A Kid Can Dream — Coming out of the Pen
Baseball was and always will be my first love
The phone rings. The bullpen coach picks it up. “34, go get hot.” I check my cleats one last time and head over to the bullpen mound. Tonight wasn’t like every other night at the yard. There was a different kind of electricity at T-Mobile Park on this cold October night. The type of electricity that you can feel on the back of your neck. The Mariners had finally made the postseason and were hosting game 7 of the ALDS. It was the top of the 8th, and we were nursing a one-run lead.
For me, it was business as usual. After completing my college career at Arizona State and being drafted in the first ten rounds, I played a couple of years in the minors and was traded to the hometown team. This was my second year in the majors, and boy was it a good time to be a Mariner. As a kid, I always dreamed of this moment. The last time the Mariners had made the playoffs was 2001. I was six. And now we were back, and I had my opportunity to contribute.
I was uncomfortably warm at this point after a couple of minutes of play catch. The kind of hot you get right before you start to sweat. Pullover off. On the rubber now. 10 Fastballs. 4 from the wind-up, the rest from the stretch.
The top half of the inning retired. To the bottom of 8, we go. I was working in the off-speed now, dialing in the curveball and change-up. Working location, in and out, getting a feel for my body. Breathing energy into the spots that are tight — feeling what pitches are working tonight. First guy up in the bottom of the 8th grounds out. One out. I’m working figurative batters now. I know that I am facing 3,4,5. Going through in my head how I wanted to attack each hitter. Pop up to the left. Two outs. Slowing down now. Catching my breath and drinking some water in between pitches. Inning retired.
To the ninth, we go. I let one last 2-seam fastball fly. All of the lights in the stadium dim. A video starts playing on the jumbotron. Kernkraft 400 begins to blast throughout the stadium. I give a couple of fists bumps to my guys in the pen as I start walking out. Bullpen gate swings open. Crowd erupts — game time.
