Category Archives: Minor League Moments

Promotional Jerseys Add to Minor League Fun

Per request, I will pen another chapter in the, “This only happens in Minor League baseball” series. The subject of this installment is promotional jerseys, which are those unique creations that players wear during a one-time promotion or fundraiser.

This link inspired Chad’s request, and I will now run through a top 5 list comprised of the most outlandish jerseys that I have worn as a Minor Leaguer. The criterion that I used is limited to the following question that a player asks upon entering the clubhouse and seeing his team’s jersey for the night: “I’m going to play in that??” Regardless of whether he is asking the question because he is happily impressed or appalled, that question is the sole basis for the following rankings.

The Top 5

(5) Green and Yellow Hawaii Pattern: We wear these every Friday in Jackson as part of “Margaritaville Fridays.”

(4) Pink Camouflage: We wore these as a promotion to raise money against breast cancer. The jerseys were auctioned off after the game; my mom now owns the one with #38 on the back.

(3) Flaming Purple: ’Bright purple’ would not be descriptive enough to explain the fluorescence of these jerseys worn on Alzheimer’s Awareness night. The clubhouse reaction to these was strong enough to put them high on the list.

(2) Stormtrooper Uniform: During the night when the Bounty Hunter and other Star Wars characters cruised around Pringles Park, the rest of the Generals and I wore white jerseys with strategically placed marks that outlined our utility belts and other Stormtrooper gear. It is my hope that we played for the Dark Side on only one night this season.

(1) Backwards Jerseys: In High Desert the front office hosted a backwards night; the 7th inning stretch took place in the 3rd, Wooly Bully wasn’t introduced until the 9th, and us High Desert Mavericks wore “Backwards Jerseys.” If you’re in Southern California and considering going to a Mavericks game or an Angels game, maybe you should consider which will offer you a chance at seeing the jersey below.

Backwards Night in High Desert

Promotional jerseys are only one piece of that unique composition which comes together every summer night across America; the composition, called Minor League baseball, is indisputably a great source of family-friendly enjoyment, and will be ending before September does–I suggest that you head out for a Minor League Moment before the season becomes the offseason, before Thirsty Thursdays turn back to regular Thursdays.

There truly is nothing like Minor League baseball

After just over 2 full seasons in Minor League baseball, it is time that I accept the following fact: I am going to witness strangeness. Fairly often, that strangeness comes in the form of mid-inning promotions. Until recently, though, I would have difficulty choosing a clear winner in the category: weirdest mid-inning promotion of all time. Thanks to creative minds in North Carolina, my choice is now an easy one.

A staple and an undeniably enjoyable part of Minor League baseball, mid-inning promotions are those family-friendly, local-business sponsored, off-the-wall creative events that take place between selected innings during a Minor League game. Although the promotions vary by stadium, some common examples are the dizzy-bat race, the mascot vs. cute kid race around the bases, and the mascot vs. fan dance-off. These are a few of the more generic mid-inning games. As you are about to find out, a stadium’s staff will occasionally venture far, far off the promotionally beaten path.

At some point during the middle of our first game against the Carolina Mudcats, I looked up, then thought, “this can’t be what I think it is.” I looked a little closer and realized, “this is exactly what I think it is.” Unfortunately, I don’t remember the exact name of the promotion or the company that sponsored it, so I will just explain what I saw. There were 3 kids on each team, and they were in a race. The race was similar to a potato sack race. However, instead of collaborating inside one large potato sack, each team worked together inside one enormous pair of whitey-tighties.

That’s right, it was a team vs. team race whereby each set of 3 children was informed that they were to step together into the largest pair of underwear* they had ever seen–if whales wore underwear they’d need a smaller size. Each team of 3 was to then run as fast as possible to a nearby cone, turn around, and run back. The first trio to cross the finish line still wearing its collective undies would be declared the winner.

The crowd roared, likely with laughter, and loved it. The kids loved it. The underwear? Well, the underwear was put under a lot of stretch.. In spite of the strangeness, the promotion was a success. Yes, if I were a baseball fan living near Zebulon, NC, I would surely look forward to my next opportunity to attend Five County Stadium, grab a hot dog and peanuts, catch some AA Mudcat action, and watch local children race each other in the infamous underwear race.

 

*Disclosure: The children remained fully clothed during the entirety of the event.

 

 

What free time does to a pitcher: cools him down

The largest amount of creativity on any baseball field will almost always be found in its bullpen. Our bullpen’s pre-BP antics before Monday’s game are but one example of that creativity at work. I should begin by presenting the definition of a ‘cool-down:’

A cool-down: an aerial delivery of cold water by one player into                             another player’s face or down the back of his jersey; the purpose of a                   cool-down is to cool down a teammate — Sample Sentence: Hey                       Moran, Penney wants a cool-down.

Now, typically, cool-downs will be isolated incidents whereby one player, usually a bullpen pitcher, is feeling especially in need of cold water to the face or back. However, on this blogworthy day, our bullpen took cool-down activity to an unprecedented level. We decided the heat of the day elicited a more aggressive and simultaneous delivery of cool-downs.

As such, we gathered in a large circle around home plate in the Mississippi Braves’ visiting bullpen. We were to count to 3, at which point each member of the circle would thrust his cup of icy water into the face of any other member of the circle. We began the countdown: 3-2… of course, one especially eager member of the bullpen pulled the trigger early. As he blasted water into the face of his neighbor, everyone looked around, shocked. The trigger puller’s neighbor returned the favor, quickly seeking vengeance. Chaos ensued, and everyone, laughing, got soaked. At this point, a normal person would chuckle off the preceding event and head out into the outfield, hoping his shirt would dry before batting practice started. Bullpen pitchers are not normal people.

