“You need to spend time crawling alone through shadows to truly appreciate what it is to stand in the sun.”
― Shaun Hick
It took me a long time to write this. It was less a case of lacking inspiration as much as it was a case of lacking time. The off-seasons are busy with Top 30s, Draft research and ranks, and the multitude of other projects we find ourselves involved with. That’s just the site, beyond that we all have lives, jobs, kids, and responsibilities.
Due to recent events those bonds, relationships, and duties have taken on new meaning. Sometimes I catch myself daydreaming, thinking back seven weeks ago where getting my Rockies list finished was the largest of all my problems. I was planning out my Spring, making a schedule of games, and stashing money in a last minute attempt to obtain a new Stalker Radar Gun. I was balancing the end of my off-season work and loading up on as much early season college action as I could. I was a different person then. That sounds dramatic. But isn’t it true? I think we all find ourselves wishing for similar things alone in our regret. “I wish I did more. Went to more games, took more video, took less days off.” If only we had known what was coming. But that’s the thing about crisis, you never really see it coming. It sort of hits you like a flash flood. The rains came, and they never really stopped. Let’s discuss what the flood washed away, washed up, and floated to the surface.
When The Crowds Are Gone
The minors will never be the same. I’d like to tell you we’ll all get another season with full affiliation, but that’s looking less and less likely. We’ve seen leaks of which teams may be contracted, we’ve seen those statements challenged, and we’ve seen rampant speculation. I can’t say with any certainty that I know what’s coming. Few do, but I believe where there’s smoke there’s fire. Contraction is inevitable at this point.
In the spirit of not letting any crisis go to waste MLB will use this as an opportunity to push forward with the elimination of short-season and advanced rookie ball leagues like the Appalachian and Pioneer leagues, and contract from remote areas where commuting to and from can be grueling. So where will this baseball go and how many fewer players will there be?
It’s difficult to say but one would assume each team with a non-complex rookie ball affiliate and short season club would likely contract to a second complex team. But even that remains to be seen. The ultimate goal from a baseball standpoint is a compelling argument. By bringing lower levels onto the complexes, where clubs have large facilities with training grounds, stadiums, etc they could streamline development in the early stages of each player’s journey within the organization. They’d also likely raise the overall quality of play by eliminating a large chunk of system depth types all while better monitoring workouts, health, nutrition, and behavior on and off the field. I’m not going to ignore its benefits, the promises of better pay and the opportunity to provide rent-free room and board is undeniably an improvement from the current setup.
Deep breath, we’ve acknowledged the benefits.
The stark reality for most however is of little concern to those that make far reaching decisions about our game. The parks in places like Lowell, Massachusetts, Binghamton, New York, and Kingsport, Tennessee will never reopen to affiliated baseball. Left possibly to collect vines and rust, as monuments of a world that passed us all by. Eliminating a chaotic summer of looming changes and an opportunity for communities to bid a tearful farewell. Cutting out the very legs of what makes baseball unique amongst the American sports landscape.
The unsung heroes of the minor leagues will always hold a special place in my heart. The mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters that arrive on game day hours beforehand to prep the field, players, and concessions for our nightly traveling show. These good folks are underpaid and underappreciated, but have always gone out of their way to give people like us the best possible game day experience. What becomes of these angels? Many will find work in the new “Dream League” where MLB will try its hand at glorified Indy ball.
What’s to become of the dreamers? The Randy Dobnaks, Jeff McNeils, and countless other non-prospects that rose from obscurity to prominence in their profession. I can’t help but think to some degree we’re insulating million dollar bonus babies from failure. Competition from players with everything on the line. This of course is an idealized view of things. For every success story are 10 guys that played two years of affiliated ball only to hang up the cleats and return to whatever awaits in their next chapter. That doesn’t make the pursuit any less noble. Most of us never get to chase our dreams into our 20s, even if a lifetime of work came before it.
Perhaps the “Dream League” presents similar opportunities for senior signs and late rounders, but it all remains to be seen. While my summers will change exponentially, I’ll make due. There will still be affiliated baseball locally, NCAA in the spring, and CCBL in the summer. There will still be baseball, but the early looks at recent draftees in their first taste of professional ball will vanish entirely.
At the end of the day I think this is the element of the present day we selfishly struggle with. It’s not wrong to feel this way either, none of us want to lose the things we love most. The institutions that have provided us so much joy between all the other moments that make up our lives. Watching that die while dealing with all the other chaos the novel coronavirus has brought into our day to day is a lot. So, while much larger problems loom, nothing has lessened the blow of all this heartbreak. I can offer only this message, there will be baseball again.
