There is a belief that if you’re good at one sport, you’re likely good at others. I tagged along in that thought. Then I watched John Wall throw out the first pitch at last Friday’s Washington Nationals game. It was as if he was trying to recreate his bounce-pass alley-oop to Blake Griffin from this year’s Rookie-Sophomore Game. This attempt with a baseball, however, was not nearly as pretty.
The YouTube age has, among many other things, made traditional first pitch blunders a must-see. There’s no excitement in seeing celebrities throw first-pitch strikes, just like it is not fun watching people who can sing belt out songs at karaoke. The public demands embarrassment. Before viral videos, only a stadium full of people could witness a horrible throw to kick off a game. Those in-house fans would tell their friends and family, but that wouldn’t have the same impact as actually being able to watch it unfold.
Among my favorites over the years are Cincinnati mayor Mark Mallory, a random San Diego Padres fan, Charlie Brown and Mariah Carey. Of those, Charlie Brown is the only one who might get a pass. He is, after all, likely a 130-pound man wearing a 50-pound, bulky costume. (Proposed Rule: First-timers should always head to Pittsburgh before throwing a pitch anywhere else. Think of it as the minor leagues.)
I once stood in the same spot as Wall and the other first-pitchers. It wasn’t on a major league field, but it took place at a time when I too could have become the next YouTube sensation.
My debut on the mound came in Sept. 2005. The Somerset Patriots, a minor league baseball team that plays in the independent Atlanta League, were in the playoffs that month and I, along with my co-worker at the time, Mike Ashmore, were each offered the opportunity. That year, I was wrapping up my sixth year covering the team for the Hunterdon County Democrat newspaper and the former AtlanticLeagueBaseball.com. It was also my last season on the beat before handing over the reins to Ashmore, who had been writing regularly for the website.
A few days before the pitch, I was sitting in the press box with vice president of public relations Marc Russinoff, who I had grown to know well since I first walked into the stadium in May 2000. When he asked if I’d like to throw out the first pitch, I thought he was joking. Then he explained it was the Patriots’ way of thanking me for my coverage – and publicity – over the last six years. It was a genuine gesture, one I very much appreciated. I told him, “absolutely.”
I don’t remember ever warming up before the big toss, definitely not in the days leading up to it. Then again, I can picture Ashmore and myself standing near the underground batting cage tossing a ball back and forth. It’s said the underground warm-up is something President Obama did before his first pitch and look how that turned out. In reality, practice tossing means nothing. You could throw dozens of perfect strikes with no one around, but as soon as the bright lights shine down on you, your accuracy could all change.
Again, this wasn’t a major league game with the eyes of 30,000-plus fans glued on me. It was, however, a minor league playoff game at a ballpark that was regularly packed. Since the Patriots perennially led the league in attendance, there was not going to be a vacant seat in the house this night.
I can remember standing on the field waiting for the announcement that the first pitches were going to take place. I was excited, but not overly nervous. It wasn’t the eyes on me, but the possibility of failure. I’m sure I asked Patriots manager Sparky Lyle, who I had a good relationship with, for some advice. He probably told me to stay away from the slider (his signature pitch) and just to throw it.
Ashmore took the mound first. (The picture he was handed afterward has him in perfect stride towards home plate; a great action shot.) When my turn came, the public address announcer was reading off my credentials and before he could finish I threw my pitch. I don’t know why I didn’t wait for him to finish, offer the crowd a wave and then proceed. The ball sailed through the air and landed a little bit outside to a still crouched catcher, certainly not a few feet directly into the ground in front of me. Because I didn’t wait to throw my pitch, the photographer wasn’t ready for my photo and the one I was handed depicts me walking off the mound looking like Shaggy from Scooby Doo. It’s one of my least flattering photos ever.
I don’t recall whether I received many cheers or high-fives afterward. The whole thing happened very quickly. That night was the closest I’ve become to feeling like a professional athlete. I don’t know if I’ll ever get the opportunity to throw a first pitch again in my life. Maybe I’ll just stick to writing, just like Wall should just stick to basketball.
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