SIDE ARM A Fictional Player Story

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Introduction:

I got this idea and have played around and practiced with it to get the basics down so I can write a story from the point of view of a prospect from draft to retirement (hopefully).

Fiction writers always say write what you know so I am making this character alot like myself (except for the fact that he actually has athletic ability. I can barely type without being an uncoordinated klutz).

So what I am doing is starting in 1984 with historical minors loaded as well I will sim the 84 season and post the results here. My player will then enter the Draft Pool.

I am going to go with starting pitcher with legend potential but raw beginning. He will graduate high school in May 1985 and most likely begin in the minors in June 1985. Legend potential gives him the chance to become anything while raw beginning definitely is going to have him starting at the very bottom.

His story will begin after graduation.

Hope you enjoy.

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1984 STANDINGS
AMERICAN LEAGUE
EAST
New York 103-59
Toronto 92-70
Boston 91-71
Detroit 84-78
Milwaukee 80-82
Cleveland 78-84
Baltimore 71-91

WEST
Chicago 87-75
Oakland 86-76
Minnesota 79-83
Texas 79-83
Seattle 72-90
California 69-93
Kansas City 63-99

NATIONAL LEAGUE
EAST
Montreal 91-71
Chicago 89-73
Philadelphia 86-76
New York 85-77
Pittsburgh 70-92
St Louis 56-106

WEST
Los Angeles 97-65
Houston 89-73
San Francisco 80-82
Cincinnati 79-83
San Diego 76-86
Atlanta 74-88

ALCS
Chicago 4 New York 3

NLCS
Montreal 4 Los Angeles 2

WORLD SERIES
Montreal 4 Chicago 1

The Montreal Expos win the 1984 World Series.

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"James! You James? Yeah, you're James. Xavier Broadway. Get your stuff. Let's go. We have to get to the stadium. You're starting in three hours."

Ah, the joys of having two first names. Well, three when you consider my middle name is Wayne. Everyone calls me by my last name. James. Nobody ever calls me Robert.

I followed Xavier Broadway out of the San Jose International Airport and we got into a rental car and headed to San Jose Municipal Stadium. Home of the San Jose Bees. The first place team in the California League North Division!

I wasn't playing for them.

I would be pitching for the visiting Reno Padres. The last place team in the California League North Division.

Sigh.

"They want to see what they got and they want to see it right away!"

Jet lag and all, huh.

"Especially that 90 mph fast ball, James. I hope you brought that fast ball with you from Texas!"

Xavier looked to be about 40 years old. As it turned out, he was 39. He was the pitching coach for the Reno Padres. Not the most inspiring thought when you considered the Padres had the worst ERA in the entire California League. Worst starters ERA. Worst bullpen ERA. Most runs allowed. But they balanced that out by being last in the league in every offensive category as well.

"Always work on improving location. Younger pitchers struggle the most with finding the strike zone."

Still, I paid attention to his words of wisdom even as I tried to process how all of this had happened exactly.

It certainly wasn't supposed to happen like this.

I had just graduated from high school. Two. Days. Prior!

When the Padres had drafted me, the plan was for me to report to Spokane and I would start my career with the Indians. Yeah, I found it a little weird that the Padres had a minor league affiliate called the Indians.

But, the Northwest League would not begin play for another month.

So, for graduation, I got a $600,000 signing bonus and one way air fare to San Jose, California.

The $600,000 went into the credit union. And, like it or not, Dad, it's going to pay off your medical bills.

We'll get into that later.

But first, time to take the mound as the 9-23 Reno Padres face the 26-8 San Jose Bees!

I hope I am ready for this....

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[rpriske]

Looking forward to following this!

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"Can I first call home and just let Mom know I made it safely?"

"Use the pay phone! And call collect. And hurry up! You need to start warming up with your catcher."

Less than five minutes later....

"Alomar! Come here! Get your new pitcher ready. Alomar! James. James. Alomar."

"Robert."

"Sandy."

Something in the back of my mind tried to crawl forward and tell me that I knew this name but it just wouldn't completely register.

We made a little small talk and then he asked me what my pitches were from best to worst. Fastball. Then curve ball and slider. And lastly change up.

"I'll be calling the pitches. You know to trust your catcher, right?"

"Of course."

Sandy may have mumbled something in Spanish after that. I'm not sure. I didn't take Spanish in high school. He then headed behind the plate and I went to the mound. Not only to warm up but also to get him used to my pitches.

And soon it was time to...

Play ball!

