Saint Mary's University of Minnesota Athletics

When I was in fourth grade, my coach, who will remain unnamed, told me that I didn’t have what it took to be a pitcher. As much as I wanted to punch him that day and still do today, I think it is fitting that he be mentioned first and foremost. For, without him, I may have never had the drive or motivation to be the player and person I am today.  
   
I cannot accurately describe the effect baseball has had on my life. Not only has baseball influenced me physically, but I really owe much of my social and emotional development to the game as well. Baseball is a game where when things are going well, it is easy. Over the years, there were times when I was out on the mound and it seemed I could do nothing wrong. On the other hand, baseball has this innate ability to humble you to your core. When things are going poorly, every hitter who comes to the plate seems to be carrying a “potato launcher”…
   
Why a “potato launcher,” you may ask? Well, let me tell you about my most vivid memory as a baseball player at Saint Mary’s University. Not only does this event replay itself in my mind quite frequently, but I am reminded by at least one person each week about it (I wish I was joking about that)…
   
Last year, we went up to Moorhead to play Concordia in our second-to-last conference double-header of the year. Andy Pass, our ace and only senior pitcher, started the first game of the double-header fully expecting it to be the last start of his exceptional career. He pitched a fine game, surrendering a few runs over six-plus innings. However, he started to struggle in the 7th inning and coach signaled down to the bullpen for me to take the hill and secure the win.
   
I got a couple of outs (I think) but the situation came about where there were guys on first and second, two outs, and we were clinging to a one run lead. Normally, this would be an ideal situation. However, coming to the plate, standing what seemed like six-five, two-hundred sixty pounds of sheer steel, was Kyle Johnson. Although he name was generic, his stats up to that point in the season were anything but average.  Arch tells the story about how coach looked at him and asked, “Should we walk him?” But, before Arch could answer, coach said, “Naw, let’s get him right here.”
   
So there I was, on a mound in Moorhead, MN, staring the eventual conference player of the year down from sixty feet, six inches away, one out away from securing a win for a senior pitcher on the day of his last career start. I sheepishly fired ball one. Then, strike one. Alex Schmitt, the catcher that afternoon, then signaled in the third and final pitch of that at-bat and what ended up being the final pitch of the game. Schmitty put down two fingers followed by one finger, indicating that he wanted an inside fastball. So, I shook my head with affirmation, came to the set position, checked the runner at second, and fired the most memorable pitch in my entire baseball playing career. As the ball left my hand and got half way to the plate, my stomach got that queasy feeling you get when you are in freefall. Then, as the pitch reached the plate and Kyle Johnson swung the bat, I heard “the sound.” For those of you reading this that happened to be there that day, you know what I am talking about: it sounded like a wet, dense sponge hitting something really hard, or the sound a potato makes as it is being propelled hundreds of feet in the air from a launcher made of PVC pipe and wire …
   
I didn’t have to turn around and watch; from the trajectory of the ball leaving the bat and “the sound,” it was clear that the ball was never going to be caught, unless someone in rural North Dakota happened to spot the vapor trail and wished to snag the surely dismembered ball of yarn. I simply put my head down and walked back to the dugout.
   
The VERY NEXT DAY at practice, I am greeted with the following:
   
Anonymous player: Hey David, did you get the email from the Concordia coach?
   
Me: No, what did it say?
   
Anonymous player: That ball that Kyle Johnson hit yesterday … well … it just landed. (Insert laughter here, I guess).
   
While that did make me smile (and there was nothing I needed more than some humor), it probably wasn’t the best burn I have heard about Kyle Johnson. Earlier this season, I was greeted with another “gem”:
   
Anonymous: Hey David, did you hear what’s happening at our Concordia game this year?
   
Me: No … but I bet you do …
   
Anonymous: They invited Kyle Johnson to throw out the first pitch, they are retiring his number, and they are dedicating a statue of a golden spruce tree beyond the center field fence to commemorate where his home run off you landed. (Insert laughter again)
   
And, since it was a three-run home run, I will end with a third and final “pearl” from earlier this season:
   
Anonymous: Hey David, I got a call from Concordia’s coach today. They want you to bring your checkbook to the game so you can pay the tariff on Kyle Johnson’s ball that landed in Canada. Cross-border trade isn’t free, eh? (Ha … Ha … Ha …)
   
Why did I just spend the last few paragraphs detailing this “miserable” story? Well, besides entertainment value (isn’t it nice how we can all laugh about these things now?), I think it somewhat epitomizes my baseball experience. Let’s be honest, during my four years at Saint Mary’s, we didn’t win a whole lot of games. At the same time, the entire experience has been memorable and amazing, due mostly to the “support” of my teammates…
   
While baseball is played on a field, the Cardinal baseball family I was a part of the last four years extended far beyond the foul lines. I will not remember every pitch I threw or every game I played, but I will never forget my teammates and coaches and the memories we made together. This is truly a cohesive team, more than any I have ever been on before, where guys have a genuine interest and respect for each other. I am proud to say that I was a Saint Mary’s Cardinal baseball player.
   
