May 2, 2001

Rohnert Park

It’s been over two weeks since my last entry, but I promise that this will be the last hiatus, barring any unforeseen circumstances. One of the main reasons–hell, the ONLY reason–that I haven’t written anything is because there has been nothing to write about. I spent the last three weeks or so in Chico, where I was working out in preparation for my move to the Sonoma County Crushers. It was good to see some of the guys from last year’s team again, but the thought of playing against them is a bit weird. There is no animosity (that I know of) between them and me, and it’s not like football where you’re a teammate with someone one season and trying to decapitate him the next. Like Cal Ripken said a few years ago, "Baseball is not an enemy sport." Yes, pitchers have to pitch inside and base runners have to break up double plays and occasionally bowl over a catcher, but beyond that, there really is no physical contact involved. You can be friends with your opponent and still try to kick his ass; it’s not a mutually exclusive situation.

From the bitterness standpoint, well, that’s pretty much all gone. Like I said, initially I was miffed, but now, I have come to realize that it was a baseball decision and nothing else. Take the Brooklyn Dodgers’ Jackie Robinson, for example. He may have been the most important player in baseball history, yet he was traded to the hated Giants after nearly a decade with Brooklyn (he of course refused the trade and retired). Evidently, the GM of the Dodgers at the time felt that Robinson’s services were no longer desired, but the Giants obviously didn’t feel that way. Apparently, though, Robinson felt that the bad blood between the two teams was far too intense to become a Benedict Arnold. In the WBL, the Chico-Sonoma County rivalry is well known within the league, but it’s nowhere near great enough for me to feel like I’m "selling out" Chico. After all, it was the Heat’s decision, not mine. I’m sure people and newspaper reporters are going to ask me if I’m going to play with a chip on my shoulder against the Heat, but I won’t consider them any different than anyone else in the league. I’ve always felt that you owe it to your teammates, your manager, your owner, the fans, and the game itself to go 100% all the time, from the time you arrive at the park until the time you leave, so saying you’re going to "step it up" against one particular opponent means that you’re giving a less than full effort against another. To me, that’s entirely unacceptable.

I arrived here in Rohnert Park (a town about 30 miles north of San Francisco Bay between Petaluma and Santa Rosa on CA Rte. 101, for all you geography buffs out there) on Monday night. We have our first official workout tomorrow, but I wanted to come down a few days early to get set up at my host family and to become acclimated to the area. Today, I went to the stadium for a light workout and to meet some of my new teammates, many of whom I have played against in this league. The Crushers had a tough year last summer with a lot of turnover, so there are only about 6-8 guys returning from last year’s team. I’m not exactly sure how many guys will be in spring training, but I should find out tomorrow.

It’s always interesting–and somewhat exciting–to meet new players. The introduction always seems to follow the same course: a handshake, an exchange of names, and a "so, where did you play last year?" (if he’s new to the league), or an "oh yeah, I remember you." Along these lines, one theory I have concocted in my six-plus year of pro ball is that a player’s natural ability to play baseball is inversely proportional to the following three things: the ability/desire to learn Spanish, the ability to explain why you are successful at what you do, and the ability to remember names of previous opponents. Certainly, this isn’t true all the time, but far more often than not. I always think of Philadelphia Phillies 1^st baseman Travis Lee, a former teammate of mine with the High Desert Mavericks in 1997. To give you an idea of his "natural ability," he received a $10,000,000 signing bonus in the fall of 1996, which at the time was a record. To this day, he is the best all around baseball player I’ve ever played with, bar none. Travis didn’t know a lick of Spanish. After striking out, I’d ask him how he could have possibly hit that same dirty changeup into the next county, looking for a response like, "Well, he threw it to me two at-bats ago" or "I saw him tipping it by digging for it in his glove," i.e. an answer that someone like me would give. Well, he’d say, "I had it in the back of my mind that he’d throw it." In other words, he had no idea how to hit; he just did it. Finally, we had a pitcher named Jeff Sobkoviak, and one month into the season, Travis had no idea how to spell his name or how to pronounce it–and this was his own TEAMMATE!! I just shook my head.

Anyway, I met roughly two-thirds of the guys that were invited to spring training, and we all did some throwing and some hitting in the batting cages. I still haven’t met the manager, Tim Ireland, though he has quite the track record and the reputation as a fiery guy. Also, it was confirmed that Kevin Mitchell, 1989 NL MVP with the San Francisco Giants and player/coach last year with the Crushers, will be the hitting coach this year. From what I read about him last year and from what I heard from the players, he is a great guy in the clubhouse, and someone who is sincerely interested in helping players improve. In fact, a man of his wealth and stature could have flown to St. George, UT, last year rather than take the 12- hour bus trip, but he didn’t, stating that he was no different than any other player on the team. I wish the snot-nosed, bonus-baby punks of the baseball world would take note of THAT. I look forward to meeting him and discussing hitting with him. There is one problem, though: he wore my beloved #7 last year. Something tells me that when it comes time to choose uniform numbers–a situation where seniority and merit means everything–my two years of service in Class A doesn’t quite measure up to being a former NL MVP. Looks like this chunky third baseman might have to consider a new number. Rats. Out.

You can contact Bo Durkac at bohokiebo@aol.com, or visit his Website at www.probaseballadvice.com.