If At First You Don't Succeed- Try, Try Again

I arrived at the baseball field on campus yesterday in the early afternoon, just after I did my band work in the training room and just after my catcher got out of class. I assumed the oh-so-familiar duty of removing the bullpen mound tarp and raking out the dirt in front of the rubber and a few feet further down near my foot land position. I then retreated to the outfield, where the grass loomed largely untouched in the empty stadium, and began warming up to throw my bullpen.

I breezed through my warmup throws and proceeded towards the mound. I let out a deep breathe as my catcher squatted 60 feet, 6 inches away from me and I positioned myself appropriately on top of the rubber. I came set, flipped the ball into a four-seam grip, and glared into my target. The catcher's mitt lay motionless on the outside corner, about knee high, just inviting me to guide the ball into it's open pocket. I lifted my leg, cocked my arm up, and reared back to throw. The ball came off of my fingers smoothly, and flew through the air briskly and efficiently. A split-second later, the ball greeted the catcher's glove with a loud thud, a sound that most pitchers have become so accustomed to.

There was no pain in my shoulder whatsoever. I let out a sigh of relief as I caught the return throw back from the catcher, and prepared myself to once again take my place on the rubber and deliver another four-seam fastball. I went through the same routine...coming set, finding my target, and delivering the pitch. Same result. A thud on the other end and a painless arm attached to me.

After a few preliminary tosses, I began to get in a rhythm. I threw four sets of 15 fastballs, sets one and three from the stretch and sets two and four from the windup. I worked the ball consistently on each corner, having my catcher move back and forth according to whichever direction I indicated with my glove. With each delivery came the same thud, and then I'd retreat back towards the rubber as I repositioned myself to repeat each four-seamer over and over and over again.

There is nothing in the world that I would describe quite like throwing a bullpen. Throwing a bullpen is such a tedious and monotonous task that it often times grows frustrating just going through the thought of the action. Yet throwing a bullpen is, in my opinion, a truly glorious and beautiful event. Pitching in and of itself is an art form, and practicing pitching enables one to exploit that art form on a consistent basis off the bullpen mound.

About halfway through my rehab session, I paused and smiled. I looked at my catcher, who quizzically took off his mask and peered back, and pondered for a moment.

"Man, it feels awesome to be standing up here right now," I remarked. He grinned back at me, knowing exactly how I feel. He is recovering from a torn labrum and appreciated the opportunity to catch me just as much as I appreciate the opportunity to pitch to him.

As I continued on throughout my bullpen session, I began to fall deep into an odd form of reminiscent thought. I was so comforted by the fact that the time I took off from throwing had allowed for the pain in my shoulder to subside that I started taking in everything in my surroundings. The smell of the dirt that surrounded me on the mound. The fizzing noise the ball made as it exited my hand and darted through the air towards home plate. The faint tussling of the grass as it waded back and forth in the breeze. I missed it. So much. Sure, I've been on the field plenty of times since my injury. I've attended numerous games, I've attended countless practices. I've coached third base and helped line the batter's box. I've done just about everything that is involved with being on a baseball field without actually playing baseball. And when I finally began to get a slight glimpse of that experience again yesterday, however miniscule and faint that chance may have seemed, it felt unbelievable.

My reminiscent pleasantries quickly turned into a harsh self-loathing. My mind raced through all of those times in the past when I hit snooze on my alarm clock, when I arrived at the field in a sluggish and unprepared manner. I'd taken my abilities for granted...I'd taken THE GAME for granted...for so long and not even understood the true implications of my actions. As the old adage goes, one doesn't realize how important something is until it's gone. Well baseball is gone, and I can't believe I'd ever acted the way I did. Throwing bullpens now, and seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, allows me to enable myself to push that much harder, to strive that much further. Because I've been fortunate enough to be granted the opportunity to have a second chance, and I'll never let anything get in the way of that.

After my self-loathing I pumped a few more strikes into the zone and finished up the allotted amount of pitches. Then it was off to the weight room to ensure that I completed the appropriate post-throwing rehab exercises. And while I was at it, I threw in a little bit extra focus and a little bit more enthusiasm with each prescribed movement. Because if my goal is to return, and to be at full health, it'll take a lot of hard work...even more than what I've already done. And I never want to take this beautiful game for granted again.