British Bulldog - Daniel Plunkett's Career in Baseball

[theski]

Firstly I would like to thank Tib for his Short hop Novel/Dynasty/Career. And thank him for inspiring me to write this in his style. Unfortunately, for me, his is much better but i hope that this will fill in the gaps whilst he writes the next few chapters of Short Hop.

[theski]

Chapter one : Getting In


I remember Draft Day like it was yesterday. It was one of the most trying days in my entire career. It was the day that it all started. I was sitting in my living room. My entire extended family was there as were all my friends. Everyone was silent as we stared at the phone and at the computer screen as the names ticked by. Each team picked their player and I was deathly pale thanks to all the worrying.

I was mainly worrying about being the first British Baseball player in the amateur draft. This made me a pilot for the few people who were thinking of following in my footsteps. I was to be a pioneer of my own style of play: British defensive shortstop. This was where I used my Cricket fielding abilities to become a brilliant shortstop when playing in the London amateur baseball association.

I hit .305 in my two seasons and had a PCT of .989 with 3 errors. This was phenomenal back in that time and I felt sure this would carry into the ILB minor leagues. I had no idea about any other stats as in the London amateur leagues nobody fully understood them but the players. The teams were made up of Americans who were working in the UK and some kids who liked the game. I was brought into it by my friend Rudy who came from Atlanta so I was poisoned into becoming an Atlanta Admirals fan straight away. I didn’t realise that I would have no control over where I would go before entering the draft and felt scared that I would be placed in a very different position.

I remember the news headlines of the day I entered the draft: “British Boy Wonder Enters IBL Amateur Draft!” And “Brit enters the baseball league!” these were the reasons I was feeling so scared. I didn’t know if any team would pick me out of choice because of my nationality. They did not know If I would be any good, or if the Amateur leagues I played in were up to scratch.

Having never liked being away form London it was a little overwhelming to be moving to another country just to have a career in the sport I enjoyed, but I felt ready to overcome it. I also thought that I had overcome my bouts of depression which had plagued my young life, I was wrong about the depression as everyone discovered later in my career. It also plagued my time in the minors as you will read here, but I will not go into detail this early in my memoirs.

My living room in Dartford Kent, 300 yards form the London border, was packed. Over 25 people were sat waiting for the phone to ring. My grandfather “Gro” said to me on the day “I have no idea about baseball other than it being glorified rounders, but I really hope you do well” and this seemed to be the sentiment shared by everyone in the room other than Rudy and Susan who were the Americans who had got me into the sport in the first place.

Then the phone rang and the room changed form an expectant silence to the silence of 25 people all holding their breath at once.

I picked up the phone

“Hi there” the voice on the other end said, “This is Dave Johnson from the Illinois Ballclub.” I mouthed the club to my family, and my aunt who is deaf and lip-reads said quietly that it was Illinois who was calling. “Hi there sir” I replied, my words struggling to get out. “We just nabbed you as our second round draft pick, you were forty sixth overall. We’re sending Greg Matthews over now from the Airport to give you the paperwork and give you your signing on cheque of $250,000. Welcome to the Illinois Franchise!”

At that the room suddenly became a deafening cacophony of questions. I answered most with ease and told my parents that I would be playing ball for the Illinois Franchise who had the Chicago Postmen Major league team. They hugged me and said that it was a good ting and for the best. Everybody said they would watch the news tonight and see my draft come up.
Greg Matthews appeared two hours later with some papers and the standard minor league contract. I signed it after my mother, a lawyer, had looked over it. I was told to pack up and get ready; the team would pay for a plane, and head off to Gages Lake where the A-ball team played. They were the Boca Bison’s.

I packed up all my gear, all my clothes and all my life and was ready to leave in 3 hours. I hugged everyone, as they knew I wouldn’t be back for a long while and they wouldn’t have the money to come over and see me in America. After goodbyes I left with Greg and we went to Heathrow airport.

