by the fact that others were needy and hurting in the world and he knew that he could help them. He wasn’t making millions and millions of dollars at that time and he still found time to do all the charitable work that he did, so you have to admire that,” McBride said.

A selfless player whose actions transcend time

It was the last day of 1972.  The sports world lost one of the best humanitarians that it will ever see.  Roberto Clemente died doing hat he felt he was put on this Earth to do, serve others in need.

An earthquake ripped through Managua, Nicaragua on December 23 and deprived thousands of people the necessities to survive.  Clemente had sent three cargo planes chalked full of supplies to those affected by the disaster.  He soon learned that the planes never made it to their destination.  Corrupt government officials overseas were ransacking the planes.  So he boarded a rickety old cargo plane on December 31, to make sure that didn’t happen again.  The plane crashed in the ocean, en route for Nicaragua.

This is one of many courageous acts he performed during his lifetime, but is often the one that sticks out because he died doing it.  Clemente devoted his life to changing the world.  “He had a special trait and certain people are just able to do those types of things and not give it a second thought.  It was natural instincts for him,” said UNK Athletic Director Jon McBride.

He had the same influence on the game of baseball when he signed a contract with the Pittsburgh Pirates in 1955 for $6,000.  When Clemente entered Major League Baseball, he was the first Latin American to play baseball professionally in the United States.

The naked eye could see why he was the first to cross that barrier, as McBride recalls about seeing him play in the early 60’s at Crosley field, home of the Cincinnati Reds, “He [Clemente] was a real physical specimen in great shape. He was like a gazelle when he covered ground so quickly, anticipated things so well which allowed him to play the field better than anybody.”

Baseball Program Suffers, Learns From Two Paralyzed Players

The University of Georgia Bulldogs have had some special players come through their program and play in the Major Leagues.  Albeit they were great ball players, the impact on their teammates, coaches, and community will never compare to the way Chance Veazey and Jonathan Taylor have inspired everyone around them.

Veazey was a freshman on the team in the fall of 2009, and impressed his teammates and coaches, to say the least.  He was a gritty second baseman, with a talented stroke from the left handed batters box.  His coaches loved that he never made excuses and would do anything for the sake of the team.  He was solidifying a starting spot on the roster until on October 16, when his role changed.

Chance was riding his motorized scooter close to campus and was hit by a car while crossing the street.  The collision severed his spine which paralyzed him from the waist down.

Jonathan Taylor was a center fielder for Georgia less than two years after that tragic day.  He started for the Bulldogs in 97 games and like Veazey, a promising young player. He was said to be the heart and soul of the team, with a work ethic second to none.

Taylor was roaming center field in a game against Florida State on March 6 earlier this spring, when another tragedy occurred on the Georgia baseball team.  He and the left fielder pursued a softly hit line drive just over the head of the shortstop.  On a play that neither the left fielder nor Taylor had a good chance at making, the two players simultaneously dove for the ball and collided.  Left fielder Zach Cone came up disoriented from the play and it was later reported that he had suffered a concussion.  Taylor didn’t get up.

The center fielder could not move.  Like Veazey, he had injured his spine, except Jonathan had only partially severed his spine, leaving him as a tetraplegic.

Although it was second time players and coaches had to handle such a tragedy, it was not any easier.  Nothing can prepare you for something like, not even going through an eerily similar experience with another member of the program.  The team and the community did the only thing they knew to do, what they had already done once before.  Support their brother through his trials and tribulations.

Like when Veazey was injured, the team wore commemorative stickers on their helmets representing Taylor’s initials and jersey number.  Players rotated wearing his number two jersey on game day.  They started a fund in his name to raise money for his hospital bills.

All things that any other team would have done for one of their own players.  Things that you would expect a team to do.  Don’t get me wrong, I envy everything they have done for Chance and Jonathan, but whether they realize it or not they have been given the ultimate learning experience.

After Veazey was injured in 2009, the program and the community were given an opportunity to reevaluate how they were living their lives and to take at look at what truly matters to them.  Veazey handled the situation as well as a person could and chose to make the most of his situation.  He hoped that others would do the same.

When a similar injury happened to Taylor, a player with the same qualities and values but on a larger scale within the program.  It was a wake up call telling everybody to live life to the fullest everyday.  Make the most of life today, so that you don’t have regrets later.  It was another opportunity to cherish life.

A second Chance.

