The Thinking Stick » baseball

The Game Cont….

Jeff Utecht — Mon, 06 Apr 2009 03:29:27 +0000

I sit on the bus plays running through my head. It’s quiet…we’re all thinking about the game.

Runner on second line drive to left field….guys gonna try and score…I’m the cut off….catch and throw in one motion. Gotta be a strike to the plate.

Stay back….pick up the spin and stay back…keep your elbow up…and keep your weight back…remember that.

We arrive at Ferris High School and go through are usual warm up routine. I keep peaking to the spot where she always shows up. Of course the guys don’t see me looking and she’s not here yet…but I know she will be.

We take some batting practice.

Stay back…keep your weight back.

It doesn’t go well.

Crap! Quit pulling your head and keep your weight back.

I grab my mitt and sprint to the outfield to shag while my teammates get their turn at the plate.

As I sprint to my position I look over…she’s not here yet. Hope everything is OK…she’ll be here…she always is.

We finish taking infield and head to the dug out. We’re visiting so we’re up first. Another quick look at the line up. I’m batting 5th. I grab my bat and slowly turn it in my hands.

Have to stay back…this guy throws a lot of junk…pick it up early and keep your weight back.

As the game starts….I see her walking towards the field and a calm comes over me. As usual she’s driven straight from work. She has a green army blanket tucked under one arm and is carrying her folding lawn chair in the other. She has her CV visor on and is bundled up ready for the game.

She sets up in her usual spot. I’ve been playing ball on this field for at least 5 years..and always the same spot. Just to the right of the third base dugout and just past third base. She unfolds her chair sits down and wraps herself up in the blanket.

She sees me looking and gives me a quick smile. I feel a small grin come across my face.

I get up to bat.

Stay back….keep your elbow up.

As I step into the batter’s box I hear her.

“Here you go Jeffers!”

The same thing she has said to me every time I’ve stepped into the batters box for as long as I can remember.

It’s not a good at bat….I strike out watching a fastball paint the outside corner.

What was that? Why didn’t I swing…it was a perfect pitch….crap!

“That’s OK….get him next time”

The same thing she hollers every time I strike out.

I run back to the dugout…grab my mitt and sprint to Shortstop. I go through my regular routine…baseball is all about routines. I smooth out where I’m going to stand with my cleats, and try to forget about the strike out. Baseball’s tough that way. You can’t take the bat on the field with you and you can’t take your mitt to the plate. It’s easier said then done though.

First batter hits a ground ball right at me…field and throw.

That felt good…that’s what you get for striking me out!

“YES! Why to go Jeffers!”

She’s sitting almost horizontal to me just outside the third base line. She has the best seat to see every play I make.

The next two guys strike out and as I sprint back into the dugout, I look over and she waves a Gatorade bottle at me.

I drop my mitt in its usual place and then walk out of the dugout to fetch my Gatorade.

“Nice throw!”

“Thanks.”

As I drink half the bottle of Gatorade right then and there.

“You need some seeds?”

“No, I have some.”

“You have to keep your back elbow up you’ve been dropping it lately.”

“I know Mom!” I snap back

“I know you know…I’m just telling you!”

“I know!”

“Dad says he throw a lot of off speed stuff.”

“Yeah….wasn’t expecting the fastball on that count.”

“Don’t think…you think to much.”

“I know.”

“Just play.”

“I KNOW!”

“K…..”

I take the Gatorade and walk back to the dugout.

Two innings later I get up to bat again.

“Here you go Jeffers!”

As usual she’s the only person I hear in the stands….I swear she’s the only fan here although I know there are at least a couple dozen others.

Second pitch is a curve ball…I wait on it…keep my weight back, my elbow up and hit a line drive in the gap between center and right field. As I slide into second for the double I hear her again.

“Way to go! That a boy!”

“I told you to keep your back elbow up!” I hear her yell will her hands cupped on either side of her mouth so the sound travels right throw the ear hole in my helmet. I look at her….smile and she grins and claps.

This post is dedicated to my mom who was always my biggest fan. She is an elementary school principal and through out my playing days no matter what the sport she was always there. Like most every teenager, I never stopped to think about what it must have been like for her. An elementary principal who had to leave school at 3pm sharp to drive the 10 minutes, 30 minutes, 1 1/2 hours…whatever it took to make the start of the game. She only ever called me “Jeffers” when I was playing sports and no matter how packed the stands were…her voice was always the one I would hear. She always made sure I had Gatorade, or water, or seeds or my jock strap for that matter. She was my biggest fan, my agent, my calendar, my support. No matter how good or poorly I played she always remembered the good plays. I could strike out 3 times and make one good throw and she’d talk about the one good throw.

So here’s to you mom….as the 2009 baseball season gets underway. I’m thinking of all those games…all those summers where you drove here and there to watch me play.

Let the season begin!

The Game

Jeff Utecht — Tue, 01 Apr 2008 00:20:39 +0000

I lay there half awake thinking about The Game.

Ball hit to your left, man on first….under hand to second.

Ball hit deep in the hole, back hand, plant and throw….the guy’s quick so it needs to be on a line.

Man on third ball hit down the line….stop the ball no matter what it takes, look him back and throw hard to first.

Counts 1-2 what’s he throwin’? What’s the pitch?

Keep your elbow up.

Smooth…must be smooth.

Don’t over think….just play….you know this game.

As the plays continue to roll through my head uncontrollably, I hear the familiar steps of my alarm clock coming up the stairs.

Who am I today? I think to myself as my door opens. Am I Brooks Robinson, Cal Ripken Jr., maybe Omar Vizquel. Although I had that good hit yesterday maybe I’m Olerud?

