He sits there next to my mom and dad in the stands dressed the same no matter the weather. Flannel shirt, baseball cap, and khaki colored pants. He makes it to a couple of games a year when the farm is at its slowest. As I glance up from the bullpen he’s once again found someone he knows to talk to. No matter where he goes in this state he’ll know somebody.

It’s no surprise really, he’s been part of his community for a long time. He made the family name recognized in Spokane. As far back as I can remember he’s been selling his produce to local stores. The “Valley Fresh” or “Grown Locally” signs found in the supermarket could have just as easily read “Grown by Elmer Utecht”.

He’s always been a farmer and always well be.

But today he takes time out of the fields and makes the 400 mile drive with my parents to watch me sit here in the bullpen waiting to see if I’ll play. He wears the OC hat I bought him last year with pride. His grandson playing baseball in college…he couldn’t be prouder.  

The game has changed a lot since he was a kid. Back then you listened huddled around a radio, you played in the field with a stick and anything remotely round, and you bought baseball cards for the gum. Gloves didn’t cost $100s of dollars. A bat was anything that felt right in your hand, and major leaguers played because they loved the game.There was no free-agency, no talk of salary caps or steroid use.

Time has changed baseball in so many ways yet the basics of the game, the reason why I love it so much, remain the same. They say this game is 90% mental and 10% physical and that it’s the hardest thing to do in all sports: Hit a round ball with a round bat square. It’s the only sport where if you are successful just 35% of the time you go to the hall of fame. And if you hit safely 40% of the time…well….I’m not sure what would happen as it hasn’t been done for a long time.

He loves sports and although today I didn’t get to play he’ll have some comment about the umpires. He always does. It’s either the strike zone, or a close call at a base, but some how some way he’ll find something to talk about. I just smile as we go out to dinner and he recaps the game for me talking about different players, different plays, and of course the umps.

As we talk over dinner I remember the time we all went to the King Dome to watch the Mariners play. I had to be around 10 then and it was the first time for both of use to be in the King Dome and watching the Mariners live. Of course he wore the same then as he does now. Flannel shirt, baseball cap, and khaki colored pants. I’m not sure which one of us was more awe struck being in the King Dome. A place we’d seen on TV so many times. He rarely missed a game on the television and when he’d come over for dinner he’d always let us know the game was on. He loved all sports. No matter the season he had something to comment on, something to talk about. 

This year as a new baseball season begins I’ll be thinking of my grandfather and the times we shared around this game. Whether talking about Mariner players, my college days, or my time in high school, he was always willing to talk. This year he gets to watch the game from high above, and I’m sure from time to time umpires will hear him in their ears.

Thanks gramps for the memories and let another baseball season begin. 

Dedicated to Elmer Utecht
February 9, 1928 – March 2, 2011

I throw another hand full of seeds into my month and wrap my jacket tighter around me.

Man it’s cold today…wish the wind would quit blowing….I’m freezen!

We’re in the second game of another weekend doubleheader at home. We’re up by a run going into the 7th inning. As cold as I am I can’t believe she’s still here, in the stands, watching this game. Why doesn’t she go sit in the car? Or why is she even still here?

She sits there huddled in her blanket by herself, just watching. She likes baseball….or so she tells me. She comes to every game she can, and even some she can’t by rearranging her work schedule and having someone cover for her at Olive Garden so she can be here…..sitting in the stands, on hard bleachers….watching me…..sit here on this hard bench spitting seeds.

That’s the thing about being a relief pitcher, you do a lot of sitting around, a lot of watching baseball rather than playing it, and a lot of charts…..so many charts.

Yet she sits there, willing to watch and wait to see if this is the game I’ll play in. I can tell she’s cold, heck she’s always cold, but today it’s freezing.

We’ve only known each other for 3 months, happened to take a couple classes together last quarter and then ended up signing up for extra credit in biology by going to elementary schools and teaching kids about microscopes. That’s where we met…..in our professor’s car full of microscopes on the way to an elementary school. We started talking, and have been talking ever since. There’s nothing romantic about it, we’re just friends….good friends, and as good friends do she’s her to support me…..sitting on this bench….chewing on some sunflower seeds.

“Utecht! You’re up!”

I look down toward the dugout where the pitching coach is standing making the number 1 with his left hand and number 2 with his right to indicate my number. He then gives the sign that means hurry up and get warm.

I peel off my jacket and instantly the numbing cold that has been slowly making its way into my bones the past 16 innings of sitting here is gone, replaced with a rush of adrenaline. I grab my mitt drop it on the mound and quickly sprint to the outfield wall and back to loosen my legs. As I run back in I take in the situation on the field.

Men on 1st and 2nd….how many outs (looking at the score board) 1 out, full count. Come on Corey….roll a double play and get out of this.

I get back to the mound a little out of breath and the catcher is waiting for me with a ball. We play catch next to the mound snapping the ball back and fourth to each other as quickly as possible to get my arm loose.

Our pitcher walked the batter and now the bases are loaded with one out. The coach steps out of the dugout again and looks down the sideline at me giving the hurry up and get warm sign. I was always known for getting warm quickly and obviously coach doesn’t want me wasting any time.

Come on Corey…..ground ball and you’re out of it.

I step up on the mound in the bullpen and the catcher squats behind the plate and I start to throw.

