WHIV 2063.3- By The Player: Dreams Can Come True

[recte44]

There were about a million places I would have rather been to spend my fourth of July than Annapolis Park. For one, I’m getting too old to be scuffling on Triple-A pitching mounds, getting lit up by the freaking Annapolis Sailors for crying out loud. How the hell did I get here? When my manager, Rudy Forrest, pulled me in the seventh inning, it seemed almost overdue. I got back to the clubhouse, and looked at my pitching line. 6 ⅓ innings, 11 hits allowed, 6 runs (all earned) 4 walks and 2 strikeouts. I’d end up taking the loss, which dropped my season record to 6-9. As a Milwaukee Chopper? Did thoughts of hanging up the cleats enter my mind? Every day, fella. Every single day.

The life of a minor league is, well, brutal. Triple-A is the best of the worst. At least I get my own room in a 3 star hotel on the road. And, because I’m what the young pups call a “once was”, I get some minor perks. They carry my bags, I get first pass through the meager lunch buffets, you know, things like that. The clubhouse at home hasn’t changed much at all from what I remember from before I “once was”. Oddly enough, when I signed with the Hustlers to a minor league contract last June 12th and reported to Milwaukee, it was the same team I last suited up for in a minor league game. But that was 2055. Now, it’s 2063 and for some reason I keep going. It’s been over a year since I “voluntarily” went back to the minors. The days get longer and longer. I don’t know if I’ll make it back.

See, I’m not the same pitcher I once was. When I was drafted eighth overall by the Hustlers in 2045, I was their first Top 10 pick in 30 years (2016: Daniel Labrie, Jr.). No pressure. I made it to the big leagues in no time, joining the Hustlers in 2049 and having a great start to my career by going a combined 28-11 in 2049 and 2050. Things got away from me a bit over the next couple of years before I bounced back in 2053 with 17 wins and my only All-Star selection. The next two years were more of a mixed bag. Finally in 2056 the Hustlers traded me and five other players to Edmonton for Mahad Einan. The only team I ever knew had moved on. I was officially dubbed as a disappointment. With Edmonton, I only pitched in relief and then became a free agent at the end of the year. I picked Charlotte. They let me start again and I answered the bell from 2057-2061 every time- 159 starts. And I won some games, even. Last year, though, I got off to a bad start and Charlotte just cut bait with me. I was released and no one was remotely interested.

Then Vegas called. They were upfront with me. It’s strictly a Triple-A deal. No promises or even really a chance of a callup. This is apparently what I now was at age 35. A minor league pitcher, simply filling a rotation slot and perhaps attracting a couple of fans who may have remembered me when I “once was”.

Please forgive the trip down memory lane. Sometimes I need to go through it because it all went so fast. It’s funny how back in the day I just went through my steps and didn’t really think about the whole experience. Now I remember things as minute as the feel of a BBA baseball, the different dirt on a BBA pitching mound. Most of all, I think about my teammates, my friends. I think about Jay Hodge. There was so much hope riding on both of our shoulders. We talked about it often. I remember my first catcher, Calvin Johnson, and how much he helped me adjust to the big leagues. And of course, I remember the ultimate teammate, Tom Rudge. If I had to guess, it was probably Rudgey who asked the Hustlers to throw me a rope. He’d never admit it, but I have an inkling.

So here I was, having been rocked by the Annapolis Sailors, sitting in the clubhouse contemplating all of the reasons why I am still doing this. I sat there for a long time. So long, in fact, that most of the team was already showered, dressed and gone before I came out of my self-induced haze and started to get my things together. That’s when Rudy called me in the office. Let’s be serious. After a game like I had, at my age, knowing what I know about the game, this was going to be one of two things. I was getting bumped from the rotation, or even worse, released. I braced for the worst, but even the thought of this being the end of the road didn’t seem like a bad idea at all, oddly. When I sat down to talk to Skip, he said it was a rough night out there. What else could I do but agree? I just didn’t have it tonight. Skip said the guys upstairs called, and they asked if I would be willing to pitch out of the bullpen if necessary. I didn’t fight it. He told me to have a great night and I went back to the hotel. We had a day game tomorrow against the Sailors and then we had to hightail it back to Milwaukee to start a three-game series with Duluth.

The next game, I sat in the bullpen with the guys. Bailey Greenway, who in my opinion is a promising young righty, asked me why I was there. I had to tell them that I was now in the pen. Greenway nodded and kind of slinked away from me. I get it, though. What is a 23 year old kid supposed to tell a “once was” in that situation? The next oldest guys in the pen with me were two 28 year olds, Keith Caleca and Motoki Yoshioka. They’re almost a decade older than me and neither one of them has ever made it to the BBA, and almost certainly never will. So I look at those guys, who are strictly here for the love of the game, and I set my mind right. I’ll get through this.