We went to bat first and got nothing. Then I came out to make my professional baseball debut.

The very first pitch I threw was hit solidly! And rolled right to my short stop for out number one.

The second hitter got a base hit. But Sandy tossed him out as he tried to steal second.

And I ended the first with my first professional strike out!

I was quite pleased with how things were going.

And then the second innning happened.

It started with a one out walk. The next batter doubled and then a 2-run single followed. Another hit followed and then Sandy tossed the ball into the outfield on a a double steal.

And it just went to the toilet from there.

By the time I finally got the third out, 6 runs, 7 hits and 2 errors.

Absolutely brutal.

I sat on the bench in the top half of each innning, watching the opposing pitcher easily destroy our offense.

"Yes, he is from Japan. His name is Yasuo Kushihara. Thing is," Coach Broadway said, "California League is probably as far as he will go."

Still, I watched.

And I took mental notes on small details that I might could work on.

It was 7-0 when Skip (Keith Stephen) took the ball from me and sent me to the showers.

The final score was 9-0.

And then things really got entertaining.

Kushihara was a bit demonstrative following the last out. Skip didn't take to kindly to it and got in some verbal expletives that their manager wasn't pleased with and the players ended up having to separate the two managers!

The things you miss when you get sent to the showers.

What I didn't miss was Sandy tossing his face mask against the wall after the field cleared.

A guy angry with losing!

I like that in a catcher.

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[Archelirion]

This looks great! Will be following eagerly :]

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Gonna throw in some images now and again to try and add a little visuals to the story:

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Take a group of young men ages 18-22, put some money in their pockets and then send them to Reno, Nevada.

What could go wrong?

Unfortunately, in the case of the Reno Padres, an entire baseball season could go wrong!

The city itself was suffering as well. From a tragedy much worse than a bad baseball season.

Four months prior, on January 21, Galaxy Airlines Flight 203 crashed shortly after takeoff. The plane had left the Reno-Canon Airport but crashed on South Virginia Street. 70 people died.

Puts things like a baseball game into perspective.

But a baseball game we would still play.

My debut at the Moana Stadium. The first look Reno fans, all 4,000 (if that many) of them. They were probably looking at their programs saying "who?"

We were facing the Visalia Oaks. We had beaten them the night before 12-1. Our starting pitcher had gone 9.0 innings, allowing 1 run on 8 hits, walking 2 and striking out 5.

A solid performance and one that would be tough to follow.

A switch was made and John Carlson, normally a third baseman, would be my catcher for this game. I was less than pleased. I preferred Sandy.

I had spent some time between starts getting to know Sandy. He was a second generation player and also had a brother playing for the Baltimore Orioles.

"Your father had played for the Texas Rangers?"

That's where I knew that name! The Rangers were my favorite team as a kid. Well, the Rangers and Astros both. We actually got more exposure to the Astros because of where we lived in Texas. Just a couple hours south down Highway 59. I had even attended a game at the Astrodome and got to see Nolan Ryan pitch.

Needless to say, I would wear number 34 all through high school.

But the first team I ever rooted for was the Rangers.

Sandy talked about the pressure of being a second generation player with a brother in the majors at age 17. And his own frustration at the experts saying he himself would never get out of the minors.

"You listen to the experts?"

"My dad is one of them."

Sandy Alomar Sr just happened to be a coach with the Padres.

"Have you heard about me?" Why did I ask that question....

"They say you should have as they call it an illustrious career. Future winner of many awards."/

Oh. That's all? No pressure.

Back to the game against the Oaks.

The second innning again.

I set them down in order in the first. But the second started with a double and then our first baseman booted a grounder. They got in a run but I had a chance to get out of the innning with runners at first and second and two out. But a walk was followed by a 2-run single and it was 3-0.

At least it wasn't 6 runs like in my first game, right?

A run followed in the third and two more in the fifth.

And then I was told my day was done. We trailed 6-0 at that point and went on to lose 7-3. Their third baseman went 4 for 5 with a double (off me), an RBI and he scored twice.

As for my line? 5.0 innnings. 6 runs (4 earned) on 9 hits, 2 walks and 2 strikeouts.

The Reno Padres were 11-27 as the month of June began.

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[vrobx1]

Mom,

Glad to hear all is well at home. Very glad to know that the money the Padres gave me is helping Daddy get that surgery on his leg. He still probably would have been better off if they had amputated it from the beginning but at least now they can finally clean up all that infection.

Things are okay here. Busy with games and practicing and.....

Oh. Who am I kidding!

This sucks!

We suck!

