The Pitch

As I make an attempt to resume a regular writing regimen (say that 3 times fast), I'm looking back on some stories for inspiration. This is one that took place back in '07 that I need to share, and I hope you enjoy it.

Back in June 2007, the news station I worked as a reporter for had a promotions day at a Corpus Christi Hooks game, and in all the pomp and circumstance, a representative from 6 News was slated to throw out the ceremonial first pitch.

The first choice for the honor was going to the ridiculously talented Miss Melissa Monti, whose love for the Red Sox escapes me sometimes. However, Monti had to work that night, and I was off, so by the law of convenience, our boss tabbed me to be the station's arm, much to the shagrin of the fiery northeasterner.

In the days leading up to that famous night, I kept wondering to myself if I should take the time to practice for the pitch. With all the intramural softball I played in college, I felt confident enough that I could get a baseball across a plate 60 feet away. So I put off practicing. The way I saw it, if I practiced too much, I would feel pressured to throw the perfect pitch when I was on the mound and make myself nervous. I didn't want to send the ball over the catcher's head, that would defeat the whole purpose of practicing.

Fast forward to the game. It was a great night for a ballgame, but I learned that all of the pregame festivities you see on the field are just one giant, highly-coordinated involuntary spasm of promotions - all of which need to fall on a specific point on the timeline before the start of the game. I was hoping to get a chance to warm up my arm a little before I had to make my big performance, but I soon realized that the countdown had begun, and the next thing I knew, members of the Hooks staff put a baseball in my hand and started pushing me out towards the mound.

"Wait a sec! Don't I get a chance to warm up?" I asked over my shoulder to the woman pushing me over the foul line.

"Maybe you should've practiced." she said. "Don't worry, just get out there on the mound, wave, and let 'er rip!"

I let out a long sigh and started clenching the horsehide in my hand. I stepped onto the rubber and looked toward the plate, where already a Hooks player was squatting ready to catch. Apparently he had done this thing before, and knew how fast things worked, too. That's when my heart started racing, and I could feel my arm starting to shake. The last thing I wanted to do was to come out looking like a fool. That's when my inner monologue decided to pipe up...

"Nice job, Champ! You're standing in front of thousands of people and for the first time in your life, you don't think you can pull this off."

I can do this. But my arm is cold.

"Don't worry. Throw it like you don't give a shit."

Good idea.

"Allright, then. Let 'er fly! They already announced your name!"

OH! Right!

So I drew my arm back and took a step towards the plate. The throw looked so easy, I didn't know what I was worrying about. I was about to release the ball when that damn voice in my head came back for one more shot.

"Dude! Did you forget to wave?"

It seemed like a flash of white shot across my eyes as I casually tossed the ball towards home plate. I watched as it sailed through that moist Corpus Christi air directly on target. I got a bit excited thinking that I was going to pull this off, and a little grin appeared on my face. But as I watched the ball make its way, I noticed that the "bottom started to fall out". The ball took a dive and just managed to hit the very front part of the plate before bouncing UP into the catchers glove.

The next couple hours were a blur. Mainly because I sat at the game with my hat pulled over my face.

The next day at work, I couldn't hear the end of it. My comrades and the photographers were giving me a very well deserved ribbing. I couldn't believe that I butchered a throw like that. I even had reporters from other stations calling and emailing me that I threw like a pansy.

But the worst part happened a couple weeks later. I was on a story riding with photog Mike when the latest edition of Bud Light's "Real Men of Genius" radio spots.

"Today we salute you - 'Ceremonial First Pitch Thrower Outer.'"

(Where are They Now? . . . Alex now plays a mediocre left field in rec leagues in Austin and Round Rock.)

AX