There’s more to being a
winner than just winning

Very rarely during the course of the 96-game Frontier League season do I find myself looking forward to a certain day of the week or a certain spot in our pitching rotation as much as I have been during the past week and a half.

With a five-man rotation, each of our starting pitchers is on the same program, which constitutes four days of work between game appearances. Four days of running and throwing and sitting and watching.

There is a lot of waiting around for each starting pitcher before he gets to dress up and get out onto the mound under the bright lights every fifth day. And they do get restless.

Over the past two rotations, I have been restless as well.

The restlessness has come courtesy of our left-handed ace, Cody Fisher. Now in his fourth season of professional baseball, Fisher is one victory away from tying the Frontier League's career wins record of 26.

Much like Kevin Costner's Crash Davis asking Susan Sarandon's Annie Savoy not to alert Baseball America of his minor league home-run record in "Bull Durham," some consider minor league records a bit of a dubious distinction.

While it does imply success, it also might state that you've been in the league for too long. I view Fisher's chase as admirable. With all of the physical and mental demands, and the amount of turnover in professional baseball, just being able to stick around in such a competitive environment is an accomplishment. To excel in this environment is definitely worthy of note.

As Fisher warmed up for his start this past week we gave each other a knowing look.

With each warm-up pitch Fisher hurled in the bullpen, he and I both knew what was on the line. Being "baseball guys," neither of us dared mention knowledge or hinted at any awareness of the significance of his outing.

The closest we came was a simultaneous wink as Fisher flipped me his warm-up ball as he exited the bullpen for the dugout as the game was about to start.

The first few innings seemed to fly by and move in slow motion at once. Each bat, each action, each pitch seemed to click off frame by frame, as I counted the outs and innings in my mind. It seemed as though I could see the seams rotating on the baseball as it cut through the air toward home plate. The sounds of the game echoed slowly and dragged on like a cassette tape in a radio with old batteries.

The top half of each inning raced by like a runaway freight train going downhill. Each of our turns at bat never seemed to last more than a minute. Pitch after pitch and batter after batter, we seemed to go down every inning in a hurry.

Through eight innings Fisher and the Rockford Riverhawks pitching staff were locked up in a pitchers' duel, with both teams held scoreless. While I hoped that his efforts would be rewarded with a run or two and a share of the record, it seemed as though he may be doomed to wait another day.

After a scoreless effort in the top of the ninth, it seemed as though that would be precisely the case. Rockford opened the home half of the frame with their leadoff batter reaching base on an error on a routine infield grounder. A base hit to center put runners on first and third with no out, ending Fisher's night and with it, his chance of tying the record.

Unfortunately, the game ended with the Riverhawks scoring an unearned run on a bloop single just over our shortstop's head with the bases loaded.

Not only had Fisher not recorded the win he so desired, but he was saddled with the loss. After more than 60 career starts and the four days in between each one of the those, he would be forced to wait for four more.

Four more days of restlessness. Of running, throwing, waiting. Four more days to prepare for a chance to officially become what I already know him to be.

A winner.