On the plane I read my “baseball for dummies” book and asked about the quality of the league I was entering. In answer he showed me some videos, which I watched and studied until the end of the flight. Greg himself thought that I was an excellent fielder but my hitting would be at about .215 (the Mendoza line) and I was determined not to let that happen.

We landed at O’Hare Airport and promptly drove out to Gages Lake. It is a rather American town with a population of 10,000. That made it about the same size as my hometown in Kent. One thing that got me was that 90% of the people there were white. This was different as I lived in one of the most ethnically diverse areas in the whole of Britain.

I immediately saw a house I liked as I drove in. It was a 2-bed semi with 2 bathrooms, I didn’t notice that at first as the training ground was opposite the house and it had a pleasant air around it. I met my Landlord, Mr Espinosa. He charged me $100 per week for the house. When he met me he asked “You one of our new ballplayers?” in a thick Latin American accent. I replied “Yes sir, I was the second round draft pick this year.” He looked at me as if I were just another player and said “You a shortstop?” I nodded “Thank the Lord, We need a good one coming up through the ranks since Collela’s getting old and Luke’s not looking steady enough.” I thought about what he said and then spoke rather quietly “Unfortunately, sir, I have no idea who those players are as I have lived in England all my life. I just hope I can play well enough.” After this his eyes widened and he exclaimed, “You are the British Bulldog! You will definitely field well form what the TV has shown!” I was certainly confused by this and seeing my puzzled expression he said: “Everyone was waiting for you to show up! Now we can see what you are really made of! Our TV has shown your past season in the run-up to the draft. You are one mean shortstop!” I was embarrassed and thanked him for his time before I decided to look around the town some more.

I found the local bar and gym. At the Gym I met Larry who agreed to be my personal trainer for a mere $50 per week. This would help me become a better ballplayer he said, he also said that having the British Bulldog as a client he could attract more work. I then reported to head office and met up with my teammates.

I met Tim Clemente who was one of our right fielders. He was eighteen too so we both decided to go out and have fun after training. We talked about our lives, he was from Florida, and we became good friends. He also started to rent the other bedroom of my house for $50 a week so the rent was split. We also met our catcher Paulino Tafoya who was Dominican. We started training well together and we started to gel on field.

Our Manager walked in and says first “Danny boy! I am so excited to meet you. I was told you was our draft pick and I am thrilled to be training you.” I was rather scared at this point, “Everybody Danny boy here is going to bring this franchise about! What number do you want, why don’t you take your pick son? “ He asked. I chose immediately, no hesitation needed for me to answer “Number 18 please.” He looked surprised and told me that nobody had ever done anything special in a number 18 uniform, but I wasn’t doing it for the baseball number, I was doing it for Jurgen Klinsmann my Tottenham Hotspur Football, or in my new country “soccer”, Icon.

[theski]

I Still don't care if you read it or not. but if anyone is here is chapter 2:

Chapter Two: The season opens


My first game was on the First of April against the Toronto Bluejays and I hit my first ball for a 1B. It felt good. I didn’t hit for the rest of the game (.333) but it felt good to be batting in a pro-ball league. We lost the game but it didn’t matter. Mr Espinosa applauded me as I got in that night. He said that we deserved a win but it didn’t matter at all. I felt so good that I emailed my dad about it and he replied saying that it was on BBC1 and he loved seeing me hit my first ball in the game. He took me out after the game and we had a chat about baseball. He was quite knowledgeable about it, however I didn’t know then what I do now about Mr Espinosa.

In the second game of the series I hit none of the 5 at bats I had and called my dad about it. He gave me some great advice; he said, “It’s too early in your career, season and life to worry about not hitting.” This is true at all times in the leagues. You may have a bad start but you can usually overcome it. And sure enough next game I hit a double.

At the end of my first week I had had a slight slump with no hits for three games after my first double but that did not discourage me. On Sunday morning Mr Espinosa invited me into his house. He had loads of baseball merchandise on his walls and even when he said to me “Call me Julio” I still didn’t twig that he was THE Julio Espinosa. But we started talking and he said, “Back in my day, baseball players didn’t need a good AVG rating. We just needed to either score runs or hit runs in.” it was then I twigged. I asked “when was your day Julio?” and he just replied “Back in ’74 I had my best season, a PCT of 9.99” and I was stunned. This man was Julio Espinosa the outstanding shortstop from the Kansas City Knights.

