Tuesday, May 18, 2004
Copyright © Las Vegas Review-Journal

R-JENERATION: Batboy Wonders

Teen keeps his eye on the ball during an evening helping the Las Vegas 51s

As I unpeeled my 207th individually wrapped Rawlings baseball deep in the corridors of Cashman Field, I came to realize my suspicions about being a batboy are correct: You get an up-close view of baseball, and that view isn't always pretty.

I volunteered my services to the Las Vegas 51s for a night in hopes of getting a behind-the-scenes look at the minor leagues and to take in a free game.

I started the day at 4 p.m., driving to Cashman Field near downtown Las Vegas. I figured one of the perks of being a batboy is that you arrive before most people and therefore get to some of the best parking. Unfortunately, I forgot that parking is $3 and had to park a block away.

Oh well. I figured a walk would do me good, then headed toward the press gate. After being waved through by security, I was directed to the office of Nick Fitzenreider, vice president of operations/security. The office is saturated with baseball memorabilia, with a rack full of bobbleheads and a TV playing ESPN. "Fitz" was parked behind a desk stacked high with paper.

After signing a waiver and heeding a few warnings, I was ready to head down to the lockers.

"The number one thing," Fitz reminded me, "is stay alert."

Apparently, being hit by balls is a serious concern for batboys. The brother of one of the batboys serving the away dugout had many a run-in with the spheres in his time serving the ballclub. Fitz usually doesn't let kids who haven't recently played baseball work on the field, but I managed to make the cut.

I was paired with Brandon Arredondo at the home dugout, while Patrick Njorge and Tim Coleman (whose accident-prone brother is mentioned above) served the visiting team, in this case the Sacramento River Cats. The base of operations for batboys and other field staff is in the clubhouse laundry room, where the uniforms are waiting.

The theme of being close to the players and yet so far away repeated itself often throughout the evening. The players seemed rather accommodating, even offering the occasional "What's up?" But the entire point of the batboy is to make the jobs of the players and umpires as easy as possible.

Once I finished the ball-unwrapping drudgery, I was able to take to the field and prepare it for the game. That involved mostly picking up balls from batting practice, but I was still able to get on the grass itself, which is quite exhilarating for a baseball fan like me.

The moment was short-lived though, since we had to get to positions for the beginning of the game.

As a batboy, you really have only three jobs during a game: Pick up the bat after each play and place it in the dugout; give the umpire balls when he signals for them; and put the bat donuts in the on-deck circle when the 51s are at bat.

Consequently, most of the time is simply spent sitting around. That's fine by me, since that's what I'd be doing in the stands anyway, only now I had a better view. In fact, other than players and the ump, the batboys are the closest people to the batter who aren't behind a net.

Thankfully, no balls were hit our way during the game, so I was free to watch the match and soak up the ambience.

One interesting aspect of being a batboy is that you're sitting directly between the players and umpires and the crowd, meaning any jeers the crowd offers have to pass over your head. Things got interesting in the late innings when the hecklers stopped making sense.

I heard heckles ranging from the nonsensical -- "Jessica Simpson wants to work for the 51s!" -- to the historically inaccurate -- "Did we quit fighting when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor?" -- to the surreal -- "Meat is murder!"

"What does that even mean?" I asked out loud.

"It means he's drinking too much," deadpanned Arredondo.

The game seemed to be going smoothly, with the 51s up by four runs in the seventh inning, until the River Cats staged a comeback to tie the game. The 51s couldn't put the game away in the ninth, so we headed to extra innings.

It was already about 10:30 p.m., and some of the staff was getting restless. Fortunately, after a leadoff triple in the 11th, the 51s managed to hit an RBI, bringing the game to a close.

But the work wasn't over for us batboys. The field, bullpen and dugout all needed to be cleared, and all the coolers washed. The last task took place in the club showers, where men showered together and talked about their performance that evening. I think more professions should have this. Imagine lawyers showering together after a long day of litigation, telling each other that they should have objected more that afternoon.

After the final cooler was dried and I dried off in the flooded laundry room, I headed up to Fitz's office for a final thank-you and headed home. And 7 1/2 hours after leaving, I wasn't able to get into my house. No matter how much I rang or knocked, no one would answer.

I figured I might as well end the day in minor league fashion by sleeping in my car. Getting into a position that wasn't entirely uncomfortable, I drifted off to sleep dreaming of the day I would be called up to the majors to batboy with the best of them.