Posts belonging to Category College Baseball

Late last Wednesday night the Farmington Caridinals lost 4-0 to the Arizona Firebirds at Ricketts Park, thus ending their run in the Connie Mack World Series. The game was very even, very clean, and seemingly very quick. The following day I was on my way back to Dallas, where I had second-year orientation Friday morning. The following week was completely full with labs, lectures, and paper discussions, and it seemed like I had never really left the Baylor basement. As a dental student at Baylor, the only summer vacation that students get is the one between first and second years. Subsequent summers will be spent in clinic with patients, far from a baseball field and even farther from a team. The last two years of my life have very heavily involved coaching baseball back home in Farmington, both school ball and club ball, and the 18 or so years before that were spent playing. To the best of my knowledge, I am going to be away from the game now for the next three years at least. There are a lot of hopeful emotions and contemplation that I’m sure will take place between now and the next time I get to be a part of a team, but there will be an even greater amount of longing and frustration. The game has been very good to me, and I have spent a great deal of my life trying to be good to it as well. Aside from my family and very close friends, baseball has been the most important thing in my life since I can really remember, and it is difficult to accept that for at least a few years, it will take a backseat to my career in another field.

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Shortly after the bench-clearing brawl between the Reds and Cardinals, I received an email from a good friend and former teammate, asking about one of baseballs many, under-appreciated nuances.  Since it is a discussion that delves into the mentality surrounding the brawl, as well as a discussion about the overall makeup of professional baseball players, I felt that it would be appropriate to post it in it’s entirety on The Golden Sombrero.

Rosey,

So this is a few days after the Cards/Reds brawl, so I won’t even ask if you saw it, since I know you did.  But I was wondering if you knew anything about the shin-guard-tapping-as-a-sign-of-friendship thing that got pissed off Yadi?  I had never heard of that before and was wondering if you knew about it/encountered it anywhere.  I’m going to start looking for it…when I get the rare chance to see a game.

Keep on keepin’ on,

Ryan

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Ryan,

A batter tapping the catcher’s shin guards as he strolls up the plate is a subtle term of endearment within the game, much like when a first basemen chats it up or pats an opposing hitter on the butt after a base hit.  A similar type of courtesy can be observed when a catcher hands the batter his bat after running out a foul ball, when the batter picks up a catcher’s mask for him after an admirable foul ball attempt, and when a hitter picks up the ball at his feet after the catcher wears a foul tip.

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The Connie Mack World Series is always littered with draftable talent, and first-rounders are in the Series annually.  This year has been a little different, though.  The first round of this year’s CMWS has seen potentially four first round picks and a handful of guys who should eventually land within the top few rounds (or at least be paid like it).  Let’s look at East Cobb’s Daniel Norris, Arizona Firebird Jake Cole, Midland Redskin Dillon Howard, Florida Legend Luke Jackson, Farmington Cardinal Jake McCasland, and DBAT Mustang Dylan Bundy.  All seven of these guys were starters in the CMWS opening round, which took place Friday through Sunday.

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It seems every small town holds its own annual festival of some sort, a social happening to bring the community together and give the few people there a reason to get out and celebrate collectively. For many places this event is the local fair, a chance for folks to show off their best quilting and sheep-raising among various other pastoral proficiencies, while grubbing down on corn dogs, cotton candy and more deliciously life-shortening treats. Others get a little more creative; Spivey’s Corner, North Carolina hosts the National Hollerin’ Contest, where competitors are judged on their redneck greeting skills, while Clinton, Montana honors the time-honored rancher’s delicacy of battered cow balls at its yearly Testicle Festival.

These events are designed to provide an entertaining distraction for people who generally don’t have a whole lot to get excited about. Here in Farmington, New Mexico, our distraction is baseball and our festival is the Connie Mack World Series, the best amateur tournament in the game.

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How you doin Sombrero Nation?  I know I have not posted in a while and I apologize for that.  I have been busy handling my coaching duties for the Farmington Cardinals, your 2010 FABC representative Host team in the 2010 Connie Mack World Series.  I say that with pride.  The Cardinals were the winner of the local city league (state) tournament.  Winner of this tourney gets an automatic bid in the annual Connie Mack World Series tournament.

Early in the year I began writing pieces about my city’s spectacular baseball field, Ricketts Park.  As the start of August runs near, the FABC Connie Mack League embarks on a journey.  This journey leads to the holy grail of Amateur baseball, the one and only Ricketts Park.  As the local teams of the Farmington league do battle, every last one of them has one common one thought in their brain; “If we win this thing, I get to be in the Connie Mack World Series!”  I write this piece with a special piece of my heart, for I grew up and still reside in Farmington, NM.  I grew up watching first round draft picks play on the field that I hoped to one day play on myself.  As a 17 year old I lost in the championship round after throwing a complete game 1 hitter (that can still be argued today as a no-hitter) and lost.  As an 18 year old, I was beat on Championship Night by Mike Dunn, who just recently got called back to the show by the Braves.  Last year he even won a ring with the Yankees.  Not a bad guy to lose to at 18 years old.  Then, last year, fellow writer Barfy and I lost on championship night; as coaches.  I was actually picked up my 18 year old summer by Barfy’s team, the Sky Sox.  But I digress.  There will be time for a trip down memory lane later.

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