This spring SP Matt McCartney #15 threw 13 innings of no-run baseball in 11 appearances (0.00 ERA, 0.54 WHIP) and was released by Boise. The 36-y.o. vet, who had posted a 119 ERA+ as recently as 2057 for Edmonton (before fellow Canadians) went home to his hometown Chilliwack, Canada and took up pickleball. And lumberjacking. He never gave up his love for the game; he got up before the sun and felled trees like you wouldn't believe. He grew a bread and some say he imagined himself to be Rocky in Rocky IV, training in the ice and snow. The Chilliwack Lumberjack they started to call him. He would come home each evening and play pickleball with his uncle. Some say they both pined for the same man: McCartney's dad and his uncle's brother. Killed by a drunk driver with a 1.8% blood alcohol level. And he waited for a call. From a BBA team. No one called. No one stopped by. No one commented on the family blog (run by his son, because McCartney was too humble to have his own). He started more and more community service, repairing houses, building ramps for the disabled, restocking ponds. So the months went by, May, June, July, until his cell rang on August 13, the anniversary of his dad's death. He flinched. Haunted by the past. This time it wasn't bad news. It was a job offer. "Come pitch for who, where?"
"Johannesburg," went the voice on the phone. "Jo-han-nes-burg. You know, South Africa. Come and help an expansion team out. You'll take over the number one rotation spot. It's a pitcher's park."
McCartney, whose soul ached for more pitching time, had only one hesitation. "I've never done that great in warm weather. I've always loved the chill."
"Matt, I got great news for you. It's the middle of August and it's the middle of winter here."
McCartney retired his ax, promised his uncle, his son, and his wife to be back in six weeks, and headed for Vancouver. He still had a day to think. The flight time from Vancouver International to Johannesburg was 22 hours. With a stopover in Zurich. "Ah, more cold air," just what I like.
So, Matt McCartney, the pickleball player, community handyman, the Chilliwack Lumberjack, arrived at the brand new Golden Palace. It was winter, more like a Canadian summer: 67 degrees. He went on the mound against Moscow, another expansion team, pitched eight innings and allowed five hits, no walks, two runs. A week later he was in London against the defending champions; Joho left their bats at home and so McCartney's complete game (what's that?) loss of 0-2 stung just a bit. Stung like the sting of an ax against an ash. Here he was, back on the mound, in best mid-winter form, touring the world, and living his dream. They say he's already agreed to a two-year extension and has plans to relocate his family.
