Category: Human Interest

Two players appeared on the Hall of Fame ballot for only one year.

Player A was drafted 1/1 (first pick in the first round) by his hometown club. Player B was selected 1/2 (second pick in the first round) by a team far from his hometown.

Player A spent his entire career with one club, but changed positions mid-way. Player B played the first eight years of his career with one club, but then bounced to three other teams while remaining at one position the entire time.

Player A played in ten post-season games, never getting past the Division Series, while slashing .275/.341/.300. Player B played in 31 post-season games, including one trip to the World Series, slashing .333/.409/.547, and winning a Championship Series MVP.

You have read the headline to this article, so you can probably guess which player is which. If you follow baseball, you know that Joe Mauer (Player A) was inducted into the National Baseball Hall of Fame last year after being named on 76.1% of the ballots. What you may not recall is that Will Clark (Player B) received only 4.4% of the vote in 2006, and thus fell off the ballot forevermore.

Why?

Joe Mauer

Mauer had a remarkable start to his career, and was arguably the best catcher in baseball (offense + defense) in his first seven seasons. Repeated concussions and a neck injury forced him to hang up the tools of ignorance and move to first base to prolong his career. And prolong it he did.

From 2004 through 2010, while catching nearly every day, Mauer slashed .327/.407/.481, won an MVP award, and had three straight Gold Gloves and Silver Sluggers. After he moved to first base full time in 2014, for the final five years of his career, he slashed .278/.359/.388, accruing an additional 10.5 bWAR.

Will Clark

But Will Clark was no slouch, as the above statistics attest. “The Thrill” hit a home run off Hall of Famer Nolan Ryan in his first big league at bat. By the end of his first season, he had a 121 OPS+, and came in fifth in Rookie of the Year voting. (Todd Worrell won with a 2.08 ERA and 36 saves. Interestingly, Clark came in behind then and future teammates Robby Thompson (2^nd) and Kevin Mitchell (3^rd).)

In 15 seasons, the slugging first baseman never had an OPS less than 101, and he logged a whopping 175 in 1989 when he came in second in MVP voting (behind then-teammate Mitchell and his 1.023 OPS). It is hard to track a prime of Clark’s career as he stayed good/great for the entirety. He hit .300 twelve of his fifteen seasons, including in all of the final six. He slugged over .500 eight times, and led the league with a .536 mark in 1991 (which was only his third best, trailing his .580 in 1987 and .546 in 1989). The Natural’s final All-Star appearance was in 1994, and after that he played six more seasons, slashing .306/.393./.492, while accumulating an additional 17.1 bWAR.

Hall of Fame

Hall of Fame voting is always a mysterious gambit. When you realize that 11 voters didn’t check the box next to Babe Ruth’s name; or 23 voters didn’t check the box next to Willie Mays’ name; or 28 voters omitted Rickey Henderson from their ballot, you get a sense that it doesn’t make sense why so many BBWAA writers have no sense. Heck, one unnamed scofflaw didn’t vote for Derek Jeter, and one did not vote for Ichiro Suzuki (it is unknown if it is the same culprit).

But Joe Mauer getting into the Hall of Fame on his first ballot and Will Clark falling off on his first ballot – when you break down their respective careers – simply feels unjust. I don’t know if either actually belongs in “The Hall,” but one is in and the other must wait for some Veterans Committee to review his case and find twelve votes for his induction. It does not seem likely. But, if nothing else, like Jim Edmonds and so many others, Will Clark deserved at least a second look.

PLAY BALL!!

The 2025 Hall of Fame votes are in. Ichiro Suzuki, CC Sabathia, and Billy Wagner will be celebrating in central New York at the end of July. Carlos Beltrán and Andruw Jones are on the cusp, and will be hoping for a better outcome next year.

But there are certain players who deserve better (David Writer), who should have received more votes (Andy Pettitte), who should have remained on the ballot for at least one more year (Ian Kinsler). And then there are players such as Dustin Pedroia, the height-challenged second baseman who played his entire career for the Boston Red Sox, who received 11.9% of the vote this year.

Pedroia was drafted in the second round of the 2004 draft out of college baseball powerhouse Arizona State University. He made his major league debut in 2006, getting 98 plate appearances over 31 games, while preserving his rookie status for 2007. In 2007, Pedroia took the league by storm. He slashed .317/.380/.442, with 39 doubles and more walks than strikeouts, all on the way to becoming Rookie of the Year.