“Hey Brooks,” as he bends over and gives me a gentle shake.

“Hey…you awake?”

I knew it, I knew it was Brooks today! Trying to keep him from seeing the smile spread across my face.

“Hey Brooks….time to get up”

“Yeah” I mumble, “I know.”

“You know they called him the ‘Human Vacuum Cleaner’ nothing got by him.”

“I know Dad.”

“You should have seen him…one of my favorites.”

“I know”

“You got NC today right?”

“Yeah”

“Watch Richardson, he’s been a hitting fool lately.”

As if he didn’t already know who we were playing against today and as usual he had already read the paper, analyzed the box scores from yesterday’s game and wanted me to know this little bit of information.

“I think he’s number 15….ripping it up he has…and quick too… gonna have to be quick on the release.”

“K” I respond just wishing he’d let me go back to sleep.

“OK…get up Brooks,” one final shake and I hear him as he makes his way back down the stairs.

For 17 years he’s been teaching me this game, and every morning during the season I get woken up being a different hero.

As the day wears on The Game continues to run through my head. I can’t concentrate in class, I can’t focus on much of anything.

2-2 what’s he got? Lefty throwin’ today…damn I hate lefties. Gotta watch the rotation, gotta pick it up early.

I barely eat any lunch, as the clock ticks closer to game time, the nerves continue to grow deep in my gut.

“You ready?” he says as he passes me in the hallway, putting a hand on my shoulder.

I shrug, “Yeah…nervous but that’s usual.” Having your Dad teach at your high school can be strange at times, but comforting at others.

“Just go out there and play ball Brooks….just play ball.”

He continues to walk down the hallway as I stop at my locker to get books for the next class.

Where am I playing today? Trevor’s pitching for us…that usually means shortstop.

More nerves but also relief…I love playing shortstop.

The bell rings and the locker room is quiet. It’s game day, everyone is focused…running through situations in their head. Baseball is a mental game 90% mental they say. No mental mistakes.

Ball hit to my left….field, spin, and throw.

We hit the field where in the dug out we find the line up for today. Hitting 7th and playing shortstop.

Trevor’s pitching….a lot of ground balls.

We’re done taking in-field, nerves make my stomach ache, as a nice sweat break out on my brow.

We’re the home team and it’s time to take the field. Coach gets us all together.

“1,2,3…BEARS!”

I sprint to my position, and as per routine start smoothing out my spot with my cleats. Field a ball from the first baseman and fire it back.

Focus….don’t over think….stay down…field before you throw.

I continue to smooth out my spot and look up to find him standing in his usual spot. Just to the right of the bleachers a pack of David’s in his hand.

He sees me, smiles, winks and nods his head ever so slightly so that only I see it, spits some seeds on the ground as the Umpire yells “PLAY BALL.”

This post is dedicated to my dad who for 17 years taught me how to play and love the game of baseball. For 17 years, I never used an alarm clock as each and every day he woke me up for school…although baseball season was the best. I woke ever morning being a hero.

It is the first day of the 2008 season…and this is all that is running through my head. All the times he was there in the stands, all the morning he woke me up…and as a true teenager, never appreciating it. It wasn’t until I was in college playing baseball and having an alarm clock wake me up that I realized just how much I appreciated those mornings, those days, that gentle nod in the stands.

Here’s to you dad…let’s enjoy another season of baseball!

[tags]baseball[/tags]

Technorati Tags: baseball, hero, brooksrobinson, calripken, omarvizquel, johnolreud, davidseeds

The half life of Knowledge

Jeff Utecht — Thu, 03 May 2007 00:51:39 +0000

From Tim Lauer:

via theonino.com

In what Major League Baseball officials are calling a “long overdue correction of a gross oversight,” Commissioner Bud Selig announced Tuesday the discovery that Hall of Famer Hank Aaron had in fact accumulated 50 previously unaccounted-for home runs during his illustrious 22-year baseball career, bringing his once record total of 755 to an even higher 805 and putting the all-time home-run record perhaps forever out of reach.

We talk about the half life of knowledge and how half of what we know today will be out of date in three years in some fields of study. Well, baseball is no different. No the half life of this knowledge is a little over 3 years . But in the end what we use to know is no longer what we know. Although this little piece of knowledge doesn’t impact what I teach, or my students on a daily basis it still goes to show that you can’t stop learning. I just keep thinking about all the signs that have to be changed. Think of all the ballparks, the baseball hall of fame, and all the record books that now need to be changed, reprinted or scratched out. Not even the national pass time can escape the changing face of knowledge.

[tags]baseball, halflife[/tags]

Technorati Tags: baseball, Hank Aaron, halflife

It’s here…I can feel it

Jeff Utecht — Tue, 06 Feb 2007 06:02:00 +0000

I’ve been feeling it for a couple days now as the weather here has started to change, but today I’m feeling it. Call it the ‘itch’ or the 20 years I played the game…but there is something in my blood that just knows when the time has come. It hit 60F here for the first time today, and even though we’re do for a cool down it doesn’t matter…I can smell it. The grass will start to grow, the trees will soon start to bud. I took the Thinking Stick off the wall today in my office and just gave it a little swing. Ah, the feeling, the memories, the seasons.

Yes…it’s here in Shanghai…i can feel it. I’ll be working out extra hard in the gym tonight. Loosing the arm, getting my legs back in shape. I don’t play ball anymore, but it doesn’t matter….if they ever need me…I’ll be ready.

[tags]baseball[/tags]

Technorati Tags: thinkingstick, baseball, Jeff Utecht