Playing in the Big Leagues

 My mother's parents were George and Emma Nicklaus. My grandparents owned a dairy farm in Burtville, Pa. My mother had eight sisters and most of them lived within a half an hour from my grampa and gramma.

My grandparents' home in Burtville.

As long as I can remember, my parents and I would visit my grandparents every other Sunday. There was a huge family reunion every summer, but because many other relatives were still in the area there normally were family members present every Sunday.

A ball game would inevitably take place with my grandfather watching after an outdoor meal on a grill plus numerous desserts and dishes. His chair of choice usually sat in the shade of an apple tree which provided a good scenic point to observe the baseball action.

I heard him tell my parents on several occasions, "that boy is going to play in the major leagues." 

My grandfather loved watching Saturday night wrestling out of Buffalo and any baseball game he could find on his three channel (at best) black and white screen (but, mostly gray) television set. It was almost impossible to see the characters with a heavy grainy tint to the entire screen, but he was a vocal viewer.

My grandfather, George Nicklaus.

Okay, I didn't exactly "play" in a major league game, but for one day I sure felt like I did.

I was a professional baseball scout for 25 years. I started my career with the Houston in 1992 and spent six years with the Astros.

I joined the Athletics in 1998 and worked with Oakland for eight seasons including the "Moneyball" year (2002 draft). "Moneyball" is a book written by Michael Lewis and later made in to a movie (starring Brad Pitt). The focus is Oakland's general manager, Billy Beane, highlighting his ideas and attempts at revolutionizing the evaluation and acquisitions of baseball talent.

 Note: 1998- A's manager, Art Howe, general manager, Sandy Alderson and then assistant G.M, Billy Beane

During my first year with Oakland, I was fortunate to have a dual role. I scouted until early June and after the free agent draft had finished, I served as the A's hitting coach for our short season (76 games) club in Medford Oregon, the Southern Oregon Timberjacks.

I had a similar position with the Astros in the summer of '96, coaching with the Quad Cities club in the Midwest League (full season, 140 games). I joined the QC team after the first half of the season. Our manager was ex-big leaguer, Jim Pankovits. Another former major leaguer, infielder Joe Pittman, was the hitting coach and Donnie Alexander was the pitching coach.

The opportunity with the Astros was my first time on-the-field professionally and although I had been a college coach for seven years, working with Jim Pankovits was a tremendous learning experience. His ability to teach and his knowledge of all aspects of the game were outstanding. His game management was the best I've ever seen, at any level. 

I actually saw Jim play in 1967 as his Little League team from Virginia lost 1-0 against Japan in the finals of the LLWS in Williamsport. Our coach and parents took our Eldred Little League team to the game.

I looked forward to coaching again, this time in Medford. In this new position, I would have a larger daily role and the balance of our players would be making their professional debut, many of them coming directly from the '98 free agent draft.

Southern Oregon Timberjacks' hat.

Since I had just joined the A's and was going to coach that summer, I was allowed to miss ten days of scouting and travel to our spring training site in Phoenix. Spring training is broken up between the major league and minor league camps. I was assigned to observe for a day or so and gradually work my way in to the drills and participate in some of the activities with the minor leaguers.

The second week of minor league camp had just started when I arrived and no games had been played yet. The days were set up to be on the field by 7:30 a.m., break for lunch, and then resume workouts until mid-afternoon.

I was glad I arrived in good, general physical condition and had taken a few weeks to throw and swing a bat before going to camp, just in case I was asked to do any "hands-on" work.

That work began the second day I was in camp.

I was assigned to the Double A club for the morning workout. That team was managed by Jeffrey Leonard, a MLB veteran of 14 years (1977-1990). He hit .266 in his major league career with 144 home runs and was a two-time National League All-Star.

Leonard was a large man with a big, booming voice along with an intimidating scowl that he appeared to carry most of the time. I hadn't made a very good first impression the previous day when I was putting on my shoes before leaving the clubhouse.

I had brought black shoes with me, totally forgetting that all A's on field personnel wore white shoes. That was an Oakland trademark and it had taken me less than 30 minutes to get ripped by Leonard. There was a slim chance he might have been laughing a little inside, but he made his point and I would not make that error again.

Leonard informed me that I was going to throw batting practice to the second group of hitters. Players usually hit in groups of four, rotating after seven or eight swings, taking up to four or five sets during their allotted BP time.

A key in throwing good batting practice is to put the ball in an area where the hitter can get good swings. In other words, throw "centered strikes." Fortunately, because I've done it for so many years (and still doing it-occasionally), I'm pretty solid at this task.