More importantly, he was a vital cog in Boston’s second World Series title in four years. Then, in 2008, Pedroia got even better. He slashed .326/.376/.493, with 213 hits, which included 17 home runs and 54 doubles. He also stole 20 bases while becoming a first-time All-Star, first-time Gold Glover, first-time Silver Slugger, and first (and only) time American League MVP.

In 2009, he led the league in runs with 115, while tallying another 185 hits and 48 doubles, to go along with 20 more steals. Pedroia was an All-Star in 2009 and in 2010. In 2011, he won another Gold Glove and finished ninth in MVP voting. He did not lead the league in any category, nor did he win any awards in 2012, but he did slash .290/.347/.449, with 57 extra base hits.

In 2013, with the Red Sox on their way to yet another world championship, Pedroia played in 160 games (after tearing a UCL in his thumb on April 1^st) and led the league in plate appearances. He hit .301 with 53 extra base hits, was named an All-Star for the fourth time, won his third Gold Glove, and finished seventh in MVP voting.

His 2014 and 2015 were off years by comparison, as he only accumulated 3.9 and 2.6 bWAR in those two seasons, but he still had an OPS+ of 101 and 112 OPS, making him above average each season. In 2016, he regained his form, playing in 154 games and adding another 52 extra base hits to his .318/.376/.449 slash line, for a robust 117 OPS+.

On April 21, 2017, Pedroia’s left knee was injured while trying to turn a double play. Despite the fact that team doctors told him that playing with the injury could (and ultimately did) have long-term consequences, the diminutive second baseman gutted out a total of 105 games that season, still hit .293, still had a 101 OPS+, but he managed only 26 extra base hits (seven home runs), with his second-worst career slugging percentage.

Knee surgeries limited him to a total of nine game and 34 plate appearances over the 2018 and 2019 seasons. He recorded his last hit and his last RBI on April 11, 2019 in a 7-6 victory over the Blue Jays in front of the Boston faithful. He would go 0-for-12 over four more games. On April 17^th, he came to bat at Yankee Stadium and lined out to right on an 0-2 pitch. That—fittingly, going the other way, refusing to concede a single pitch let alone an at bat—would be his final plate appearance.

Pedroia played in all or part of 14 seasons. His career slash line is .299/.365/.439, with a 113 OPS+. He was a Rookie of the Year and MVP and a four-time All-Star and four-time Gold Glove winner. In 1,512 games, he had 1,805 hits, 394 doubles, and 140 home runs. He had five seasons with at least 185 hits, and six seasons with at least 50 extra base hits. He was the emotional leader of a team that won three World Series. He was the loudest voice in the clubhouse, in the dugout, and on the field. He was beloved by his coaches, his manager, his teammates, and the fans.

But none of that—even when added up and given a high shine—probably makes Pedroia a Hall of Famer.

The average Hall of Fame player has black ink (leading the league in a specific category) 27 times, according to the Bill James Black Ink test. Pedroia had eleven.

According to James’ Hall of Fame Standards, where the average Hall of Fame player scores 50, the Red Sox second baseman merits only 32.

And Jay Jaffe’s robust JAWS system has Pedroia as the 19^th best second baseman of all-time, well behind non-Hall players Lou Whitaker and Willie Randolph. Further, when compared to players of his ilk, here is how it shakes out:

• Career bWAR: 51.9 (average Hall of Fame second baseman: 69.5)
• 7-Year Peak bWAR: 41.0 (average Hall of Fame second baseman: 44.4)
• JAWS: 46.5 (average Hall of Fame second baseman: 57.0)

Pedroia was on his way to a Hall of Fame career. But for the Machado slide in 2017 (a slide, it must be noted, that Pedroia felt was clean and for which he holds no grudges), he might have played out his contract through 2021 (through his age-37 season), accumulated another 750 hits (150 hits/season is not an unreasonable guess), plus another 60 home runs (twelve per season was well within range), finished up with a .300 batting average (not just .299), and collected more than 2500 lifetime hits.

Those additional five seasons, at let’s say 3.0 bWAR per year, gets him in the neighborhood of Roberto Alomar and Ryne Sandberg, and probably gets him a speaking slot one weekend in late July and a lifetime of cold beverages on the porch at the Otesaga Hotel in Cooperstown, New York.

