Brush(back) with greatness
Everyone's got some kind of story they can tell about a time they met or saw someone famous. Sometimes you gotta take 'em with a grain or few of salt, but nonetheless, they're great stories.
A guy I used to work with once saw Tiger Woods and Michael Jordan playing $100 blackjack out in Vegas, so he scraped together his crumpled wad of 1s and 5s, hit the ATM, and scratched out enough to get a single black chip. He sat at the table, played his hand, lost (although he didn't get the famous Mike and Trent "double down" hand), and went on his merry way.
My old roommate and I were watching a Timberwolves game on TV, waiting for our friends to come over and pick us up to go out. Right before we left, Sam Mitchell gets fouled hard while shooting a baseline 3 and comes up hobbling. We get downtown, find a spot to park, and walk through the skyways to get to the bars. Up in front of us is a really tall guy walking with an aircast on his leg. My roommate asks the guy, "You gonna be all right?" and he replies with a suave "oh yeah." After he passes, he asks if I recognized him. Since my mind was on two things- beer and girls- I didn't. Of course, it was Sam Mitchell, which spawned an entire night of using the Trent Tucker voice for everything ("Sssam Mitchell, workin' on that free...throw...shot-t!").
I thought that was my shot at a brush with fame, and I blew it. Not really much of a story to tell- "My old roommate pointed out Sam Mitchell in the skyway to me once...." Well, thanks to the Angels in the World Series, I've got one of my own. Back in the day (cue Springsteen's "Glory Days"), as a freshman baseball player, I played baseball against Jarrod Washburn. Never struck out against the guy either.
I'm really excited to see Washburn hit tonight, because like any major league pitcher (with the possible exception of Ramon Ortiz), he was an absolute stud in high school. Our team drew the fortune of playing Washburn's team in the first round of the playoffs that year, and that spawned one of the most memorable moments of my baseball career. Heck, I'm surprised MasterCard didn't list it as one of its "Memorable Moments" last night.
Anyhow, it's 0-0, top of the first. Like Barry Bonds, Washburn's lurking in the cleanup spot. Our pitcher proceeds to walk to walk the first guy on four pitches, prompting our center fielder to yell "ball four" like Uecker in the first Major League flick. Second batter...ball eight. The third hitter works it to a 3-0 count and our coach yells for time and starts walking to the mound. Most coaches usually wait until they get to the mound to start talking to the pitcher, but that wasn't the case here. Coach gets to about the third base line and yells, "Jensen, what the hell are you doing, walking the bases loaded so Washburn can hit a grand slam??" I can't remember if Coach actually finished watching to the mound or not, but I do remember the next pitch. "And Jensen walks the bases loaded on twelve straight pitches!" Of course, I had to yell back to the center fielder, "how can they be laying off pitches this close?" So up to the plate strolls Washburn, who has a lifetime average against us of just under .900. Our pitcher stares in for the sign, unleashes it, and 460 feet later, it's 4-0 Webster. A few innings later, we're down about 9-1 and I'm thinking about how much golf I'm going to be playing the rest of the summer.
Before the links, however, I got my last shot at getting a hit off Washburn. I'd had some good at bats before against him, getting down 0-2, watching some absolute filth, and then hitting a weak 4-hopper back to him (which was a moral victory). There was actually a walk mixed in there along the way...I can't really say I owned the guy, but for a freshman against a future Cy Young canidate, not too shabby. So I get into the box for my last AB of the season, and Washburn throws the gas outside for a ball. Up 1-0, I'm guessing he's going to come with the deuce...and I'm right. It's starting out right over the plate, and then it breaks...and breaks...and ends up right where my Barry Bonds elbow guard should've been. Pretty unsuspenseful, huh? A few minutes later, the game's over and I've got nothing to show for it except a sore elbow and a bruised chin from a hot grounder to third.
It's pretty surreal seeing Washburn climb through the ranks, starting with the Burnett County Sentinel blasting out the "Washburn drafted" headline all the way to "Washburn to start Game 1 of the World Series". I was on the phone with my girlfriend later that night after Washburn had gotten taken out and she told me, "Honey, you're a better hitter than Barry Bonds." Wondering how that was possible, she explained, "Well, he struck out against Washburn. You never did, right?"
That's right. Take that, Bonds.
Go Angels.