I suck!

Suck suck suck!

Everything that can go wrong has. I have lost every game I have started. All five of them! It took three years in high school for me to get my fifth loss. All it's taken here is five starts. In my last two starts, the other team has scored in double digits.

My team isn't helping. In my last two starts, I've given up 9 unearned runs. But, that still leaves me with 11 earned runs in those two games.

The worst has to be losing 13-2 to the Dodgers! Yeah, it's the Bakersfield Dodgers and not the ones the Astros play but still, they are the Dodgers and I HATE the Dodgers.

Anyways, I am 0-5 with a 9.43 ERA, 27 walks and a whopping 5 strikeouts in 5 games.

Mom, against the Dodgers, I walked 10 and struck out nobody!

Don't tell Coach Cummings that! I wouldn't put it past him to take me out to Lolita Field and make me run around that damn red box! And if he told me to, I'd do it too.

Sorry this letter is just me griping! I just needed to vent! I promise I'll write and send pictures the first time I actually win a game. I just hope that letter makes its way to you before I do.

Got to go. Sandy wants to get in some extra reps and I need to work on my command.

Love you,
Bobby

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We were off on Sandy's 19th birthday. Some of the older players decided to throw a party. Since Sandy was just 19, that party would not take place in a bar. So, it took place at the team hotel.

We all had efficiency apartment type rooms at the hotel. Small. Cheap. Cheap at least for Reno standards. There was no living room. I had a bed. A kitchen with a sink, a fridge, stove, microwave. Of course it also had a bathroom.

On my dresser I had a tv, a boom box, that's a hand held stereo cassette player and a few books. I liked to read. And I liked to listen to music.

People were always surprised to hear that the Texas boy had no love for country music. No, I was into Scorpions, Ratt, Quiet Riot, Twisted Sister, Night Ranger. I liked to listen to songs like Round And Round or Rock You Like A Hurricane before taking the mound.

Some of the newer songs, however, that the radio was forcing down our throats. Hurl! Barf! Like that Walking on Sunshine. Made me automatically without even thinking about it change the station.

A new thing was starting to arise and some of the players, especially the Latino players, were getting into it. It was called rap. Weird thing to call music, really. No guitars or drums or singing. You spit a little bit. Say some words that rhyme real fast. Then spit again.

I didn't get it.

Another thing I didn't get is the love so many people had for beer. I could not stand the taste of that. Now, mixed drinks on the other hand....

Not that I really had much knowledge of drinking period. Not in my house. We had some strict rules growing up. Dad demanded good grades. "If you're not making straight A's, then you have homework to do." And Mom demanded Sunday morning church attendance.

Good grades and church were a requirement for me to play baseball.

I was an academic slacker so I needed the motivation in that part.

Church was just a couple hours a week I could sit in back and sleep. So no big deal there, either.

But drinking was just something I had very little experience at. But I had tasted Jim Beam and Coke before and found it to my liking.

So this was what I drank at Sandy's birthday party.

And drank.

And drank.

And drank!

Lucky for me, it would be another 5 days until I pitched again because the next day.....

"Ohhhh! Uhhh! Leave me alone!"

Which was followed by a lot of words that are inappropriate to print here.

Years earlier I had watched a Bill Cosby standup where he talked about hugging the toilet.

Come to find out, he wasn't joking!

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"See, right there. You aren't lifting your leg as high on your change up as you do on your fast ball. The batters know the change up is coming and that is why they are able to get contact and hit it all over the field. Plus, they know your fast ball is coming as well. Gwynn would get a 100 hits in 100 plate appearances against you."

Hah. The thought of pitching to Tony Gwynn. When career minor league guys like Brian Williams beat me senseless.

Broadway was doing the best he could with me. He wasn't Coach Cummings, though.

Funny how I ended up here at all.

I wasn't much of an athlete and rode the bench in the minors and little league. I just didn't have the hand-eye coordination.

I never really worried about it then either. I just played on the team to hang out with my buddies.

All that changed in 1980.

I was 13 and my neighbor had an extra ticket to a game at the Astrodome. And I got to watch Nolan Ryan pitch.

I came home and began to throw in my backyard. I had an old glove and I would try to mimick how Nolan pitched.

We didn't have a baseball team in junior high so I had to wait almost a year after that game to try in high school. I had not been very good at football and even worse at basketball so the coaches barely paid me any attention.

I rode the bench my freshman year and then, in my sophomore year, I got up the nerve to ask Coach Cummings if I could try out pitching. For whatever reason, maybe just to patronize me, I never knew, he said yes.