It should be noted that Chase Utley received 157 votes for the Hall of Fame this year, which is 39.8%. He is definitely trending in the right direction. He compares to Pedroia favorably, too:

	Utley	Pedroia
Hits	1,885	1,805
OPS+	117	113
HOF Monitor*	94	94
5.0 bWAR Seasons	6	6

*Per Bill James Hall of Fame Monitor, 100 is a likely Hall of Famer.

Of course, a career is made up of more than the above stats. The good news is that by appearing on nearly 12% of the ballots this year, we can continue to analyze Pedroia’s Hall of Fame worthiness.

PLAY BALL!!

Rob Friedman, the Pitching Ninja, recently did an interview with, and a deep dive into, David Cone, the variety of his nasty pitches, and the highs and lows of his long career.

For the uninitiated, over a 17-year career, Cone won 194 games (against 126 losses), finished with a 3.46 ERA, struck out 2,668 batters, and compiled 62.3 bWAR. He was a five-time All-Star, won twenty games on two separate occasions, led major league baseball in strikeouts twice, and won the 1994 Cy Young. From 1988 to 1999, only Roger Clemens and Greg Maddux had a higher bWAR than Cone, and only Randy Johnson and Clemens had more strikeouts. And oh, by the way, Cone through a perfect game in New York in 1999, won five World Series, with a 2.12 ERA in six appearances Fall Classic appearances. And yet, even with that résumé, Cone received only 3.9% of the Hall of Fame vote in 2009, making it his first and only year on the ballot (a player must receive 5% of the vote to be eligible the following year).

Granted, 2009 had some heady players eligible for induction. Namely, the recently-deceased Rickey Henderson, who cruised in with 94.8% of the vote; and Jim Rice, who squeezed in with 76.4%. Andre Dawson, Bert Blyleven, Lee Smith, Jack Morris, Tim Raines, Alan Trammell, Dave Parker (this year), and Harold Baines all fell short of the 75% threshold in 2009, but all eventually made it in. Cone’s 3.9% was behind Mark Grace’s 4.1% and Baines’ 5.9%. Grace and Baines both had fine careers, but none were as impactful or as laudable as Cone’s. To wit, Grace finished his career with 46.4 bWAR, Baines with 38.8.

For New York Yankees fans, Cone’s career looks eerily similar to Whitey Ford’s, as each were part of dynasties (Ford won six World Series in New York vs. Cone’s four). Cone bests Ford in bWAR: 62.3 vs. 57; Cone had two 7-bWAR seasons while Ford never achieved more than 6.7 (once, in 1964). Cone’s five-year peak bWAR was 33.3, while Ford’s was 25.6. Despite that, Ford was elected to the Hall of Fame on his second try – in 1974 – while Cone was knocked off the ballot on his first.

According to Baseball Reference, Cone had 19 instances of leading the league in a pitching category, while the average HOFer has 40. According to Bill James’ Hall of Fame Monitor, where a score of 100 means a “good possibility” of being elected and 130 is a “virtual cinch,” Cone scores 103.

James also has a Hall of Fame Standard, where the average HOFer scores 50. Cone comes in with 39 (Ford was at 56).

Jay Jaffe’s JAWS scoring system, which is to many the current gold standard in these assessments, ranks Cone as follows:

	Avg. HOF Pitcher	David Cone
Career bWAR	73.0	62.3
7-Year Peak bWAR	49.9	43.4
JAWS	61.5	52.8
bWAR/162	4.5	4.9

By those objective measures, Cone isn’t up to snuff. But, he most certainly should have gotten more than one look at it. If Cone were on the ballot this year, he would most likely be compared to Andy Pettitte, whose numbers are 128 on James’ Hall of Fame Monitor; 60.2 career bWAR; 34.1 7-year peak; 47.2 JAWS. Pettitte did win 256 games (vs. Cone’s 194), but his ERA is nearly half a run higher; he never won a Cy Young; and only led the league in any category seven times (again, Cone did this 19 times). And yet, Pettitte is currently on the ballot for the seventh time. With 13.5% last year, it is unlikely he will find enough votes to get to 75%. But the point is that he is still in the game. And David Cone deserved (and still deserves) that same consideration.

