You know how they say the sequel is never as good as the
original?
I disagree.
For the second straight year I tried out for the UCLA baseball
team and, if I don’t say so myself, I was dominating. The
stats speak for themselves.
Armed with a blazing 47-mph fastball and my out-pitch ““ a
Fernando-esque 29-mph screw ball ““ I baffled would-be Bruin
hitters and kept my perfect ERA of 0.00 intact.
You might be wondering what advantage I could have had,
considering I never made my high school baseball team or even
pitched in little league.
Well for one thing, I was pitching on 364 days rest.
It’s also possible that the hitters underestimated me, as
I’m not the typical baseball specimen.
I’m 5’6″, and the first digit of my weight is
a “2” ““ and it’s not exactly muscle either.
I was wearing jeans instead of baseball pants, and I didn’t
even have a hat or spikes.
Coach Gary Adams, as usual, had an epic pre-tryout speech.
“Well, I’ll be honest with you,” he said.
“You’re probably not going to make the team. But
we’ve had very good players come here as walk-ons. Eric
Karros was a walk-on. So was a guy by the name of Mike Magnante,
who pitched in the big leagues for eight and a half years,”
he said.
I don’t buy that logic. I’m as fast as Karros and as
good a hitter as Magnante. I had to be a shoo-in.
Adams let everyone run, hit and pitch this year. As usual, I
shined in every facet of the game.
After running perhaps the slowest 60-yard dash ever (the coaches
spared me my time), I took “batting” practice.
Let’s just say I’d win an infield ground-ball
contest.
Then came my shining moment.
I warmed up in the bullpen, and I wasn’t quite up to
snuff. My knuckleball didn’t knuckle, my curveball
didn’t curve, and my slider didn’t slide. I also tried
a new pitch I had never thrown before.
The screwball.
I had just looked into it the night before on the Internet
(where every great pitcher learns how to pitch). I must be a good
researcher because somehow, miraculously, I was able to throw a
screwball.
In the bullpen, my screwball was going in the strike zone and
sinking, although it might have been due to gravity.
Granted it moved slower than Drew Olson avoiding a blitz.
Finally, it was my turn to pitch, much to the pleasure of the
coaches, who were anxious to see some actual talent take the
mound.
My first pitch hit the batter, so I decided to ditch the
curve.
After getting the next hitter to ground to second, I surrendered
a single when a hitter somehow caught up to my fastball.
Then, the impossible happened.
I went to my trusty screwball, and with enough time to swing
twice at the 29-mph pitch, the batter stupidly swung once and
missed, to the marvel and cheers of coaches and batters warming
up.
The batter eventually reached first on an error, loading the
bases with ghost runners (there weren’t enough of us to hit,
run and field).
After two ground outs off my nasty screwball, I was out of the
inning, my spotless ERA intact.
To recap my last two years: 2 IP, 0 ER, 0 K, 0 BB, 2 H, 1
HBP.
That’s pretty good.
As I walked off the field, the coaches cheered. Adams then
walked up to me.
“Well Gilbert, you pitched better than last year,”
he said. “Your fastball went from 45 to 47. Keep improving
like that, and you’ll be really good by the time you’re
50.
“Did you have fun?” he asked.
“Of course I did.”
“Well, to be honest, I really don’t see anyone out
here I need. If you have homework to do and you need to go now, you
can.”
I stayed and played in the field during the semi-simulation
game.
Me study? Yeah, right.
Quiñonez thinks he can get Barry Bonds out. E-mail him
at gquinonez@media.ucla.edu.