I want to thank the seniors for the way they never quit, even when that would have been easier. I also want to thank them for showing me that there were more important things in life than homework…like “Duster Discos” and such… I would also like to briefly mention each of them and my favorite memory.
   
Joey O: The penalty box during the hockey games were some of the funniest times I had in college. Also, your “public” individual meeting this year was a classic moment. Thanks for always being a great sport – for a “little guy.”
   
Willy: I’ll never forget your face when I told you I was quitting; also a classic moment. It was a pleasure warming up for one, two, or five innings with you on multiple occasions.
   
Swenny: You are the best story teller I have ever met. My personal favorites: anything Michael Irvin related or the story about when I pointed “up” at Carleton freshman year. I will miss most your passion and energy for the game.  
   
Fersch: Your catch partner, “Davy Duster,” is going to miss you. I’ll never forget all the great times we had at morning workouts.
   
KR: Freakonomics. Is there really anything more to say? I hope someday you “man-up” and just admit that you paid Valluri off. Thanks for being a great leader for this team.
   
Krause: You introduced me to Schmidts Bakery bear claws, which may not only be delicious but necessary this upcoming July 10th when DJ and Court get hitched. Your Kirby Carr story may be the only one to surpass my Kyle Johnson story.
   
Arch: (You get a section later and probably deserve your own “salute” which grandparents would not want to read)
   
Ding: I have always respected your approach to the game of baseball which I think involved, ironically, not thinking. I have never seen a player take as many horrible swings preceding line drives to the gap. You were a pleasure to watch and the toughest out to get in Fall Ball.  
   
To the juniors, sophomores, and freshmen, you have the key’s to this “duster” squad now. I believe in my heart that the team that returns next year will be the team that gets this program back to the conference playoffs.
   
Finally, I want to close my senior salute by thanking those people who have been closest to me over the last four (or twenty-two) years:
   
To my parents, you have always been my greatest means of support. All those days playing catch on the side of the house did amount to something. Also, thanks for being there when the tears were flowing – whether that be in the car on long drives home or the bathroom once we got home…
   
To my sister, for sitting through all those miserable games throughout the years with mom and dad. You always sacrificed your time to support and love me, for which I will forever be indebted to you. You have always been a great listener no matter the situation, time, or place…
   
To Lindsey, who I am sure is still bitter that she didn’t make my “Outstanding Male Senior” acceptance speech. While I don’t always “want to talk about it” after games are over, I still love you. I saved most, if not all the cards you made me before games. Having the “wives’ club” at practice always helped me throw harder…
   
To Arch, Sam, DJ, Dusty, Briese, and Ward – my roommates and best friends. Without you guys in my life, who would have been there to protect me from my “2.0” moments? Who would have taught me how to text, eat, play games, dance, and “TMP?” Who would have accompanied me to the Ground Round? Who would have washed the deck? Who would I have won the business plan competition with? On a related note, whose business’ plans would I have continuously shot down? Who would I have played “the game” with? Who would have picked my lock? Who would have made NHL on the PS3 so memorable? (or unmemorable?) Who would have flipped “the switch?” And finally and probably most important, who would have gotten me out of the library to “live a litte?” Thanks to all of you for the role you played in my life.
   
Lastly, I would be remiss if I didn’t thank Coach Winecke, Whaley, Benji, Jacobson, and Schmidt. Thanks for pushing me to my potential, both on and off the field.
   
I know that this salute is incomplete, for the stories and “thank yous” are seemingly endless. However, I hope that by reading this, you can begin to understand my love for the game, my teammates, and all those who have supported me throughout the years.
   
I’ll close with my favorite baseball quote of all-time and the one that rings most true in my experience: “You see, you spend a good piece of your life gripping a baseball, and in the end it turns out that it was the other way around all the time.” — Jim Bouton