I previously wrote about a former fire-baller who, midway through his career, became considerably more crafty, and pitched for nearly two decades, winning more than 200 games. My conclusion was that while David Cone may not have had a Hall of Fame resumé, he deserved at more than one year on the ballot.

This week we will look at another former fire-baller who, midway through his career, became considerably more crafty, and pitched for more than two decades, winning more than 200 games. My conclusion, as you will see below, is that Frank Tanana deserved at least one vote on the Hall of Fame ballot.

The then-California Angels made Frank Tanana the thirteenth pick in the 1971 draft. And two years later, at the tender age of 19, he made his major league debut. He threw four innings and gave up four earned runs in his first appearance, taking the loss against the Kansas City Royals. He faced the Royals again five days later, and didn’t relinquish the hill or the ball, going nine innings, giving up one earned run, en route to his first big league complete game and victory. Tanana would finish the season with a 2-2 record and a 3.08 ERA.

Tanana spent eight years in Anaheim, was traded to Boston for a year, then to Texas for three-plus seasons, before being sent to his hometown team, the Detroit Tigers. Tanana finished his career in New York – spending parts of the 1993 season in Queens and then the Bronx. When the final tally was done, he won 240 games against 236 losses, with a 3.66 ERA, 3.79 FIP, and a 106 ERA+. At first glance, with those stats, he was a just-above-average pitcher who played long enough to accumulate more counting stats.

But the truth is harder to parse. When Tanana first came on the scene, he was part of a one-two punch with Nolan Ryan that rivaled Warren Spahn and Johnny Sain (there was a common saying during the time: “Tanana and Ryan, and two days of cryin’”) and other local heroes, Sandy Koufax and Don Drysdale. In 1975, Tanana led the American League in strikeouts with 269 (Ryan had only 186), including 17 in one game against the Rangers, and came in fourth in Cy Young voting. He was an All-Star the next three seasons, leading the league in WHIP in 1976, and ERA and bWAR in 1977. But injuries started to take their toll, and by the end of his tenure with the Angels, he had gone from a fastball pitcher to one who relied on off-speed pitches and deception to get batters out. And yet, from 1981 through the end of his career in 1993, he still averaged 31 starts and 198 innings per season (which would make him a workhorse today). Despite a 138-158 record during that time, he pitched to a 100 ERA+ – perfectly average.

And although it was a different time, it is notable that Tanana completed more than twenty percent of his career starts: 143 of 638.

Unfortunately for the lefty, he only made two post-season appearances, both in the American League Championship Series. In the first, in 1979 for the Angels against the Orioles, he went five innings, surrendering two earned runs, taking a no-decision in his team’s loss. The second, eight years later while pitching for the Tigers against the Twins, he went 5-1/3, giving up three earned runs, and took the loss.

When sizing up Tanana’s Hall of Fame bona fides, he doesn’t really stack up. The average Hall of Fame pitcher has 40 instances of black ink (leading the league in a category) on his Baseball Reference page. Tanana has nine.

Bill James’ Hall of Fame Monitor, which has a score of 100 as a likely Hall of Famer, nets the lefty out at 55.

And according to Jay Jaffe’s JAWS measurement, Tanana comes up short in every category:

• Career bWAR: 57.1 (Avg HOF Pitcher: 73.0)
• 7-Year Peak bWAR: 38.1 (Avg HOF Pitcher: 49.9)
• JAWS: 47.6 (Avg HOF Pitcher: 61.5)
• WAR/162: 3.1 (Avg HOF Pitcher: 4.5)

Tanana appeared on the 1999 Hall of Fame ballot along with his former teammate Nolan Ryan, and other future Hall of Famers George Brett, Robin Yount, Carlton Fisk, Tony Pérez, Gary Carter, Jim Rice, Bruce Sutter, Jim Kaat, Dave Parker (this year), Bert Blyleven, and Minnie Miñoso. Even with Steve Garvey, Dale Murphy, Tommy John, Dave Concepción, Luis Tiant, and Dwight Evans on the same ballot, some writer – from the Orange County Register or the Detroit Free Press – from some publication, could have found some room on their ballot for one measly vote for a pitcher who, at the time, was eleventh all-time in left-handed pitcher wins. Alas, it was not meant to be, and Tanana joins the ranks of very good players who only got one shot at Hall of Fame induction.

PLAY BALL!!