We talked for hours that morning about baseball and he gave me some advice on my hitting. Because of that I had 2 hits in my next game against Kansas City, and I scored 2 runs while I was there. Thanks to that I finished my week at .167, way below the Mendoza line but I still had not made an error in the field.

The next game was at home to Toronto and my luck continued as I scored a triple, with 1 hit in 3 at bats and two runs I felt like I was getting into shape. I also stole 3 bases and my season seemed like it was about to kick off. Base stealing ahs always been one of my strong points as I am very fast and also, though I say so myself, very intelligent. I was very rarely caught stealing in the London league and I was determined to do so in this league too.

At the end of our run of games I had just ended my hitting streak, I was 6-34 (.176) and feeling very moody about it. I had the lowest AVG on the team and was trying to pinpoint why I wasn’t hitting when Julio tells me just to keep trying. I didn’t believe him at all but tried it anyway since he was such a phenomenal ballplayer in his day.

The Sunday of that week I hit my way out of the slump with 3 hits in 5 at bats and scored 2 runs. At the end of the run of games against Boston and Baltimore I had compiled 5 hits in 18 at bats (.278) which pushed my AVG up to .212, in fact during the middle of the run of games I had a 3 game hitting streak. This was due to Mr. Espinosa and his quality advice.

To celebrate this Tim, Paulino and I went out to the bar and met some lovely ladies who we entirely failed to get off with. Tim still hadn’t had a chance to bat but Tafoya was on fire with a .313 average. This didn’t matter to us as we were cruising the small Illinois town. But Tim did tell me in private that he was afraid that he was going to be released unless he got some hits and plate appearances soon.

In the next run of games I was playing the same ways I used to and now the game was coming back to me. I was sharper. I hit 4-15 (.267) I stole more bases and still didn’t make a fielding error. I did, however, continue my pattern of having a no hitting game, then a three game hitting streak, then end the run of games with no hits in the final games. I was also unused in one game as the backup shortstop needed a few games and I needed a rest.

Julio said that this pattern was a good thing as I was keeping my average at a respectable amount for a shortstop. He did recommend that I practise batting a whole lot more. I took his advice and did so. After every game I had Willie Seely, one of our starting pitchers, pitch as hard as he could at me. I was gradually hitting better and because of this dedication Julio showed me his hall of dreams.

It was a square room with all his trophies on one side and a huge poster of his batting statistics on the other. On the side facing the door, however, was his rookie card. It was the first printed, in mint condition and would cost $10,000 of anybodies money. No other ILB rookie card was worth quite that much, the nearest competitor was Marco Martinez whose card was worth $9,000, he was a heavy hitter in the 1920’s. Julio said nothing to me as I gazed and took me out of the room knowingly. This was my inspiration for the season and I tried to be just like him.

The next game I put this inspiration into action and scored well. 3 hits in 5 at bats, 2 stolen bases and a run scored. It also broke the pattern of not scoring in the first game of a run. I also didn’t drop a catch and still had a 1.000 PCT. I felt alive and inspired by my play and I thought I was ready to take on the World Series and win it all myself. We lost the game 16-15, an ILB minor league record, but that didn’t matter to me at all.

I love feeling invincible, but the comedown is absolutely dire. The next game I was 0-3 and even though we won I did not contribute a single thing. Except for my excellent defence. Now there’s a thing, I still spell it defence even after playing in the field for so many years. funny how things like that happen isn’t it? Anyway, the next game I hit 1-4 and made my first error of the season. It didn’t even feel too bad as I had just bounced back easily and was ready for more challenges. The error shouldn’t have been ruled an error, I fumbled a ball that no other shortstop in the league would have reached, let alone caught. Still, it didn’t matter we won.