So, I spent a good half hour on the mound tossing the ball to him.

"You got good location. But no speed. They'll sit there and hit this all day! Throw the ball hard. As hard as you can!"

So, I rared back and with all my strength hurled it as hard as I could!

And threw the ball about four feet over Coach's head.

"Yeah, what I thought."

And that was all she wrote.

Except that it wasn't.

Coach Cummings started staying after practice with me every day.

"Practice. Repetition. If you really want this, you'll put in the work. I will work with you as long as you keep working. The day you give up is the day I give up."

I rode the bench again my entire sophomore season but I came to practice every day and stayed after pitching with Coach Cummings.

He eased me into throwing harder, gradually, slowly getting my fast ball faster while maintaining my command and location.

I would wake up in the middle of the night thinking my arm would fall off. My elbow was screaming and my shoulder was burning.

But I kept at it.

I don't know why.

I just became obsessed.

I had never been good at anything. Especially in sports. I just wanted to be able to do something.

And pitching became that something.

But now, I once again felt like that boy who had never accomplished anything. 0-6. 8.37 ERA following a 7-1 loss to San Jose.

Was I ever going to be able to do it at this level?

"The day you give up is the day I give up."

I had to keep fighting. I couldn't give up. I owed it to Coach Cummings!

"What you say we go 15 more minutes, Sandy?"

"Alright, but then you are icing that arm!"

"Deal!"

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[vrobx1]

"Ball four!"

Oh, come on!

The runner on first moved to second and the Oaks clean-up hitter, Stine Poole, came to bat.

The Visalia Oaks had just gotten Poole from the Springfield Cardinals. It was his first game since he broke his hand in May. He was a 26 year old career minor league first baseman with slightly below average power.

It was the bottom of the first and I could already feel the wheels falling off. Sandy came out to the mound and handed me the ball. We looked each other in the eye and had that mental moment only a pitcher and catcher can have.

Sandy went back behind the plate.

I took a deep breath and delivered my first pitch to Poole.

CRACK!

There is a distinct sound when wood connects with hide and you know the batter got all of it.

The ball took flight into left field. Pablo Rivera started back. And kept going. I watched the ball head for the fence. Anthony kept going back. He reached his glove as high as he could.

The Visalia crowd suddenly went into a silent hush.

"He caught it!" Someone yelled.

Rivera was so close to the fence that the runner tagged and moved to third.

But something changed when Rivera made that catch.

A ground ball to second ended the innning.

I gave up a hit in the second and again in the third. Then I ran into trouble again in the bottom of the fourth. A single was followed by a double and the Oaks had runners at second and third and one out. We were clinging to a 1-0 lead.

I called time.

I motioned to Sandy and the team and gathered everyone at the mound.

"They are not scoring here! We are going to get out of this," I said.

They all kind of looked at me funny. Here was the youngest player on the team saying this. Now, granted, the oldest guy in this huddle was 23. Third baseman John Carlson. He suddenly nodded and said, "no. They're not."

The next batter hit a hard grounder right to Carlson. He held the runner then threw to first for the second out. The next batter hit a lazy flyball to right to end the inning.

The Oaks got a one out double in the bottom of the sixth. Rivera then made a nice sliding catch for the second out and the next batter popped out to second to end that innning.

Then came the top of the eighth. A pair of walks and a single by Sandy and we had bases loaded with nobody out. The other 23 year old, first baseman David Creager, hit a sacrifice fly and we were up 2-0. A groundout moved our runners to second and third and then Jaime Moreno pinch hit for Carlson and smacked a 2-run double down the left field line. Sandy crossed the plate as we went up 4-0 and headed straight for me.

"You're finally going to get that first win."

And suddenly the butterflies started rumbling!

And Sandy knew.

Our lead was 5-0 but the first two Oaks in the bottom of the eighth got a single.

Sandy called time.

Broadway came out.

"I'm okay. I'm okay. Just got a little anxious, you know. I've never won a professional game before."

"Okay, but if those two guys score, you're out."

And wouldn't you know it.

The next batter was Stine Poole.

He fouled the first one off behind the plate. I missed with a curve. He then hit the 1-1 fast ball. On the ground. 6! 4! 3! And then the butterflies were an ancient memory.

I wish I could say it was a complete game shutout. Unfortunately by the ninth innning, I was running on fumes. Remember, I had only pitched into the seventh innning twice since joining the Padres and had never finished a seventh, much less pitched into the ninth innning.