In 2012, I took my son’s travel ball team to a Lancaster Jethawks game. I had arranged for each kid to run out on the field with his positional counterpart in the top of the first inning.

As the kids gathered, the second baseman circled the boys up and told them to sprint to the outfield immediately after the national anthem and high-five the center fielder. The publicity person told the kids not to do it, but at the behest of this fun-loving Jethawk, they did so anyway.

Two years later, that second baseman would make his major league debut with the Houston Astros; and , then he was quickly traded to the Miami Marlins. The next season, after a trade to the Los Angeles Dodgers, he made his postseason debut, going 4-for-13 in the National League Division Series, which the New York Mets won three games to two. That .308 batting average in four games was a sign of things to come for this versatile young ballplayer. Kiké Hernández has made a name for himself in MLB by being a carefree guy who is not afraid to don a banana suit to lighten the mood. More than that, he has made a name for himself by coming through on the biggest stages when the lights are the brightest.

In 1,183 regular-season games so far during an eleven-year career, Hernández has slashed .238/.308/.405, hitting one home run every 32.5 plate appearances. But in the postseason, those numbers go up to .278/.353/.533, with one home run every 17.3 plate appearances. And this is no small sample size—he has done it over 86 games.

When Hernández has been asked the difference between the regular season and the post-season, he has replied that he has the ability to slow his heartbeat. But it has to be more than that. Average players don’t just change into superstars when the calendar flips to October because of their heartbeat.

Here is a brief chart of active player postseason home run totals:

Player	Home Runs	Plate Appearances
Jose Altuve	27	484
Kyle Schwarber	21	278
Alex Bregman	19	434
Corey Seager	19	346
George Springer	19	309
Giancarlo Stanton	18	172
Carlos Correa	18	358
Bryce Harper	17	232
Aaron Judge	16	262
Kiké Hernández	15	259

The only name on this list that is remotely similar to Hernández is Alex Bregman, who (a) played in a hitter’s park with a very short porch (the Crawford Boxes in Houston), and (b) has nearly twice as many post-season plate appearances as Kiké. You don’t sit one home run behind Aaron Judge, and two home runs behind Bryce Harper, just by controlling your breathing. 

But Hernández wasn’t and hasn’t always been Señor October. After that .308 in the 2015 NLDS, he went hitless in eight at bats in the 2016 National League Championship Series, which the Dodgers lost to the Chicago Cubs.

But in Game 5 of the following year’s NLCS, against the same opponent, Hernández had his coming out party. He crushed three home runs into the Chicago night and raised millions of dollars for hurricane relief for his native Puerto Rico in the process. Over the five-game series, he slashed .444/.546/.1444 with seven RBI. The legend of October Kiké was born.

Unfortunately, after that breakout, Hernández went 8-for-54, with just two home runs and four RBI over his next 21 post-season games in four additional playoff series, slashing .148/.258/.259 in the process. Maybe the hype was just that. But in the Covid year of 2020, after going 0-for-5 in the Division Series, Hernández began a resurgence that has not slowed down.

He slashed .308/.357/.769 for the Dodgers in the 2020 NLCS. Then, after a soft 2-10 in the World Series, he left the Dodgers for the Boston Red Sox. The following year he led the BoSox to Game 6 of the ALCS, going 20-for-49, slashing .408/.423/.837, with five home runs and nine RBI for the entire post-season.

This year Hernández was back with the Dodgers and doing what he does best. Over three series he hit .294 while playing great defense at three prime positions: center field, second base, and third base. And the lights and pressure of New York didn’t cow him one bit: he hit .286 over the NLCS and the World Series while smashing yet another post-season home run.

As of this writing, Hernández is a free agent. But after two highly successful runs with the Dodgers, after winning two World Series titles in Los Angeles, after being the Swiss Army knife willing to play any position—including pitcher—and play them all well above-average, there is a very high likelihood that Kiké is back in Dodger blue next season, and at a salary considerably higher than the $4 million he earned last year.

PLAY BALL!!

Color me a socialist. Not in the political sense, but in the idea that people who come to sporting events should, by and large, be treated equally and fairly.

It truly bothers me when – at the ballpark – the rich only get richer. I certainly understand that the more you pay for your ticket, the better your seat, and thus the better your view. 