A Second Chance

The University of Georgia Bulldogs have had some special players come through their program and play in the Major Leagues.  Albeit they were great ball players, the impact on their teammates, coaches, and community will never compare to the way Chance Veazey and Jonathan Taylor have inspired everyone around them.

Veazey was a freshman on the team in the fall of 2009, and impressed his teammates and coaches, to say the least.  He was a gritty second baseman, with a talented stroke from the left handed batters box.  His coaches loved that he never made excuses and would do anything for the sake of the team.  He was solidifying a starting spot on the roster until on October 16, when his role changed.

Veazey was riding his motorized scooter close to campus and was hit by a car while crossing the street.  The collision severed his spine which paralyzed him from the waist down.

Jonathan Taylor was a center fielder for Georgia less than two years after that tragic day.  He started for the Bulldogs in 97 games and like Veazey, a promising young player.  Taylor had a .312 career batting average with the team, accompanied by blinding speed and a heart of gold.  He was said to be the heart and soul of the team, with a work ethic second to none.

Taylor was roaming center field in a game against Florida State on March 6 earlier this spring when another tragedy occurred on the Georgia baseball team.  He and the left fielder pursued a softly hit line drive just over the head of the shortstop.  On a play that neither the left fielder nor Taylor had a good chance at making, the two players simultaneously dove for the ball and collided.  Left fielder Zach Cone came up dizzy from the play and it was later reported that he had suffered a concussion.  Taylor didn’t get up.

The center fielder could not move.  Like Veazey, he had injured his spine, except Taylor had only partially severed his spine, leaving him as a tetrapalegic.

A Summer to Remember

Standing on a mound in front of 3,000 people screaming your name.  A rock star for 2 minutes at a time.  I was a rock star for 20 minutes in the summer of 2007.  I pitched 10 innings at home in front of the best fans in Minnesota.  It came with a price though, one that many people fear more than snakes, heights, or public speaking.

The price of a bullpen pitcher in the Northwoods League was playing on the road in Madison, Wisconsin.  The Madison Mallards averaged 6,500 of the most under the influence, vulgar and ruthless fans you could ever experience.

I live for these moments.

After watching the circus-like pregame activities which included the Mallard mascot descending upon the umpires meeting on a zip cord stretching from the right field foul pole to home plate, the game was flying by just as the mascot did prior to the game.  Before I knew it the sun slowly dropped below the horizon and we were under the bright stadium lights.  It was the sixth inning of a 2-2 pitching duel.

The manager was standing at the end of the dugout closest to home plate.  He had one leg on the third step of the dugout and the other hiked up on the second, arms crossed over his legs, and his body leaning toward the field as if there was some level of gravitational pull drawing him towards the action.

I was at the other end. sitting on the bench in the back of the dugout preparing, knowing that it was almost my time.

The leadoff hitter reached base on a walk.  Skip turned his head toward the opposite end of the bunker, spit out the juice from his fresh dip of Copenhagen, and before it hit the ground; I was up the steps and headed towards the bullpen.  It was time to prepare for war.

It is routine for the relief pitchers to check out the bullpen before each road game.  Some toe the rubber and check the landing spot, others do dry mechanics without a ball to get a feel for the slope of the mound, and the odd-ball of the staff will bury a ball somewhere for good luck.  It is a way for  them to get a feel for what they may be dealing with later on in the game (or to get some good karma in the case of the odd-ball).

 As I reached the “bully” in the sixth inning, no pre-game routine could have prepared me for what I saw.  Beligerent fans lined around the fence on three sides, spilling their beer everywhere and ready for confrontation.  A pack of hyenas ready to pounce on any piece of meat dangled in front of them.

While my catcher was getting his mask and glove positioned correctly upon his body, somebody shouted “When did the circus get to town? I didn’t see any trucks!”  I calmly turned to the intoxicated man and said, “Varsity Blues. Good Movie.”

He was either caught off guard or I was in the zone, because I didn’t hear a single word after that.  Before the I knew it, the field umpire was running toward the bullpen dramatically pointing at me, indicating that it was my time pitch.  As I ran out to center stage, the crowd let out a unified “boo.”  I was so locked in that I didn’t hear it.  I could feel it in the bottom of my stomach as my intestines vibrated.

The bases were loaded with no outs.  After seven pitches, a strikeout, and a double play, I was walking off the battlefield without any wounds.  I deliberately slowed my pace to soak in my surroundings one last time before I disappeard into the dugout. 

The fans were quiet.