[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 4: That’s Baseball, That's Life

I came into the clubhouse on April 24th, 2004, the team riding a four game losing streak. To top it all, we were playing the red-hot Pittsburgh, who was in a three-way tie for first in the central with Milwaukee and Houston. We’d stumbled into third, behind Atlanta and the Mets, who were tied for first. The team seemed down in the clubhouse, and I did my best to motivate them. “Listen guys. We’re not even one month into the season. If you’re ready to give up on this game now, let me ask you why you ever started to play baseball as a kid. We don’t just give up. We fight for every run, we take each game one pitch at a time. One break - that’s all we need. We’re not even playing poorly.”

The club just looked at me in silence. Some seemed to be taking what I was saying to heart. Others, Luis Guerra being one of them, were hardly paying attention. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to cuss them out in front of the rest of the team, but I was sure that would have some consequences. So I let it slide, once again.


The game started, and Pittsburgh jumped on Jonas Sarabia with two runs in the first. He came into the dugout, and immediately tossed his glove in anger. I hated that. “Sarabia - don’t throw things in the dugout.” I warned.

“I’m pitching like ****, MJ.” He responded.

“Well if you think you’re going to get rocked, you will. Go out there and attack the hitters with your best stuff. If they poke a few hits, big deal. You’re not going to get a shutout every time.”

He just sat there and stared at the field. He’d probably heard that speech before. He was a veteran, after all, and he had signed as a free agent to the Marlins in the offseason.

I don’t know if my speech actually had any effect, but he pitched the next 6 innings giving up only a few hits, one run, striking out eight, while walking only one. In the bottom of the eighth, my team plated a run, putting the score at 3-2 in Pittsburgh’s favour. I could hear the fans building up excitement. I could feel the tension in the clubhouse building. I left Galliard in for the ninth, and he K’d two and got a ground out to hurry us back into the clubhouse.

Pittsburgh trotted out their fireball closer in the ninth. The crowd was into the game. I was sweating, nervous with anticipation. Backup centerfielder Billy Bassett was leading off the inning, and he was hitless all day. I left him in. He was batting just .190 in limited play. He fell behind quickly, 0-2. I was sweating so bad that I probably needed a towel. The closer, Joseph Bench, then threw a 101 MPH heater on the inside corner. Bassett took a hack and drove it down the rightfield line, just fair. The crowd screamed so loud I couldn’t hear myself yell, but I still cheered as Bassett peeled around second and beat the rely throw to give us a leadoff triple. The team went insane, and so did I.

“He’s there for you! Bring him in!” I kept yelling, as backup 3B George Sampson stepped up the plate. He’d been swing a hot stick, and had two hits that night. Bench walked him on four pitches. The winning run was on first. With the pitcher Galliard due up, I put pinch hitter Eric Harris to the plate. He was hitting a pathetic .143, so I was praying. He did have a lot of power. Bench fell behind 2-0, and was worried about Sampson stealing second. The next pitch, Harris rapped a single straight up the middle to tie the game, Bassett holding his hands in the air as he crossed the plate. Then, George Aiken, the starting second baseman, dug in. The crowd cheered at a deafening tone. He worked a 3-2 count. On the payoff pitch, Aiken blooped a single to rightfield. Sampson took off, running through a stop sign from the third base coach. The throw to home was dead on - Sampson was right there, and he collided with the catcher, sending the two bodies sprawling. The ball skipped loose from the catcher’s mitt. Sampson had scored. We had won, against all odds. The team poured out onto the field, swamping Sampson.


That game started a turnaround. We played well and reached .500, dropping under just near the end of April. Even Canon couldn’t say anything bad. Dewberry had pounded the ball, with 11 homeruns and 25 RBI.


My life was getting better. Especially on April 26th. Dewberry, Christopher Look and a few other teammates held a get together, and invited me. Here I was, 18 years old, hanging out with a bunch of professional ballplayers. Even now as I look back on it, it still blows my mind. There was a few other people I’d never met before, and some pretty good looking girls. Of course, Dewberry’s wife was there to make sure her ‘beloved’, as she put it, didn’t get into any trouble with the younger girls. Jerrold always laughed at that - he was a class act, no matter which way you looked at it. The barbeque was great - and held in Look’s backyard. I didn’t know it until that day, but Look lived right near the ballpark. In a mansion, no less. However, despite all the amusing stories from the professionals and all their adventures throughout their years, someone else had my attention. She was a stunning girl - and actually looked about my age. She was the daughter of Look’s friend. Of course, at first I was far too shy to talk to her, until Look brought her to me while I was sitting in a lawn chair, talking to a player’s wife. I didn’t know what to say.

“I’m. . .”

Look laughed. “Dammit Jazzy, she knows who you are. Everyone on the planet knows who you are.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Right.”

She smiled in an adorable way. “I’m Lacey.” I watched the wind gently blow through her chestnut brown hair, and hoped I wasn’t drooling when I looked at her tanned white skin and her sky blue eyes. I probably was, though.

She noticed that I was doing something, because I hadn’t responded in a little bit. She shuffled nervously. Luckily, Look bailed me out once again. “I’ll just let you two kids get to know each other. Hey Jazzy - tell her about those three ejections you’ve got this month!” He turned, chuckling and pointing over his shoulder at the two of us.

I eventually offered her a seat and we began talking. It turned out she was my age,but born in January. Still in highschool, as well. However, she made note to tell me that she was graduating that year. A lot of chemistry was between us, but I was too young and stupid to figure that out. But, just before the end of the barbeque, I managed to get her number. I remember it clearly, as I stumbled through the question. “Hey. .”

“Yes?” She faced me with a sweet innocence I can never forget.

“I. . . do. . .you. . . have a boyfriend?” I felt and looked like a complete idiot.

“No.” She smiled.

“Um. .” I felt the nerves build up inside me. “Can. . can I call you sometime?”

Lacey blushed slightly, but nodded. “If you have my phone number, yes.”

“Oh . . right.” I looked down at the ground. “Can I have your number?”

She smiled and wrote it down for me. Dewberry ribbed me for days about my ‘smooth moves’. But I called her the next night and asked her to a movie - which she graciously accepted.


Erwin Canon didn’t like me having a girl though. He never said anything directly but repeatedly said that “I should be 110 percent committed to the success of the Marlins.” Man, what an ass. I decided I was going to steal his placard - not for any reason - I just wanted to get back at him.

We rolled into May, finishing April with a 13-15 record. Look, the new closer, hadn’t blown a save yet. And Shannon Mathew was nearing his return. We were in third, but the new month gave a fresh face, and some optimism to boot. I was trying to insert Bassett in the lineup more, since his bat was hot. And on the 30th of April, he stole second base - four times. I also got ejected for a major league leading 4th time that game. I was just waiting for the media to start burning me about that.

And burn me they did - in a way I’ll never forget.