Where my hide starts to get chapped is when the more you pay for your ticket, the better concessions that are available to you. For this thought exercise, I am putting aside the various and sundry stadium clubs that have premier seating and premier services, and thus premier food and beverage. I am talking about sitting in what used to be referred to as “box” seats as opposed to reserved, loge, or the bleachers. It should not be that hard to make sure that the same food is available to all fans, regardless of the price they paid for admission.

Where this bee really gets into my bonnet is with balls thrown into the stands by the players. Sure, you pay more for a ticket, you are closer to the action, and you are more likely to catch a foul ball. That is just how it works.

And that is pretty democratic – no one controls how many or how far foul balls will be hit, and thus many times per game a ball reaches the upper deck where a fan with a lower-cost ticket has a chance of in-game glory and long-term bragging rights; not to mention an incredible souvenir. 

But over the past five to 10 years, we have seen a proliferation of players throwing balls into the stands after the mid-inning toss-around and after the third out is recorded. And nearly every one of these balls ends up in the seats closest to the action, where the rich fans get richer.

I have given this a ton of thought, and was heartened when Steve Ballmer, the exuberant owner of the Los Angeles Clippers, announced that at the team’s new arena there will be T-shirt cannons that reach the upper decks. The T-shirt cannon is the basketball corollary to the between-innings ball toss into the stands. These predominantly go to fans in the most expensive seats. Well, not at the Intuit Dome, and, if I had my way, not at your local ballpark, either. 

A couple of weeks ago, I was lucky enough to be invited to sit in the Dodgers’ Dugout Club. This is the premier seating I referenced above. I was sitting close enough to hear the players chat on their way to and from the field. After the last out of the top of the third inning, the Dodgers tossed the ball around the infield and it ended up in the glove of second baseman Gavin Lux. True to form, Lux tossed the ball into the stands. But, he didn’t just lob it into the luxury seats. He gave it a heave and sent it up to the loge level, where eager fans were shocked and excited to be getting the ball. I remarked to the people I was sitting with that the kid from Wisconsin gets it. With his Midwestern values, Lux understands the importance of hard work and the need for everyone to have a chance to be rewarded. I wish more players did this. 

However, I am not naïve enough to believe that players will suddenly start chucking balls to the farthest reaches of the stands. That is why I previously recommended to the Dodgers’ chief marketing officer that at least a few times each game, a player should toss the ball to an usher (rather than the fans in general) and that usher should deliver the ball to a fan in another section. I cannot state with any authority that the ball would mean more to the kid in the upper deck than the kid in the lower bowl, but I can state that it would somewhat level the non-playing field for fans. Just because your parents cannot afford four tickets at $150 each doesn’t mean you automatically lose the chance to go home happy with a game-used souvenir.  

It is the small things that teams can do to grow the game. Give that kid in the far reaches a ball, and she is a fan for life. Her family tells that story to their friends and neighbors, and they are more likely to shell out for tickets, parking, hot dogs, peanuts, and beer. Attendance would increase. Equally as important, fan engagement would increase. Fan excitement would increase. And, if those things continue to occur, team values would increase, which, let’s face it, is what owners truly care about. 

One more minor suggestion: A premier seat owner knows they will not be using their tickets on Tuesday night. They call the team and inform them that the seats will be empty. In return for opening up the seats, the seat owner is given a credit to be used for future tickets or concessions. The team then sends an usher to the upper deck and presents a family with a special surprise: You all get to sit in the unoccupied premier seats for the duration of the game, and you get all of the goodies that go along with that. Heck, the team can even mention the name of the premier seat owner who bequeathed the seats to this unsuspecting family. 

With electronic ticketing and so much information known about attendees, this is low-hanging fruit. It would not take very much to make this happen every night. The marketing boon derived from changing a family’s game-viewing is nearly unquantifiable. Some team – maybe the Yankees, who always seem to have tons of seats open in their most expensive section – needs to institute this plan. And soon. Attendance may be up in MLB this year, but if the sport we love is going to continue to be relevant for future generations, we need to use every tool available to create fans for life. 

Crash Davis says that strikeouts are fascist. I think seats and souvenirs need to be socialist. In today’s game, we cannot do much about the former; but teams certainly can fulfill the dream of the latter.

PLAY BALL!!