So we played on. One against Annapolis, three at home versus Duluth. After that last game, Skip called for me again. Oh man, I thought to myself. I’m not ready for this at all.

He asked me to sit down, and I did. He asked me how I was feeling, and I told him fine. He asked me about today’s game, specifically if I thought Tupa Pongia pitched as great of a game as he thought he did. Finally, I had to say something. Surely he didn’t just want to shoot the shit about today’s game. I needed to know what in the world was up. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, like one does before delivering bad news. He then hollered for Eugenio Asseldonk, our pitching coach, to come in and join us. Oh boy, this can’t be great. Eugenio was on the Hustlers when I was trying to establish myself. He’s long been a guy I could talk to about nearly anything and he’d get it. He put his hand on my shoulder, cleared his throat, and said these words: “Well Johnny, you’re not going to be pitching for us anymore.” My stomach sank. The pause felt like years, until Rudy broke it with these words: “Because you’re joining the Hustlers bullpen.” I sat, startled, for some time. Finally, I composed myself and let out a holler of what I can only describe as total joy. “Alright, Ric Flair,” Asseldonk said. “Keep it together, buddy.” I thanked them both, got my travel plan, and set out to join the Hustlers who were now on their All-Star break, but were heading to Jacksonville after that. “Go get em, you old so-and-so once was,” yelled Assseldonk with a chuckle of glee as I left the building.

Upon joining the Hustlers, I met with Henry Rectenberg, the Hustlers manager. He told me in no uncertain terms that this was probably a short stay. Maybe a week. They needed a fresh arm and other than that last start, the reports were positive on my pitching. I’d be in the bullpen and the club didn’t have any expectations for me other than to take the ball when called upon and do my best. It just so happens that my ability to take the ball when called upon has been my calling card throughout my career. I told him I was happy to help any way I could. Then, the waiting started. Let’s get one thing straight, I was not unhappy. I was back in the big leagues, so who cared if I wasn’t getting the call. I wouldn’t pitch at all that week, nor would I pitch in the first two games of the Montreal series to start the next week. It’d now been eleven days since I pitched in an actual game. Finally, on Wednesday, July 18th, in Las Vegas, I got the call. It was the eighth inning, and Montreal had just broken things open. With Ramon Gonzalez on the mound and two outs, Denes Terovolas hit a two run homer to make the score 10-5. Andy Sisco, Jr., the pitching coach, took the call in the pen and nodded to me. “You’re in, Johnny. Make it count!”

I gathered up, the door from the bullpen to the field opened, and that’s when I remembered something I did a few days ago. Our stadium ops manager asked me if I wanted my usual entrance music, Johnny B. Goode, like I always had. I thought about it, and told him I had a different idea this time around. Now it was time.

“Now pitching for the Hustlers, number fifteen, John Rasmussen III.”



The music wasn’t the only thing different. Instead of my usual saunter out to the mound as a starting pitcher, I went through the doors and broke into a full sprint to the pitching mound. The fans that were still here absolutely lost their minds. Was it because it was me, or the running, or what? I didn’t care. I got to the mound where I was greeted by Adam Rumbold, the Hustlers catcher on this day. Let’s do this, he said, and I completed my warmups and was ready to go.

Qaseem Kahil came to bat for the Blazers. I peered in as Rumbold gave the signal. I nodded and delivered. Kahil didn’t swing but the umpire bellowed “STRIKE!”. I offered the next pitch, and Kahil took a cut and missed. “STRIKE TWO!”. Rumbold now wanted something low and away. I hit my spot and Kahil made contact, but foul just past third base. Rumbold held down one finger and pointed in towards the batter. I nodded, set and threw the best fastball I could muster. Kahil swung, and missed. “STRIKE THREE!” Hollywood couldn’t have written it better for me. All of the Hustlers were on the top step of the dugout and I was greeted with a bevy of high fives and pats on the back. Rectenberg told me I was going back out for the ninth. I got the Blazers in order in the ninth, including one more strikeout. The only thing that would have made today better is if we were on the winning end of things, but this was the biggest win for me that I could have ever dreamed. Returning to the BBA level was a dream I thought was past me, but on this day I can report that it’s true what folks often say- dreams can indeed come true.

[jiminyhopkins]

Caleca competition is heating up! I like the first person player perspective. I'll have to try that sometime.

[R.Umali]

Great read, and I see that Little Johnny's picked up a save since the writing.

[recte44]

I'll follow up with my look at his unexpected success in the bullpen, which is certainly unsustainable.

[RonCo]

Definitely Caleca candidate. If I were Mike, I'd score it three points for a player profile.