I hadn't done it in a while, but my set went well with no complaints and when I came off the field Leonard grunted something at me which I interpreted to be a positive review.

The following day I reported to camp in a relaxed manner. I was feeling more comfortable in my surroundings and had just passed the one test I had anticipated with some trepidation, throwing batting practice to professional hitters.

Keith Lieppman, our player development director, approached Curt Young and me and announced the major league camp was short batting practice pitchers for the morning workout. Curt pitched part of 11 seasons in the majors, winning 69 games with a 4.31 ERA. He played for the A's for eight seasons and later coached in the minors and eventually the big leagues with the organization.

Lip asked if we could help out and throw to some of the major leaguers and ML candidates.

We both said yes, but my mind was racing. The previous day had gone well, but this was ML camp. What if I hit one of the key players? Some of these guys were making well over a million dollars even back in 1998. I wasn't even sure I could throw on back to back days,

Curt drove us over to big league camp, only a couple of miles from the minor league facility. Although I didn't want to show any emotion, I did mention I never had thrown to ML hitters before. Curt understood and calmly stated that it was no big deal (yeah, for him).

He drove his truck behind the backstop screen, about 50 feet from the batting cage. The first player I saw hitting in the first set of players was future Hall of Famer, Rickey Henderson. At least, I wouldn't have to throw to him. With that crouched stance, he had a strike zone about as big as a postage stamp.

We were told that Curt would throw to the fourth group and I would throw to the fifth. As is customary, we jogged out to the outfield to help shag balls with the rest of the guys.

Standing alone in right field, I began to feel the anxiety build. I was thinking of all the things that could go wrong.

Finally, it crossed my mind that this was what I was supposed to do. Like so many youngsters, I wanted to be a major league player like Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris.

I was a good player, but did not have professional playing ability, like Port Allegany's Brian Stavisky and Josh Kinney. Bradford's Ben Copeland and Austin's Mark Corey would join that group along with some other Big 30 players.

 I did, however, have the ambition to make baseball my career. I actually had the opportunity to be on the field with major leaguers . It wasn't exactly what my grandfather had pictured, but I was on the field with them and was actually going to make a contribution, however small, to their daily efforts.

The field was almost vacant when I ran in to throw to my group. Ron Washington, the ML third base coach and in later years the manager of the Texas Rangers, was the only development person left to observe.

It was 22 years ago, but I still remember the three hitters I faced like it was yesterday. Two of them actually had short stints in the majors, Cody McKay and Jorge Velandia. the third hitter in the group was an invitee from Japan.

No issues throwing to McKay and Velandia. The Japanese hitter, a lefty, would be my final hitter of the day.

The unexpected then occurred. It caught me totally off guard. The hitter was swinging and missing most of the pitches I threw. It was so bad that I was actually trying desperately to find one area where he might have some success and even then, he made only soft contact. I threw the same four seam fastball I always threw and at the same velocity and he just wasn't hitting it.

After 20-25 pitches, "Wash" called an end to the workout and all there was left to do was to gather the balls on the field and put them in the buckets.

As we were retrieving the scattered balls, Cody McKay came up to me and said thanks and Ron Washington gave a nod of approval.

When Curt and I arrived back on the minor league side, I played it cool when I was asked how it went with the "big boys."

Minutes later, I raced behind the clubhouse to a pay phone and called my wife. Excitedly, I reviewed for her what had just happened like a youngster telling his mother about his first youth league home run.

The next morning I was reading the sports page and underneath the column "transactions" where they list the teams and any player news, I glanced at the Oakland heading.

I saw that the Japanese hitter I had thrown to had been released. His dreams of playing big league baseball had ended.

I guess the organization felt if he couldn't hit me, he never was going to hit big-time pitching. Releases are an everyday part of spring training, but I couldn't stop thinking that my special day was one of his worst.

I ended the summer coaching in the Northwest League with the Timberjacks.

I'm two places left of the bear. It was one of the hottest summers on record in Oregon. The scoreboard would note the numbers and there were some 100 plus days. I'm not sure how hot it would be a in a bear costume.

There were four young players on our mostly rookie squad who eventually made it to the major leagues and it's nice to know that I played at least a minor role in their development.

Two of our players who became major leaguers: first baseman, Jason Hart and outfielder, Eric Byrnes

Those two players, all their teammates and all the people I met in spring training never knew what a large part they played in my baseball maturation. The memories they created will be with me forever, especially my one day in the big leagues.

A plaque from the Medford Boosters' Club