My nephew is living my dream. Unlike me, who – many, many years ago – had to walk on, he was recruited to play Division I baseball. He did a workout for the coaches, and joined the team. It wasn’t that easy – most things never are. He – like me – had to endure tryouts in the fall to see who would actually make the club. But, unlike me, when all of the players were culled and all the cuts were made, when the final spring roster was determined, when the coaches decided who they wanted to wear the swanky new uniforms and get the team-issued mitts, my nephew’s name was on the list. Alas, when that final cut happened more than 30 years ago, my name was not.

None of this brings even an ounce of jealousy or envy. My nephew worked hard for this (way harder than I ever did); he earned it; he passed up other opportunities and took risks and they paid off. Kudos to him all around. And now he is living the life of a collegiate athlete, with the early morning wake-ups and the long days and the missed classes due to team travel. And he seems to be loving it.

Recently I went to see him play a game at Pepperdine University in Malibu. If you have never seen a game at the Eddy D. Field Baseball Stadium, which sits on a mountain above the Pacific Ocean, get thee there quickly. There may be no better place to watch a ballgame in the U.S. of A. To get to the field, I needed to travel on Malibu Canyon Road and then turn right onto Pacific Coast Highway. At that intersection, just a few hundred yards to the west, is a single set of baseball fields that may offer an even nicer view than the one at Pepperdine. At that corner sits the perfectly named Bluffs Park, the home of Malibu Little League. On the right day, you can hear the waves crashing while shagging balls in the outfield at Bluffs Park. Here you feel like you could actually hit a ball into the ocean (Note: You can’t).

As I made the right turn, and saw the baseball complex out of the corner of my eye, a chill went up my spine. You see, it was there, on the Pony diamond, in midst of all that beauty, where I had the worst game of my entire baseball career (and that is saying something). It was a Saturday afternoon; I was 12 years old. We were playing a scrimmage against a team from Malibu Little League, and were happy to be the visitors at their incredible facility.

Now here it is important to note that from the time I picked up a bat until the final time I slammed one down at Sancet Stadium in Tucson, Ariz., I could always hit the baseball. I was a contact hitter – I didn’t hit for much power, but I did hit for average. On days that I wasn’t feeling it, I could work a walk like Juan Soto. I never struck out much. To me, the only thing worse than making an error in the field was the slow walk back to the dugout after swinging through (or, G-d forbid, looking at) strike three. (Note: In the ‘80s and ‘90s, strikeouts were frowned upon, not something simply to be expected as one of the three true outcomes. In fact, the year this story occurred, MLB players suffered nearly 50% less strikeouts than they did in 2023.)

But this day in Malibu, with the breeze blowing in and the sun shining bright, was something special. On this Saturday, I came to the plate four times, which is not bad for a seven-inning game. I saw 14 pitches over those four at-bats. Last season, the MLB average was 3.91 pitches per plate appearance, so my 3.5/PA wasn’t too shabby. The difference is that I struck out four times, with my 29” aluminum bat never making contact with that 5 oz. piece of leather. Breaking it down, I struck out on three pitches twice, and on four pitches twice. I batted four times and accomplished a golden sombrero needing only two pitches over the minimum to get there. Suffice it to say, there was no ice cream for me afterwards. 

The game was so awful, my performance so dreadful, that I actually shook it off pretty quickly. I couldn’t do much more than laugh. One of my coaches said to me, “It’s just one of those days.” In the moment, I sincerely hoped that the plural would never be necessary. And lucky for me, it never was. But that day, nearly 40 years on, still lingers, still sits like a pit in my stomach, and still brought a shiver when I passed that infernal baseball diamond on my way to watch my nephew do great things.

Baseball is the best sport. It sticks with you. It brings you joy and pain. I recently started playing in a Sunday softball league, and I was astonished by my muscle memory. Having spent the better part of my childhood fielding grounders and chasing fly balls, my body intuitively knew where to go and how to react and when to bend. Drop-stepping and making a play on a fly ball to left field at 52 years of age nearly brought more joy than striking out four times on 14 pitches brought pain, if that makes sense. The game, once ingrained, never leaves you.

My nephew is having a terrific year. He cracked the starting lineup a few weeks back, is hitting over .300, and was nominated for the WCC Freshman of the Week at the end of April. He will have good days and bad days ahead, but hopefully he never experiences a day like I had in 1984 at Bluffs Park. But even if he does, he can hang his hat (rather than his head) on the fact that he is a legitimate Division I college baseball player, he is living his dream. And, in so many ways, he is living mine.