The Oaks got a couple of singles, a stolen base and a ground out to small ball their only run of the game.

Creager picked up the grounder and stepped on the bag to end the game.

I looked at him for a second and then Sandy was giving me a big hug. Soon the rest of the team was mobbing me as we headed to the dugout.

"James, that was some gutsy pitching tonight!" Keith Stephen said. "Gutsy pitching!"

Sandy patted me on the back. "Remember that walk in the first inning?"

I nodded.

"Do you realize that was the only guy you walked all game?"

No kidding! I did not know that.

And then I sat on a metal folding chair and cried.

It was a long 232 mile bus ride back to Reno.

But it was such a short ride at the same time.

I just hoped I could regain this sense of elation once again.


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[vrobx1]

I was named Player of the Game but I really felt like it had been somewhat of a mirage. I had given up ten hits.

Ten!

That's a lot of hits. I could have easily given up five runs instead of just one.

"Hold on to this, James," Broadway said. "Don't forget how to win. Remember, this is what you are capable of doing. You're not going to do it every night, especially now. But you can do it. That's the important thing."

I got to pitch on the 4th of July. Alas, the Redwood Pioneers provided the fireworks as I gave up 6 earned runs on 8 hits and walked 5 in just 5 innings and we lost 10-5.

Needless to say, at 1-7 with a 7.23 ERA, 35 walks and just 10 strikeouts, I did not make the California League All Star Game.

We entered the All Star Break on a 6-game losing streak. We hadn't won since the night I picked up my only win. We were 18-50.

And there was still three months left in the season.

I didn't know how we would make it.

Several of us traveled to Euless Ballpark to watch the All Star Game. The South beat us 6-2. Bakersfield Dodgers short stop Jerry Browne was named the game's most valuable player.

Have I mentioned that I hate the Dodgers?

Well, on to the second half of the season. I really hope things get better than this.

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[vrobx1]

The losing streak continued. I had my second best game ever against Bakersfield, giving up 2 runs on 9 hits in 8 innnings but we lost 2-0.

On August 1, 1985, my record was 2-10 with a 7.32 ERA, with 53 walks to only 19 strikeouts.

Our record was 25-62. 35.5 games out of first.

Meanwhile, my old high school teammates were getting ready to start two-a-days. High school football.

Those who were still in high school.

One of my teammates was headed to the military. In fact, on August 2nd, he was on a plane in Dallas, heading to basic training when Delta Airlines Flight 191 crashed, killing 136 people.

I learned this from a phone call with Mom. There had been a lot of anxious people back home until they learned it wasn't the flight that Scotty was on that crashed.

Scotty was joining the Army and headed to Fort Jackson, South Carolina just to take advantage of the Montgomery GI Bill have his college paid for.

And here I was just handed over a half a million dollars just to throw a baseball.

Sometimes it takes reality to keep things in perspective.



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[vrobx1]

"Sandy, I want you to call more changeups for James the rest of the season."

Broadway, Sandy and I all looked at Skip like he was ET or something.

"I know what you are thinking but here is the logic. First off, you don't want to throw your arm completely away before you turn 25. Second thing. Your pitches have good movement but lack control. More off speed stuff should cut down on walks."/

Sure, I thought. And replace them with 100 home runs.

"But, the most important reason. The parent club said to. Their scouts think that the change up can become your best pitch if you work on it."

And there it was.

The San Diego Padres wanted me to.

Just to let everyone know, the San Diego Padres were 55-48 at this point in 1985. 14 games behind the Dodgers.

Have I mentioned that I hate the Dodgers?

And just as a footnote, the team I was supposed to go to. The Spokane Indians were 14-22.

Anyways, the Padres still had me listed as their top prospect and had their people watching me close.

I had been dropped to fifth in the rotation. That didn't sit well with me either but I was more angry with my performance making that happen than I was the club making the move.

At this point, the only thing I was happy about was the money and that just made me sick. I really didn't want to become one of those guys.

Sandy, meanwhile, led the team in RBI.

The change in direction didn't do well against the Bakersfield Dodgers. Them again.

I gave up two home runs and 14 total hits in just 5.2 innnings. I left with us trailing 6-2 and we lost 7-2.

"Just keep at it, James," Broadway said. "Keep learning and you'll get there."

But where was there?

The manufacturing plant my dad had worked at until his motorcycle wreck?

I wondered if they still had a job opening for a terrible pitcher.

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[vrobx1]

1972.

