Life in the Minors
Brendan Sagara
No-hitter comes
when pitcher
needs it mostDays like this remind me how important baseball, sports or any other form of recreation or entertainment can be to us all.
With the harsh realities of life and its accompanying pressures looming over our heads, we all need something to smile about at times. The war in Iraq. Personal finances. Personal tragedies. Even just the doldrums of daily existence can wear us thin.
If I just sit back and think about life and its bottom-line reality, then it becomes apparent that once we are born, we begin to die. But being a whole lot more optimistic than that, I believe that every day of life I live, every breath I breathe, is a gift.
Sometimes in life we all need something to believe in. To belive that things will get better. To believe that every tomorrow has the potential to be better than every today. To believe that we will get over the death of the pets, and then our elders, and eventually our friends. To believe in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy and all of our imaginary childhood friends. To believe, to know, that someday, somehow, the Boston Red Sox will win a World Series.
Life often trips us up, and sometimes, even kicks us when we're down. But at some point, it always picks us up and helps us brush off the dust.
Matt Huskey is one of our starting pitchers this season with the Kenosha Mammoths. About three days ago, as we were pulling away in our trusty bus toward St. Louis for our three-game series with the Gateway Grizzlies, Matt got tripped up a bit.
With my headphones blaring music from my I-Pod -- my new toy of the moment -- I was unable to to hear my cell phone ring as I lay there on my bus seat. With my head laid snuggly upon the pillow, I was just about to drift off to sleep when Brent Kelley, one of our coaches, kinda gave me one of those polite "Hey, are you ever gonna answer the phone" kind of looks from across the bus. So I immediately began to dig through the 200 pockets of my backpack, hoping to catch the call before the person on the other end hung up.
So I eventually pick up just in time to hear our manager, Greg Tagert, on the other end. Usually an extremely spirited and upbeat guy, he sounded distressed. His first words were, "Hey, is Huskey near by? There's been a little emergency in his family."
In my two weeks or so with the Mammoths, I have quickly learned that Hank Hill, the character from the animated series "King of the Hill," was patterned after Matt Huskey. Same glasses, same peculiar shaped head, same southern drawl, same quirky sense of humor. I swear I want to ask him where Bobby is every time I see him.
Heck, the guy wears a T-shirt around with a picture of himself with his name in bold letters. I tease him that he needs to wear it to remember who he is.
Turns out that Matt's mother fell off the deck at their home in Tennessee. The initial diagnosis had her fracturing her back and puncturing one of her lungs. Needless to say that during our series at Gateway, Matt seemed a little distant. Tagert told Matt to do whatever he needed to do to settle his mind. Whether it was taking a little time off, or even returning home to Tennessee, it would be okay. It wouldn't cost him his spot on the team.
But as days passed, the doctors realized her injuries were not nearly as severe as first thought. By the end of our road trip, Matt's mom was healthy enough to move around the house with a walker. Not quite a miracle, but good news nonetheless.
So Friday, as I sat in the coaches office at our stadium, lacing up my turfs to get ready to throw some batting practice, I must admit that I cringed when I was told that Matt Huskey would be pitching. With Matt probably our top starter thus far, with an ERA of 2.08, good for eighth best in the Frontier League, I certainly did not react in that manner because I lacked confidence in his ability.
I just hoped he was in a good frame of mind. Then I thought that maybe a start would be just the remedy for Matt. It was.
As he toed the rubber prior to his first pitch of the night, Matt seemed very much at ease. Pitch after pitch, out after out, he seemed to get stronger and more determined. Sitting in the dugout, I think we all began to sense his energy. It seemed like he was a man among boys. In my third season as a coach in professional baseball, and my fifth in minor league baseball overall, Matt's outing was one of the most moving, the most inspiring performances I had seen.
When the Cook County Cheetahs loaded the bases with no outs in the top of the fourth with the game still scoreless, we just hoped he'd get out of it without any major damage. He dug deep. A strikeout. An pop up to third baseman Tanner Townsend. Another strikeout. He escaped.
Examining the scoreboard closely, we all kinda began to look back and forth at each other after every out from that point on. Matt was working on a no-hitter.
In the bottom of the frame, we rallied. Four runs in the inning, and then another in the fifth, we were up 5-0.
Matt returned to the mound inning after inning. With every strike, we cheered. With every out, we grew more and more silent. With every hard-hit ball, we held our breaths. When the Cheetahs' third baseman smoked a towering shot down the left-field line in the top of the sixth, we all jumped out of our seats to follow the flight of the ball. If it was fair, it was gone. At one point it was a good 10 feet fair.
It cleared the top of the fence with ease. Two feet foul.
As Matt clicked off out after out, we all began to reveal the perpetual Little Leaguers within us. Wearing our emotions on our sleeves, we shouted and fist-pumped and high-fived. To tell the truth, Matt seemed to be the calmest of us all.
The roller-coaster ride climaxed in the top of the final inning. One out down, and then two. Now there was just one to go. The Cook County batter obviously knew what was transpiring, what rode on his final at bat of the night. And they dueled. Matt jumped ahead with an 88 mph fastball that was even more powerful than his first of the night. Then he missed with a heater aimed at the outside corner. And then he missed again.
But Matt stayed confident. He evened the count at 2-2. And then went to 3-2. After a couple of foul balls, the game hit its emotional pinnacle. With the batter spread out and choked up, as he should be with two strikes, Matt and our catcher, Dennis Pelfrey, agreed on a change-up.
As he kicked and then strode toward home plate, Matt had belief on his side. He delivered. The ball seemed to back up as the batter waved helplessly at what he thought was a fastball.
It was strike three. Matt had thrown a no-hitter in just his sixth professional appearance. We all sprinted out of the dugout and swarmed the mound. We jumped, we cheered, we tried to dog pile him, but he kept moving around. Someone did succeed in stepping on Matt's trademark "Hank Hill" spectacles, however.
For a little under three hours, we were all mesmerized by a game. The Mammoths, the Cheetahs, our fans, and especially Matt. I bet not a single person in attendance thought about their electric bill, or their mortgage payment, or yes, even their mothers over the last few innings.
It was the remedy that he needed. Something to believe in.
Brendan Sagara, a former University of Hawaii-Hilo
pitcher, is in his second year as pitching coach for
the Dubois County (Ind.) Dragons.