The Everyday Joes

In case you haven’t noticed, and judging by the attendance you haven’t, the Indians have managed to win a few here and there, and are threatening to climb out of the cellar.–Bob Uecker as Harry Doyle in the movie Major League

They’re the everyday Joes: the too busy, too average, too small, ball playing mongers, screeching “atta babe,” “cannacorn,” and other things I would rather not mention, considering it’d take this article from partly crude to tongue whipping pornographic.

But that is why they’re more entertaining than any other Saturday endeavor not named beer-pong or bunny rabbit petting at the nearby Atascadero Zoo.

Harry Doyle would be proud, 10 to 15 fans speckle the orange rusting seats at a blazing hot Sinsheimer park, mocking the opposing squad (Stanford), and talking to the back plate umpire with a verbal intimacy as deep as a steaming love affair.

He tells you to shut up. You ask him why he’s paying more attention to you than he is the game. Shut up. You shut up.

The game continues.

A bad Doyle wannabe begins the game’s announcement, but becomes sidetracked with the tag sale Sears merchandise cutting out like a hoarse Roseanne. Once he gathers himself, he begins naming off the Cal Poly roster with a childish vibrato, cracking like a sour violin.

A frail, no more than 5’9″ baby faced kid comes bobbing his head to a bit of Lil’ Wayne, pounding his micro chest, before taking a stab at the ol’ home plate.

“Play ball,” the ump shouts with authority. Play ball? You think, as you check the crowd for Little League cougars cheering on their grammar school all-star. You quickly discover this is no Little League game. Why? because the few “Poly Dollys” sitting in the stands illuminate the park with a Jesus-like glow. Their lingerie, uh-hum t-shirts, leave as much to the imagination as a Rex Ryan press conference.  By this, you rest assured, that these are in fact college athletes, and settle down for the game.

The NCBA, otherwise known as the National Club Baseball Association, is the better version of NCAA athletics. Their players are no-namers, like a pair of rugged, twenty dollar hiking boots, bought at a yard sale.  Yet they still do the job for any baseball lover who doesn’t want to sell his left arm to enjoy a day at the ballpark. The free admission not only promotes the sport, but the betterment of community, where families or co-workers can talk and collaborate within a serene setting. Over 2,000 college club teams compete nationwide, where regional playoffs dub in Las Vegas, before the main stage, the World Series, played in Columbus, Georgia. Yes there is a NCBA World Series; the winner last year was Northeastern.

Locally, Cal Poly competes in the The Southern Pacific Conference (historic, right?) with the likes of UCSB, UC Merced, and UC Santa Cruz.  Currently the Mustangs are 4-1 from splitting a two game set against UC Davis andsweeping the Stanford Cardinal last weekend.

Their roster is filled with a group of young people committed to the love of the game. Starting catcher Nick Anzalone, a fourth year Construction Management major, says he plays club ball amidst his incredibly busy schedule (4 hours in class, 4-8 hours a day in lab!) because, “it’s fun, and most importantly,” he continues, “this game has been my passion and love for all of my life.” In the second of two games on Saturday, Anzalone surprised a cynic like myself, when twice, he gunned balls to first and second nearly picking off eager runners. His arm was far superior to some college catchers I’ve seen, and the accuracy and his poise behind the plate, anchored the ball club.

According to Anzalone, he has the green light to call pick off plays on a whim. “I can call plays. I have a triage of things I can call,” Anzalone said, before finishing, “I have been catching for over ten years. I was an all-league candidate at Armijo High, so I know what I am doing.” The reality, is that a player like Anzalone could play ball at many smaller universities, or community colleges. Many of his teammates from Armijo, a large school in Fairfield, Ca, went on to play at Oral Roberts. So why not? “I don’t have the time,” Anzalone smiled, as he spouted a grocery list of responsibilities. His girlfriend blushed, when he listed her as one.

Team coach, Anthony Pannone, a former minor leaguer who played six years in the Giants organization, joined the club this season as the head coach. The twenty-nine year old, former fire baller, played with Matt Cain, Travis Ishikawa, and Nate Shierholtz. Born and raised in Orange County, Pannone became a standout early on, and went on to play college ball at Seward County Community College in Liberal, Kansas. In 2000, the pitcher was drafted in the 16th round, 481st overall to the Giants, and in 2006,  reached triple-A with the Fresno Grizzlies, before injuring his elbow. A career of 29-30 in the minor leagues, Pannone finished with a 2 to 1 strikeout to walk ratio, and an ERA of 4.24. When asked about his coach, Anzalone stated, “Coach Pannone’s experience in the majors not only sets a precedent for our ball club, but sets the bar high enough to help us excel. He expects only the best from his team, and his wisdom of the game is superior to most.”

In Saturday’s double header, it was evident Pannone was a serious coach with the ability to call a play. With limited support, the head coach, who also acts as the third base coach,  could be seen shooting quite a few calls to his first base runners. His aggressive running approach has birthed, “a hunger from his players, and the run support necessary to relieve our pitching rotation,” Anzalone said. Which according to Anzalone, is the reason for this year’s hot 4-1 start.

The recap?

Game 1, this past Saturday, saw Cal Poly jump to a 4-0 lead in the bottom of the 1st inning. Stanford’s starting pitcher, a lefty with poor placement, and a Cliff Lee style release point, was as wild as Wilt Chamberlain’s sex life. Three bases on balls, two wild pitches, and a collection of extra base hits attributed to his rattled demeanor.  In the bottom of the fourth, after two straight one-two-three innings, Poly once again got to the haggard lefty, leading off with a triple, a double, a couple of walks, and a second triple, to further their lead to 8-0.  Poly, on the other hand, used three pitchers to complete the effort, giving up 6 hits, walking 4, and no runs. The finals score: Poly 11, Stanford 0.

Game 2 saw Poly begin the game slow, striking out twice in the first inning. Stanford’s pitcher came to throw, delivering pitches in the mid 80’s. Yet, it was his straight zip, that allowed Poly to time in and unload several bombs on him in the 2nd and 3rd innings. A triple in the 2nd inning, with a walk, a wild pitch, and a couple of singles, knotted the score at 4-4. Poly’s pitching core settled down after a rocky start, and finished the final 5 innings, using 2 relievers, giving up just a couple hits and no further runs. Final score: Poly 8, Stanford 4.

As I finished with Anzalone, I asked him if Cal Poly’s collegiate program ever invites his club team for a scrimmage. “Not a chance,” Anzalone jokes, “They give us equipment, that is about it.” I was impressed with the answer, because it tells me something about these kids. They are hardworking individuals who play the game untainted and pure, with little to any recognition. For a fellow like myself, who beholds the purity of the game, like one would a biblical teaching, I am less of cynic today than I was on Saturday, filled with a hope for a sport that has been corrupted with large collegiate programs, who recruit illegally and promote a poor graduation rate (which is usually higher than expected, considering the sort of grade enhancements many players receive, if you get my drift). Club baseball is not a limelight sport, it doesn’t have the top 100 recruits, nor the programs filling buses and buses on end with cheer squads, beat writers, photographers, and riled athletes. They aren’t in need of performance enhancing drugs, nor publicists and agents to better their chances at playing professional ball.  Their professional ball spans four years. It is now or never.

As for the miniature, Lil’ Wayne adoring athlete I snickered at earlier, his name is Nick Jacoy, the starting 2nd baseman, and the team’s best hitter.  A few pitches into my cynical rant of the kid, he roped a 325 foot triple to left, nearly clearing the fence. Let’s just say my snickering stopped, because he clearly had the last laugh.

–Luke Johnson