Life In The Minors
AS I sat on our trusty Beck Bus while heading out on our three-game road series against the Springfield Capitals, I got a little nostalgic. A look back at
many nurturing
coaches, friendsEven with Dave Hollister blaring on my headphones, the soundtrack to whatever movie playing at the time on the team bus and the hum of the bus' tires on the open highway, I could not deter my mind from tracing back two years.
In the summer of 1999, I sat on a similar Beck Bus, with the same bus driver and the same manager, riding off to the same destination to make my first professional pitching appearance for the Evansville Otters.
As I warmed up in the visitor's bullpen getting ready to make my entry into my first Frontier League contest back, a million and one thoughts raced through my head. Most prevalent were the hundreds of faces and voices who had taught me the game and nurtured my love for the sport my parents probably hoped I would out grow of someday.
Those same thoughts and emotions are again racing through my mind.
How did a kid who started his baseball career playing for a Little League team on a pineapple plantation team in Poamoho, just outside of Wahiawa, end up getting to chase his dream as a player, and then a coach? Why me?
Well, I believe that I have been very fortunate to cross the paths and stand on the shoulders of many who have elevated me to live a life that I used to dream of as I pitched tennis balls to imaginary batters who stood only in my imagination in our front yard on Glenview Place in Wahiawa.
I never liked baseball because I was told to, or because my Dad was some kind of baseball fanatic. I remember watching Pete Rose batting in an NBC Game of the Week as a kid, and I was hooked.
My dad never really was a ballplayer. He opted to go a different route. But as a kid growing up, I will always remember him coming home from work, with photocopies of baseball books on hitting and pitching.
And I remember him walking down with me to Wahiawa Elementary to catch for me so I could practice pitching. Once I was in the eighth grade or so, the catching part got a little tougher for him. He would squat down and give me a target as I nailed every bare inch of his legs, arms, and chest with fastball after fastball. He would make the long walk home with a slight limp, and a few bruises on his shins. But he never said no, and he never complained. Lord knows why.
And of course there was my Mom, who pretty much put up with my love of baseball. Although she definitely had hoped I would stick more with music or my studies, she gritted her teeth when I told her I was going to play ball at the University of Hawaii-Hilo after high school.
But she always came around in the end. Even when I told her I was taking off to play pro ball two years ago, and taking leave from my job at the University of Hawaii.
And there was my big brother Gavan --never really much of a baseball player, either, although he did excel in other sports. Never knew a guy so proud of his little brother. During my senior season at UH-Hilo, he drove from Florida to Southern California to watch me pitch against No. 1 Cal State Fullerton. I thought he was nuts. But he made the trip in three days in his little gold Acura Integra. I still think he's nuts.
The coaches I had always instilled in me a passion for the game. I believe my first coaches really played the biggest part in me sticking with baseball. Tatsuo Ige, my coach with the Wahiawa Blue Jays, always treated me just like a son, and passed on his love for baseball. He taught us fun, fundamentals, and friendship, and never let us shortchange ourselves, no matter how many packs of cigarettes we drove him to smoke. And there were Mr. Ige's assistants, Rowdy Ige, Lawrence Kawamoto and Felix Abear. Mr. Kawamoto was my very first official pitching coach. Mr. Abear was a straight-up nut, and had the best knuckleball I have ever seen. Coach Rowdy threw some killer bunting practice --literally.
My uncle Jimmy Hirayama and my uncle Stanley Nakasone were also coaches with the mighty Blue Jays, and they always gave in to their nagging nephew whenever he wanted to throw some, or take some batting practice during the offseason. My aunty Setsuko, uncle Stanley's wife, used to let me come over and pitch against her wall, once the wall in my front yard began to crack in sixth grade. Plus, her wall was bigger, so I could work on my curves.
Peter Dangaran coached me next, and then Eddie Kubo, who gave me my first taste of baseball at the next level. Mr. Kubo mentored several players who he helped move on to play college ball as coach of the local 18-and-under team in an area where baseball was not the biggest thing. He gave me a decade of valuable advice in a matter of months.
In high school, I had the top catcher/best friend an aspiring pitcher could ask for. There would never be a day that I wouldn't drag Paul Soriano down to the nearby schoolyard to catch some pitches for me. He'd always grumble a little, so I'd have to offer to throw him unlimited batting practice to make sure he'd come. We'd practice, and then go home and talk about how the '86 Mets were the best team in the history of the world, and eat all of his mom's leftovers from the night before.
Whether all of these people --as well as virtually every other coach and teammate I have ever had -- are aware of it or not, they all are with me, and have been with me in each and every professional and college game that I have ever been a part of. I never fear when I take the mound, or now prepare my pitchers to take the mound, because I have the strength and soul of all of them.
I truly hope that they all know that they have helped me achieve my life's dreams, and always will.
Brendan Sagara, a former University of Hawaii-Hilo pitcher,
is in his first season as a pitching coach for the
Dubois County (Ind.) Dragons