Fastball, Fastball, Change Up

CRACK!

I stop throwing and look up to see a base hit into left field. The left fielder gets to the ball quickly and gets it back in….only one run scores.

Fastball, Change Up

The coach walks out to the mound to have a talk with the pitcher, as he does he glances down to me.

He’s not bringing me in now is he? I’ve only thrown like 5 pitches.

Fastball, Curve, Fastball

The umpire walks out to the mound to tell the coach he has to go back to the dugout or make a change. The coach points down to the bullpen indicating that he’ll make a change…..and I’m it.

“Utecht! You’re in!”

Crap! I’m not warm….I didn’t even have time to focus on location!

I throw one more fastball to the catcher and then jog into the game. The coach and catcher are waiting for me on the mound.

“You ready?”

There’s only one response…and every baseball player knows what it is.

“Yep….I’m ready.”

“Good….1 Out bases juiced….get us out of this Utecht!”

“You got it coach!”

He puts the ball in my glove and turns to head back to the dugout. The catcher puts his mitt over his mouth so the other team can’t read his lips when we’re talking.

“The usual?” he says and I can see the grin on his face through his glove.

“Yeah….the usual….two pitches and let’s get out of here!”

He jogs back to the plate and I get 10 pitches to warm up.

At least they give me 10 pitchers out here….heck that’s more I got in the pen! OK….now focus….Fastball outside corner.

POP! The ball hits the catcher’s mitt on the outside corner of the plate.

That’s good now fastball again, you can’t show the change-up now….the guys standing right there getting the timing down….only fastballs.

POP!

To high….you leave the pitch up there and you’ll make this guy a hero Utecht….keep the ball down…follow through.

POP!

Better….now come inside…paint the corner nice and low, follow through.

POP!

OK….now a curve ball….let him know you have something other than a fastball.

POP!

I get the ball back from the catcher and turn around and head back up the mound for the next pitch. I take a deep breath and throw.

I get the ball back from the catcher again and this time I see her sitting there, just off to the right of the catcher four rows up in the stands, huddled up in her blanket. She sees me see her and she smiles.

Keep the ball down Utecht…..

It’s a strange thing when you’re playing baseball. In that moment on the mound there are few things you hear. I can’t hear the other team cheering on their teammate at the plate, or my own team behind me cheering me on. No….I only hear the wind and my thoughts.

I throw my last warm up pitch, get the ball back from the catcher and head back up the mound.

“Utecht…you and me on a come backer” the shortstop yells at me. I nod my head to let him know that I heard him and get ready to do my job.

The catcher gives the sign…..fastball!

Outside corner, keep the ball down and make it count!”

My specialty is getting guys out with just two pitches. I have great location (most of the time). I’m not over powering topping out at around 78mph but I have a change-up that’s pretty good.

In baseball it’s all about location and speed. The change-up works in that it looks like a fastball, moves like a fastball but it travels around 10mph less than a fastball. Research shows that the human brain takes about 20 seconds to forget location and speed of an object. So if you can through your fastball followed by a change-up within 20 second of each other and locate them close enough to the plate, the human brain sees the same pitch, swings the same way, and if all goes as planned hits a slow roller to the shortstop.

“STRIKE!” the umpire yells

Perfect….now change nothing, think fastball and let the grip do the work.

My teammates behind me all know what’s coming next. I’m not throwing this pitch to get a strike out, I just want to get the batter out on his front foot, take hi
s power away, and have him roll a nice ground ball to the shortstop. We turn a double play and go bat.

I get the ball back from the catcher and I can’t help but glance up at her sitting there. A grin on her face as we’ve talked about this exact situation more times than she’s probably wanted to. She knows what’s next, we all know what’s next….except the batter.

The catcher gives the sign…..change-up!

Think fastball, think fastball, think fastball

As soon as the ball leaves my hand I know it’s going where I want it to…low outside part of the plate. The batter starts his swing, his brain then realizes that he’s started to early and tries to hold up, but it’s to late, his muscles have already committed to swinging the bat. He makes contact and the ball bounces about two feet in front of the plate and I catch it waste high. I turn, make a solid throw to 2nd base, there’s nobody there but he’ll be there. As the ball sails over the bag, seemingly out of nowhere the shortstop is there, catches the ball, sweeps his foot across the back of the bag, and throws to first base. The runner at first is out by two steps. A perfect double play!

Yes!!!!

I turn like every pitcher does, pretending that it’s just another out and slowly walk to the dugout. As I start to walk, the noise of the crowd cheering hits me. I look up in the stands to see her there clapping and a big smile across her face. I wink at her, put my head back down, and make my way into the dug out.

That’s it for me….my day is done, two pitches, two outs. I put my jacket back on, get a couple more high fives in the dugout, and start rooting on my teammates now at bat.

She watches the rest of that game, and will watch every game she can of mine from that day forward.

14 years later as I play pickup games here and there, she’s still there, sitting in the stands, about 4 rows behind the catcher just to the right. That same little smile that only I can see, and an understanding of my love for this game that only she gets.

As another baseball season begins today I’m excited to spend yet another season watching baseball with my wife. She truly is a baseball fan. We listen or watch games here in Thailand over the Internet together and spend our summers at Safeco Field in Seattle cheering on our favorite team. So here’s to you my love, may this baseball season be another one to remember.

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!

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

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.”

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

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

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