[ LIFE IN THE MINORS ]
WHEN Greg Tagert called me this past January, it had been about six months since I had spoken with him. It had been about a year and a half since I had last seen the man who signed me to my first professional baseball contract. Cutting players is
among the toughest
aspects of coachingBy Brendan Sagara
Tag, as many have come to call the veteran minor league manager, had left a voice mail message on my cell phone while I was playing a little pick-up basketball in Klum Gym.
In between games of a one-on-one battle for bragging rights marathon with my good friend and roommate, Rick Kuwahara, I had a chance to check my phone for messages and found the voice mail indicator blinking.
The message was from Tagert.
He offered me the position I currently hold as the pitching coach for the Dubois County Dragons. Obviously, I accepted. I eagerly awaited the fun parts of coaching in an independent minor league, which included finding talent and putting a competitive team together.
In taking the job, I also knew that I would at some point be exposed to the agonizing reality of professional baseball -- having to say goodbye. With each of the 12 teams in the Frontier League limited to 24 roster spots, managers, general managers and directors of player personnel must fulfill their team's immediate needs by obtaining players either as free agents or through trades. I expect to see between 30 and 40 different faces in uniform for us this season.
To make room for new acquisitions, unfortunately, there are always casualties. Players come, players go. Guys get injured, traded and released. Some even retire when they realize that professional baseball is just not what they need anymore.
Injuries are generally the most tragic of the deaths.
Even the most fine-tuned athlete can be victimized. Pitchers blow out their arms, catchers get hurt in collisions, knees get torn and bones get broken.
Although we are only in our third week of the season, we have already encountered a very sad farewell. Our starting designated hitter had to hang up his spikes when chronic knee pain got the best of him.
When Andrew Clements was about 16, he had knee surgery. During the procedure, he had 80 percent of the cartilage in his right knee removed, and for seven years since, he had been playing and battling pain while chasing his dream. The pleasure of the game no longer outweighed the pain, so he said his goodbyes, jumped into his Toyota pick-up, and made the long, two-day trek back home to Vancouver, British Columbia.
But the toughest goodbye, at least for me, came just yesterday when we released one of our pitchers. As the pitching coach, I spend most of my 10-hour days at the ballpark with the 12 members of the pitching staff which, I might add, has established itself as one of the most dominant units in the league with an ERA in the low-3.00 range and a Frontier League-best 122 strikeouts in 133 innings.
But back to the release, which was especially tough because it was a player that I helped bring into our spring training. He was a guy who I had known previously, and had vouched for.
This pitcher had encountered some rough waters during his baseball career. Coming into camp, I was hoping that this next shot would work out for him and the team.
But the team and the pitcher we released had a difference in philosophy. It was not that he couldn't compete, it was just that he wasn't a good fit for our ballclub.
Whether he realizes it or not, it was a very tough decision. Not only was he one of our most talented pitchers, but he was a guy I was responsible for.
Getting called into the manager's office to learn of your release sends the coldest, cruelest chill through even the toughest player's body. For most, it's the end of a lifelong dream.
I never completely realized how harsh it feels from the other side of the desk, too.
Brendan Sagara is a former University of Hawaii-Hilo pitcher in his first season as pitching coach for the Dubois County (Ind.) Dragons.