Life in the Minors

By Brendan Sagara

Poke them in the ribs enough
and umpires become people, too

AS I have gone through life I have come to appreciate how rare a true friend is. Having a pal to share your life experiences with is even more rare.

As a senior on the UH-Hilo baseball team I remember watching a skinny, little walk-on shortstop from Kalani High School diving and sprinting and hustling everywhere. Whether he was coming up from a pile of dust after diving for a line drive in a fall intersquad scrimmage, or running into the fence while attempting to catch a pop fly in foul territory, I remember thinking to myself ... "Who the heck is this guy and what's wrong with him."

Of course there was nothing wrong with Ryan Arasato. He was just a hungry walk-on trying to make an impression. And it worked as he became the designated hitter for us on opening day that year.

During that season Ryan and I never really hung out much or even said much to each other. We were polar opposites. He was a freshman playing college ball for the first time, and I was a wily veteran in my fifth-year of baseball for the Vulcans. He was quiet, and I was, well, less quiet. He was a surfer guy from Kaimuki, while I spent a summer picking pineapples for Dole in Wahiawa. He had bleached hair, and, well, let's just say you won't catch me with a blond streak through my hair.

So the season came and went and I think that we must have said a sum total of about 10 words to each other, usually after an inning I had pitched or after he had scored a run.

The next school year Ryan and I found ourselves as neighbors in the apartment dorms in Hilo, when we really became friends. That year I taught him how to cook, while he helped me appreciate the New Kids on the Block a bit more. Actually, at all. We spent hours on Clinton Hernandez's PlayStation that year. I would jab Ryan in the ribs every time he beat me, and he would, well, just laugh at me for getting so worked up ... and then he would go ice his rib cage.

I taught him the appreciation for cigars I inherited from my Dad, and he, well, made me sit there and help him write letters to his girlfriend ... me being the writer and all.

I gave him pointers on how to keep his hands back on a slider, as he was probably trying to give me his dissertation on how the New Kids on the Block had revolutionized modern music.

He would be on the phone with his girlfriend who was studying abroad in Japan, as I smoked a cigar and made faces through the glass door of his balcony.

Ryan took so many protein drinks trying to bulk up for baseball that when he passed gas it just kinda clung to the walls and burned out all of my nostril hairs, prompting me to give him the nickname "Stinky" ... and jab him in the ribs.

Needless to say as the years passed, we shared several interests. Whether it was experimenting with wine tasting, boxing, singing karaoke or running football pass patterns in the middle of Kapiolani Park, we were always having a blast with our friends. Usually with me jabbing him in the ribs, as he just laughed at me.

Over the past three years, I have returned home to Hawaii to hang out with Ryan, and I would entertain him with some stories and experiences from the baseball season, usually as I jabbed him in the ribs and he just kinda laughed at me.

This January, after umpiring a college summer league, high school and youth leagues, Ryan decided he wanted to try to become a professional umpire. Well, when he broke the news to me, I laughed at first. Being a pitcher and now a pitching coach, I wasn't exactly fond of many of the men in blue. But once I climbed back onto the sofa, I realized that he was serious.

So off he went to Florida to umpiring school, where he excelled and was selected to be an umpire in the Single-A level Northwest League.

So now when he calls me during the summers we both share stories of our minor-league exploits. He tells me how neat it is to have former big leaguers like Steve Decker, Mike Aldrete and Jack Howell calling him by his first name, right about until they start preceding his name with expletives after close calls. I tell him about meeting the former big leaguers in the Frontier League like Joe Charboneau and Danny Cox and how we yell at the umpires here, too.

Ryan told me recently about the time one of the managers in the Northwest League ran from first base and slid into second to demonstrate how his player did not interfere with the double play being turned ... twice. As we both erupted in laughter, Ryan told me that the 50-something year-old skipper capped it all off by ripping second base from the ground and flinging it into shallow centerfield.

I told him about the time we showed up to play the Rockford Riverhawks and our uniforms were soaking wet, prompting our all-star third baseman and resident exhibitionist Dennis Pelfrey to show up for pregame batting practice in his batting helmet ... his spikes ... and his jock strap. Oh yeah, and his socks.

One thing I am definitely looking forward to this offseason is returning home to hang out with Ryan. I'm sure we'll spend many hours trading stories, puffing on cigars, and drinking wine ... as I jab him in the ribs, he laughs at me.