Because of the error I bought myself a new glove, the Ironhands MK1. Julio said it was a bad idea to upgrade equipment after one mistake and that I would be sorry but I didn’t care. I reasoned that in his day they didn’t have such good technology, so I shouldn’t heed his advice.

Our manager, though, was still touting me for success. It annoyed the team and it annoyed me. I had the worst AVG, but he said it was “getting used to the American game” and that because I had the 9th best record in sacrifice hits I was to be proud. This bugged me and still does as the team were all hitting much better, although not fielding so well, and I thought they deserved praise. However he kept on with praise and tried to build up my ego although he looked a little worried. Little did I know what was about to come out.

[Tib]

Congratulations on starting your own story. You have no idea what you're getting into. It's nice to see another dynasty on the ITP boards, even if it does seem so.....familiar.

Good Luck!

[theski]

Familliar?! I see no way in which it is familliar

[theski]

Chapter three: The Way life is


Against Tampa bay I had 3 hits in 10 at bats, which made me feel fantastic, but then the first big shock of my career came out just before our run in Cleveland and it almost ruined my nerves forever.

On the morning of the first of may, The papers arrived on my doorstep with questions such as “How far in does the match fixing go?” and “How does it make you feel that your own manager is against you?” I was puzzled by the questions and immediately put it down to the press just angling for a scoop. But when I arrived at the training ground I found that the manager had up and left, and my teammates standing in a huddle unsure of what to say.

I walked over and said “Guys what’s up? The press are all over me.”
Tim patted me on the back and said “I have no idea how to say this to you man.” And Tafoya said, “He is joking! He must know!” in his think Dominican accent. But I didn’t and Tom Jennings, my shortstop rival, explained it all. “It’s like this,” he said “The Manager decided that you were going to be his prime way of earning this year” I cut in but tom stopped me “Not like that. He thought that you were going to fail, being from England and all, so he bet heavily on you hitting below .250 this season. After your first five games he loved you ‘cause you were hitting so badly. Then you hit that streak and he started to pay other teams to pitch dirty at you so that you couldn’t improve your AVG.” I just had to ask, “Do any of you think that I can hit properly then?” and the team replied with a resounding chorus “Yeah course we do!”

It was then I realised that we were a team, even though Tim had only been at bat once, he was a valued member thanks to his positioning skills form the bench, and I was valued for my defence and helping create double plays. This helped me a little but I suddenly had a bout of depression.

As we went in to the series against Cleveland Colts I was low. The papers were hounding me for insights into my views on the manager. He was nowhere to be found and still getting paid, and my head was not where it was supposed to be. That series I hit 1-11 (.091) and I was seriously considering quitting baseball due to my new version of stardom. But my father’s words kept me going “It’s too early in your career, season and life to worry”.

I was in the bar after the last game against Seattle and Julio walked in and dragged me out. He punched me round the face and shouted “What the **** do you think you’re playing at? You are a ******* BALLPLAYER! You should get out there and start to play. Not sing you career in bottles of Buddyweiss beer like so many greats before you.” I was just flabbergasted; I went home and had a cold shower.

When I got downstairs Julio was waiting for me with a mug of coffee. That was one of his best traits I think. Whenever I went into a depressive mood, he was always there with a mug of coffee and some advice. The advice he gave me this time was this story: “back when I was a minor league player, I was victimized for being Hispanic. The press followed me about and reported everything I did as wrong. I was the most hated player in the whole of Arkansas for a while, just because I was not white. But I kept playing and I hit the bigs. I hit a home run in my first appearance; hell it was my ONLY homerun in the bigs; but I carried on. People don’t hate you, they feel sorry for you. So go out there next time and play ball. Don’t drown yourself in beer as if the bottom of the next bottle will give you the strength to carry on.”

I took his advice. The next game against Minnesota Minors I was 2-4 (.500) with 2 runs, one of which was a homer, 2 stolen bases and 2 RBI. I decided that Julio was a genius and that I would never disregard his advice. Unfortunately I did just that later on many times but I still played well that day. In fact that series in Minnesota I went 3-13 (.230) with 2BB but it didn’t matter. I felt great thanks to Julio’s advice.