Dad was headed home after working one of those graveyard shifts. Two miles from home, he came upon a blind curve and was headed straight for one car passing another. He tried to slide his motorcycle between the two cars.

He almost pulled it off.

His left handle bar clipped the driver's side mirror of the car being passed.

What followed was five years of surgeries, rehabilitation, hospital stays.

He lost his right arm.

He would never bend his right leg again.

For my sister and myself, this meant being shuffled between relatives and friends while my mom stayed with my dad through the entire ordeal.

Yeah, my early childhood development kind of got warped just a tad.

There was never any playing catch with Dad. Or shooting hoops. Or even getting to spend time with him between the ages of 5 to 10.

A kind of unintentional blessing in disguise as now I was not feeling overwhelmed with home sickness that could plague a young player my age.

In fact, one letter I got from my grandmother scolded me for not writing home enough.

So I sent her a postcard in reply.

Sometimes I can be a real jerk.

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[vrobx1]

What does one do on the days he is not pitching?

Well, if he plays for the Reno Padres and is a top prospect of the San Diego Padres, he dresses and spends the game off in the bullpen. Even on road games.

In the unlikely event the game goes twenty innings or something, he might be called on to pitch.

But the main thing is to let the hot shot rookie know that he is not more important than the team. Even if that team is Single A minor league Reno.

But I didn't mind at all. In fact, it gave me a chance to watch other pitchers warm-up. Observe their pitching motion.

Learn from them.

The good and the bad habits.

A guy like Marlon Hubbard. 24 years old. Not expected to make the big leagues. But he goes out and gives us 1.2 scoreless innings in Salinas against the Spurs.

Even though we lost 6-2.

The bullpen is like the rest of the team.

Sick of losing.

28-68.

40 games below .500.

Five more days and then we will have four days off.

8 more weeks and the season finally ends.

The same time my teammate in Basic Training gets to leave Fort Jackson, South Carolina.

His next eighth weeks will be a lot tougher than mine.

No matter how bad the season gets.

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[Izz]

*subscribed*

[vrobx1]

Celebrity status is an interesting paradox when it comes to being a baseball player. Unless you are Reggie Jackson or George Brett, you really aren't treated like a jock. Especially when compared to football players.

This was especially true at a Texas high school.

Despite the fact that I was slowly becoming a highly regarded high school baseball prospect as my senior year rolled around, I still had no date to the prom.

Certainly early childhood had made me a bit socially awkward but also I wasn't a high school football star and those guys always got the top pick of the girls.

Which I was finding funny now as I started getting some "fan mail" from some of those girls I went to school with. The ones who could not be bothered to stoop so low as to speak with the baseball nerd were now writing me and asking how the season was and they hope to see me when I went home after the season was over.

I guess it had become common knowledge about the $600,000.

Reno was even more interesting when it came to being a baseball player. Lucky for us, this was not a city that based its self esteem on the success and failure of its baseball team. I could just imagine how awful it would be to play this bad in a city that lived and died baseball. There were no death threats to the players. No vandalism to our property. No hecklers when we went out in public. Very few people even knew who we were.

The only grief we really got were bad jokes on morning radio. "My girlfriend is so skinny, her weight is lower than the Padres team batting average." "If James was pitching in Mudville, Mighty Casey would have walked."

Okay, that one was kinda funny.

And he probably would have too.

Damn....

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[vrobx1]

One guy was not nearly as amused by the hecklers on talk radio.

Sandy.

And so he decided to do something about it.

He called in and he and the radio personality got in a few good jabs at each other.

"Hey, listeners, we have a real treat! The runt of the Alomar litter has called the show."

"The only time you were ever close to being an athlete is when you got athlete's foot!"

"Your team is so bad, you have more losses than I have listeners."

"Your program is so bad, we have more wins than you have listeners."

"And yet you have been listening haven't you!"

A few minutes later and we were headed to the field.

"I hope you brought your stuff, James, cause we really need to shut motor mouth up.

Oh. No pressure.

And Sandy is sat for his radio tirade and Bob Perkins catches.

And the Modesto A's start the game with a triple. And a single. And ball four! Ball four again! A single. A bases clearing double. A third walk. Another triple!

The only out had been when I pulled a pickoff of the base runner at second. The first eighth batters that came to the plate reached base.

By the time we came to bat in the first inning, we trailed 7-0.

I only gave up one more run before being pulled after five innnings. At this point we trailed 8-4 and went on to lose 12-4.

Our losing streak was at six. Our record was 28-71.

Sandy hadn't even dressed for the game.

The radio talk guy was going to really let us have it now.

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