Making My Pitch by Ila Jane Borders & Jean Hastings Ardell & Mike Veeck

Author:Ila Jane Borders & Jean Hastings Ardell & Mike Veeck [Borders, Ila Jane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: BIO031000 Biography & Autobiography / Lgbt, BIO016000 Biography & Autobiography / Sports, SPO003030 Sports & Recreation / Baseball / History
ISBN: 9781496200204
Publisher: UNP - Nebraska
Published: 2017-01-17T06:00:00+00:00

Even though he was nineteen years old and a beautiful girl was knocking on his door, he said, “Come back tomorrow,” explaining that he couldn’t have anyone in his room after midnight. She started to make a scene just as Frankie’s manager was making the rounds. Frankie tried to explain the situation, but the following day he got a pink slip. He had done nothing wrong—and who knows what the full explanation for his getting cut was—but he was gone and the other catcher was in. Baseball may be a team sport, but it can be cutthroat in the minors. Everyone is scrapping for a job and some will do anything to get it, while some managers will release you for no reason at all.

Soon as I got back to the hotel, I phoned the family. Everyone was treating me great, I reported. The Saints were a very classy organization. Minnesota was green, green, green, and beautiful. As excited as I was, though, after I hung up the old loneliness started to creep in. It felt sad and familiar. With it came the feeling of being isolated, with my family and childhood friends far away. Isolated . . . Dad had named me “Ila” because he liked the sound of it. “Ila” means island dweller, and he had come to see that I sort of lived like I was on a deserted island. He was right.

I didn’t know how many other players were staying at the hotel, probably about five, but I felt apart from them. I took out my journal and began to write, hoping to relieve the loneliness. After a shower and a dinner of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a banana, I was off to bed, where I could escape into my dreams. I dreamed of finding someone I could trust and love and laugh with; and I dreamed of succeeding in baseball.

During the first week, the pitchers were split up and we pitched to the position players. I did well again, hitting my spots and getting good movement on the ball. I was throwing a little faster, but still not close to eighty-five miles per hour. I had to stick with what I was best at. If I threw harder I’d lose control and spin on the ball. What was different in professional ball was that batters could foul off my hanging curve and simply wait for the next pitch. Then I had to go with my new pitch, the screwball I developed during senior year in college. Without the screwball, I wouldn’t have made it into professional baseball.

Each afternoon, after we threw, I’d go for a run with the guys. Most of them had funny baseball stories to tell, but I had to tell them that mine were kind of depressing. They said that if I made the team I’d start to have funny stories in no time. Boy, were they right. In the meantime, we talked about working out, motorcycles, and surfing. I love reading, but nobody else really talked books.

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