I learned some very deep meaning about baseball pitching today. It was down at USC campus, near the Vermont Street entrance. On a ball field there we taped an instructional video for young pitchers. The guy conducting the DV workshop was an ex major-leaguer, though one I'd never heard of. He had to be about 48 years old. He was kind of a John Denver-looking type. He even had the little glasses. But he was diesel. Built like Pete-fucking-Rose. Complete with popeye-forearms.
I've done so many awful industrials. I've had to sit on set and hear promotions of pharmaceutical companies. And I would have tuned today's talent out as well, except that he had the total, undivided adulation of eight national all star little leaugue pitchers who were there to demonstrate his techniques. And they were volunteering. In effect that was how I calibrated this dude. This was not turning out to be such a cheesy industrial after all.
I realized at one point in the afternoon that the kids I was watching will all play in the major leagues. At least they're all capable of it. It's in their reach. They were hot players, aged from nine to 17. And they all pitched. One kid even threw sidearm. They all had names like Casey. Kyle. And Travis. There was one black kid named Anthony. He was tall, skinny and alert. And of course none of them ever smiled once, the whole time we were there. None of the older kids did. I guess there's no smiling in baseball. It's like crying that way. There's a whole manner to being a ball player. I've picked that up from the one or two professional players I've met. They're soft-spoken country boy types, but with terrifying stares. And they look really strong. At the pro level these guys totally manipulate their bodies to perform the function.
Before this afternoon's baseball demonstration taping, I had no idea what specific conditioning and training went into becoming a pitcher. One of the privileges of my job is being privy to such arcane shit. I sat in the sun all day on a basebal field at University of Southern California. I was glazed out and happened to be catching the best pitching tutorial in existence. I'm now totally impressed by it. I saw today that pitching is really about balance and form. And this retired player had all sorts of wild drills set up in which the throwers had to line themselves against walls and lean into the hip and shoulder positions at the moment of their release. I got off on the towel drill, in which a player stands atop the mound, and with a towel has to hit a spot on another player's glove seven feet away, so as to find the ideal release point. They train their minds THROUGH their bodies. Their bodies are shaped by the game.
I think about a double-play. That's the best thing to watch in baseball. It takes the most timing. Every damn double play is the same, and yet... It's like a play in theatre. You can watch it over and over again. The ball is a wild animal, trying to escape through the grass. A grounder to third or the shortstop can travel so fast, and yet the shortsop makes a sliding play, and underhands, ever so gently, to the second baseman. He's in mid-air, nce he gets the ball in his glove, to avoid the cleats of the runner sliding in. And then it's a dead heat for first. It's the same story every time. Except who wins and who loses.