Paradise Lost
Sometimes it feels like the rain never lets up, its heavy drops only increase in pace and intensity culminating in all of us seeking shelter. Throughout the first few months of this I’ve taken everything in stride. The cancellation of the remainder of the college season, spring training, and the early months of the MLB and MiLB season. Even the fact that MiLB baseball may not resume until 2021 didn’t hit me as hard as I thought it would. After all, people are sick, people are dying, our healthcare workers, grocery workers, first responders, and other essential workers are putting themselves in the line of fire. Who really cares about baseball? It’s the right way to think. But I’d be lying if I told you Friday’s cancellation of the Cape Cod Baseball League’s season didn’t hit me like a ton of bricks.
There’s nothing outside my wife and children that I hold more dear than my summer nights spent in the Cape “working”. For zero dollars, countless hours, and a small fortune in gas money I pour eight weeks of my life into covering the CCBL. Last summer was my first where I really chased heavy coverage of the league. I scheduled a week vacation around coverage and made a dozen other trips to the outer reaches of the peninsula throughout July. I made connections with great people like Peter Flaherty, who’s helped make our college coverage amongst the best on the web. I watched Nick Gonzales emerge as a top 10 pick. But most of all I got to watch some amazing ball up close and personal. These are moments that I’ll hold until my dying day.
Beyond just baseball the Cape is personal. I grew up about 25 miles from the canal in an old factory town. The type of enclave that blankets the Northeast and a once proud working class town that’s fallen victim to multiple recessions and the opioid epidemic. The type of places that produce the unsung heroes of the Cape, the shuttle players. The D1 types with skills but non-prospect status.
I grew up with a handful of these players, guys from schools like Marist, Hartford, Southern Connecticut, and even UNC. Guys I grew up playing with, guys that never saw a second of affiliated ball, but every so often will share a war story from their summer on the Cape.
I can’t help but feel for a handful of those guys that may never get their shot. Especially with the likely elimination of several rounds of the MLB draft in the years following 2020. These players will be the collateral damage as more prospects are pushed back to school for their senior seasons with the hopes of avoiding the “Dream League” or Independent leagues. The Cape will surely be more competitive than ever. A big win for us prospect hounds and fans, but a likely blow to local talent. Guys like 2019 CCBL All-Star and Orleans folk hero Max Trioni.
In the immediate, I lose a summer of trips, late nights of video editing, and creating content surrounding baseball’s top college prospects. I lose the time with my oldest son traveling to games. Chatting about his favorite topics, stopping for a soda his mom won’t let him drink, or listening to the same five MarshMellow songs on repeat. Those moments where he actually listens to what’s going on in the game. The time explaining the difference between a curveball and a slider. Or why dad writes down all the numbers on the paper and what those numbers, signs, and letters mean. I hope that one day he takes on my love of that game and shares this joy with his kids.
Most of all I love the process. I love the insanity of taping every pitch, logging every pitch with velocities, raw spin, location, and outcome. Sitting in the parking lot for an extra ten minutes after the game, scrolling through the highlights, to see how good my shot of a particular moment might be. Excitedly driving home ready to both transcribe my notes into words and edit my game footage into highlights. It’s a time consuming and painstaking labor of love that I hope one day defines my content. So despite the dark clouds and rainy days, the sun will shine again and I’ll cross the Canal with my oldest son in search of the next Nick Gonzales.
Thank you
In times like these we appreciate everything we’ve had a little bit more. With that said, I’d like to take the time to thank all of you. Many of our readers have followed our content from day one and before. Some of you are among our earliest supporters. Readers and listeners that have watched Matt, Eddy, myself and others grow from our early days at outfits like Razzball, FWFB, Fake Teams, etc, to our current coverage. I’m sure I speak for others when I say you are the fuel that drives this fire. Without you we’d still love baseball, we’d still be obsessive, but it would be entirely different.
I push myself every time I write because you deserve my best, and you always have. You deserve great material that’s well thought out, detailed, and accurate. I can’t say I’ve always done that but you’ve held me accountable when I haven’t and that’s made me better. You’ve supported me when I’ve been moody, short tempered and self righteous. The last year and the paradigm shift of going from player to manager/coach/player/teammate has changed me. I’ve learned what kindness and restraint mean. I’ve learned how my actions can impact people. I’ve tried to fight the urge to give in to my worst qualities when I fire back at people on Twitter. If I’ve learned anything from all this, I’ve learned that it’s all bullshit. It’s stupid, the things we do to feed our egos in public. You gave me all this, you’ve amplified my voice and blessed me with opportunities to go to places with the game I loved I never dreamed of. It would be irresponsible to be so arrogant to think I did this alone. You’ve given me more than I’ve given you.
With this in mind we will continue to provide you content throughout all this. Sure it’s meaningless, but if it can help some of you escape the harsh realities of our current world for just a few minutes then we’ve done our job. Thanks for all you’ve done, we won’t let you down.