Yesterday my rookie season of independent baseball ended. It was undoubtedly the best four months of my life, and yet now I am faced with 8 months of baseball hibernation. Shit. While I assimilate back into the regular world, I’ll remember the season in a lot of unique ways…

It all started with me driving to and from Downs, Illinois trying to make the team and earn my first pro uniform. We were having spring training at a high school field because our brand new ballpark wasn’t yet finished. That 30 minute drive consisted of The Killers blaring at high volume, because I had just gotten their album, and one of their songs got me pumped up a little bit. Hearing the Killers now puts me right back in that car, on those corn-lined back roads feeling terrified of being cut.

Our pitching coach, Brooks, is hilarious. He not only got us prepared to win every time out, but left us with countless gems. He had two classics, which I am going to share just because I know some of my teammates will be reading this.

Guys would have great games and walk around the dugout the next day in a chipper mood with a smile on their face. To this, Brooks would often say, “Look at this guy (pointing out that grin of high-achievement), he thinks this is Disneyworld. But I tell you what, fellas, this isn’t Disneyworld; Dreams don’t come true around here.”

Now, this was said with the classic Brooks Carey grin and sarcasm, to which pretty much no one can deny a laugh. But it was always somewhat true – it’s tough to move up out of independent baseball, and everyone is looking to take your spot and replace you. Guys get a contract, get one out in a game and get released. Sometimes it’s that quick, because results are all that matter, and teams aren’t in the business of player development. Our opening day roster was made up of 24 players, only 10 of whom made it to see the last game of the year. Original Gangsters dropped like flies mid season.

And our pitching motto of the year was “Get all up in that ass,” translation, pitch inside. It was imperative to pitch inside, and when we didn’t, batters would extend their arms and get barrel on the ball. If we didn’t get the ball in far enough, then we had to get it in further. And if we got it in plenty far, well, then we still needed to get it in there ever further. After all,

“The bat is thin near the hands, and gets bigger toward the end. Where the bat is thick, that’s where the sharks swim. If you swim with the sharks, sooner or later you get bitten; where the handle is thin, that’s where the minnows swim, and you can swim around the minnows alllllll day.”

And the thing is, this was far from a joke – when you pitch inside far enough, a hitter can either barrel it up and hit it foul, or break his bat and keep it fair. Either way you win, and when you get a hitter trying to open up and cheat, he exposes himself to not just pitches away, but anything offspeed. Hitters love extending their arms, and hate getting jammed, and pitches away and out over the plate allow them to see it deep and extend. Sure, it’s the only place you throw a fastball, but In wins.

This Dollar Bill is stapled to the wall at Merkle's Bar in Wrigleyville

We made that dollar bill over the All-Star break, which a bunch of us spent in Chicago. It was a great time, and as soon as we got back, one of our group got traded. He was an OG, and was gone and out of our lives a day after an unforgettable trip. It was abrupt and pretty sad. We saw him again a month later, but in an opposing uniform. That’s how the game goes.

But the people are what make it worth the grind, because playing ball all summer in the heat is harder than any rookie realizes. Starting every 5th day takes a toll on the body, and it’s not easy to recover with the long bus rides, unhealthy food and late nights.  Being a position player is no easy task either, and I had a lot of respect for those guys, especially when many of them took a beating. Our shortstop, Jeff, led the league in hit by pitches and didn’t even come out one game when he dislocated his shoulder.

It’s the banter that keeps everyone afloat, and everyone blows off steam differently. I’ll remember throwing muffins at teammates in the shower, having religious conversations (sometimes wars) with our Christians, and just sharing in the many inside jokes with teammates. I love the movie Caddyshack, and one day a pitcher comes in, looks me in the eye, and asks me, in the voice of Judge Smails, “Will you be my pal, Danny? I lost it.

The aforementioned pitcher, Matt Coburn, was also the creator of “The Ring Face,” which consisted of turning your head sideways, sticking your tongue out, and going cross eyed. Every once in a while you would turn around and get a big eyeful of the Ring Face.

And I got to stay with two tremendous people – Denny and Dory, who made my life in town super comfortable. It’s hard to ask for a better host family, and I found myself living with two of the kindest, most supportive people I’ve ever met.

But sometimes, it’s the little things – like watching an arrogant teammate who really got under our skin crash into and flip over the outfield wall in pursuit of a home run. Sure, hustle is great, but when the ball is 20 feet over your head at the wall, it’s time to listen to the warning track (the name says it all) and slow the hell down. No, bro, you weren’t close to catching it, and laying on the ground for 10 minutes, only to come up perfectly fine, isn’t helping your heroic case.

Green = Go; Brown = Slow

But with all the people you meet, a lot of them you’ll never see again. You hope you do, but realize that in many cases, you won’t. We all hugged through the victory handshake line of our last game, and everyone had vanished by the next morning. As much as I hope to see most of the again, I realize I won’t. Everyone goes home and for next year some get resigned, some get released, traded, or drop out of the race. It’s a shame, especially when you’re in the trenches with them every single day for 120 days. And the same goes for a lot of the people you meet out there. You try to have relationships, friendships, whatever with those you meet, but when the end of the season comes, a lot of decisions are already made based on geography. But, you make decisions you can live with and try to sort your life out the best you can. Sometimes that means taking a chance in a new place and leaving some things behind.

Now, I’m a strength coach and pitching instructor again, armed with a lot of new knowledge. 7 months and 29 days to go.