So.. we quickly thought through what we could do next. We decided upon the creation of a cool-down firing squad. The way it worked: the first shooter of ice water chose his victim, stepped back, and delivered a well-aimed and powerful blow to his mate’s face or chest. Forced to face the attack, each respective victim stood with his back against the brick wall while he received a dousing onslaught. As a reward for his bravery, the now wetter member of our group was allowed to choose the man whom he would next drench. With fire in his eyes, the victim turned perpetrator then did his best to deliver an equally crushing yet cooling shot.

I know what you’re thinking. That sounds awesome!!! You’re right, it was.

Unfortunately, we lost the game later that night and so have yet repeat any major cool-down activity. Baseball superstition: 1; Cool-downs: 0

The Beginning of a Marathon

The energy and freshness with which Spring Training began gradually turned to a lull. As we progressed toward the last day of camp, the day’s main source of anticipation revolved around the clubhouse bulletin board. Each morning, I sauntered nervously toward the board and sheepishly looked up, hoping that my name remained on the AA roster. Alongside many of my peers, I held my breath for 6 days. Then, finally, before boarding the plane to Nashville, I exhaled a long release of relief. I was really doing it—happy and excited, I broke camp with the Jackson Generals.

It is truly a joy, once again, to be geographically close to my family. Adding exhilaration, this is my first season pitching in AA, the organic chemistry of baseball; to baseballers, it’s clear that this is the level that separates the boys of summer from the men who drive Range Rovers. Our season started 3 days after our initial trip into Jackson, and the energy was building every hour.

Following a bus trip into Pearl, Mississippi, we prepared to face my hometown team’s AA squad, the Mississippi Braves. The rush, the blood pulsing through my veins, quickened when I laid eyes on the Tomahawk laden scoreboard. When Stephen Penney was called into the game as our first reliever, I opened my eyes wide and was agog with an anxious eagerness. The electricity I felt as I saw Penney jog onto the battlefield is comparable to my feeling when I watched Michael Schwimer trek to the mound to face Georgia Tech during my first ACC series as a Cavalier. In each instance, I sat in the bullpen, my heart racing, my gaze fixed upon an unforgettably wonderful yet terrifying scene, thinking, “Wow, he’s really about to do this,” followed by, “Yikes, I may be next.”

Amidst the rush of our first series, I was eventually summoned to pitch. Regrettably, I did not pitch well. As a disgrace to the way the game should be played, I walked two batters, including one walk that brought in a run. With the start of the season still moving at a frenzied pace, I got a chance in series two to bounce back. With a 1-2-3 inning I jumped back on the horse, and it felt great. The rush continues, and I look up—we’re 21 games in.

At some moment between day one and today, I realized that I have been here before, contextually, anyway. I know this race; I ran it last year. The rhythm of the days, the routine of the workouts, the daily baseball tossing: this territory looks familiar. And as I pause to breathe, I realize, once again, that I have entered myself into a Minor League Marathon. The mile marker reads “2.” My work has just begun.

My pause ending, my breathing slowed, it is time for me to put my head back down and work through the 26th mile.

Working on a Dream, Awaiting a Season

The 2010 season ended on September 9th, the day we, the High Desert Mavericks, were ousted from the California League Playoffs. The offseason ends today, March 6th, report date for Minor League pitchers and catchers.

The in-season job of a professional baseball player is similar in many ways to that of a typical American career; the offseason job, similar in just about zero ways to that of a typical profession. With hundreds of employees, the Seattle Mariners Baseball Club is a large company. If I worked for a different large company–Boeing let’s call it–I would likely be in the office 5 days a week. For the Mariners I stay away from my “office” from September until March. For Boeing my boss would sit down the hall from me and check in a few times a day on my progress. For the Mariners? My boss hangs out in Arizona while I train on the East Coast for 5 months. As far as I know, these coaches (or bosses) may only exist for half the year and spend the rest with Batman and the tooth fairy. Whether that’s true or not, our coaches do hand us an almost uncomfortable amount of independence for the offseason. We are given two instructions: show up to Spring Training ready to go, and don’t do anything stupid (i.e. don’t get arrested, and don’t live off of French fries and strawberry soda).

However strange my existence as an in or offseason Minor League baseball player, none of it can take away from the best part of being a professional baseball player: I am given an opportunity to work towards that truly American dream of one day delivering a pitch from the center of a sold out Major League stadium.

From the day I stepped into the former Fulton County Stadium I was hooked. The seductive sensations of the stadium stole forever my heart and mind. The aromas of hot dogs and salty peanuts, the unmistakable crack of a wooden bat, and the greenest grass on Earth: add to that the super heroes playing on the field, and it’s clear I never had a chance.

Now, I am blessed with an opportunity to every day work towards becoming a part of that enchanting American magic that we know as baseball. In 2009 I was fortunate to live through a dream when a group of Cavaliers played in Omaha’s Rosenblatt Stadium. As no surprise, I am now eager and excited to put my head down and work for all I’m worth to live through another one.

 

I appreciate anyone who, throughout my journey, takes the time to browse through this blog and my musings. On this site I will be keeping folks updated with an inside look into a Minor League life. Along the way, I’ll be posting general thoughts from my perspective on America’s greatest sport. Please feel free to comment or e-mail me with any question that you have or have ever had regarding professional baseball, college baseball, youth baseball, the recruiting process, long bus trips, or the like.

Again, thank you.