The crowed was cheering and as the ump retired to his position I heard him say, "Nice". Of course I had picked up on it locally in Texas, but this cat was Ivy League Caribe working a niche on the Astros site, TCB, the Crawford Boxes.
I started stepping and swinging toward the outer half of the plate before he even released the pitch. Felipe had penciled me in at right field and had me hitting eighth. I put my head down and dug for eight giant steps and then looked up and found the ball. You must log in or register to reply here. The opposing pitcher had hit me already and was getting quite a bit of static from the fans as I walked toward the batter's box. I figured he'd pitch me away. Thankfully, nobody hit anything out to me and I survived the first inning. Had a blast on a thread where some kid in the Caribbean, was covering it live with gamethreads, and we had the opportunity to watch it live here in the States. I thought, "Oh my God, I just scored a Major League run.". And when I got to the dugout all the Giants were waiting for me by the steps and I high-fived everyone. When I got to first base I looked up and the first base coach was smiling and had his hand out for a handshake and I looked around and none of the Dodgers were moving and everyone of them was smiling and it dawned on me what had happened and I ran around the bases fast. There were 2 outs and the hitter hit a high fly ball toward the right field crowd. I was a little more relaxed but so humbled and I could take a deep breath and that gave me some small confidence. The team rep explained to me what would happen. 
To view or add a comment, sign in I sat down on the bench by my glove. My reflexes were too slow. He still tagged me on the upper arm, but the ump was in perfect position and he called me safe. BeisbolI love beisbol. Felipe walked up to me and said, "You're through for the night nice job." is waving me home.
I was given a locker and my uniform hung on a hanger. Beisbol benn berry berry good to me , Im ready to watch beisbol and drink cervesa on my porche trasero. The Giant's third base coach WK (don't call me Wendell, don't call me Kim, don't call me Number 20!!!) The first references I read on the web to beisbol were in association with the WBC. I started my head-first slide into second base about 11 feet from the bag, and my left was a distraction because when the shortstop went to tag my left hand I drew it back and slid my right finger tips into the base. I remember thinking what a really good man he was. He was a right-hander, and when his front foot came up I broke, my head down, digging my feet into the earth as fast as my feet could hit the ground again and again and again. Time was standing still and I couldn't hear anything but I was hustling. The Home Plate Umpire was right on it and he called me safe. In the third I went back out to right field. I came up to hit again in the 4th inning. I just dropped the bat head into the lower half of the strike zone and I swear to God I hit it. It was a total act of nature, an accident by most people's standards, and I broke out of the batter's box toward first base, my head down, digging, and I never saw it clear the right field wall above McCovey Cove. On August 4, 2000 sometime in the middle of the night, I dreamed I won a contest to suit up as a San Francisco Giant. I so wanted a shot of tequila and a Corona to calm my nerves, and then Willie McCovey gave me a look filled with love that understood what I was thinking and that it would be inappropriate for me to show up on the field at Pacific Bell Park with liquor on my breath. And I was glad because playing for the Giants was the most horribly nerve racking experience of my life. First reference to beisbol was Chico Esqualia on SNL in the 70s.
JavaScript is disabled. The pitcher wasn't paying attention to me because I had a small lead. I would be penciled into the lineup that night. He kept mumbling, "This is Bill Veeck shit" under his breath, and who could blame him. I came up to hit in the second inning. To view or add a comment, sign in. I was a very nervous man trying to get dressed in the Club's Friday orange. I play beisbol all day long. I ran to the bathroom and threw up. The Rules of the Contest said I had to play. After I was suited up I went to look at the posted lineup. I round third, digging my cleats into the earth for all I'm worth, and I slide around the catcher who is illegally blocking the plate without the ball, and I grabbed the dish with the finger tips of my left hand. The inning was over and one of the kids asked for the ball. I looked over at the center fielder and he nodded yes so I flipped it to the kid. Of course the Manager of the SF Giants, Felipe Alou, was not happy about this contest. I ran down to first base and the hometown Giants fans were booing the pitcher but it wasn't his fault. The ball was foul but the wind got it and blew the ball back toward the field. I might as well have been a midget. The national anthem was played and I ran out to right field and I noticed I couldn't breathe or hear; all I could feel was my heart beating.
Felipe sat down next to me after the game and I saw in his eyes playfulness, and truth, and love and he smiled, and then he walked away laughing. I was taking a small lead off second, scared out of my wits I might get picked off, and the Giant's pitcher singles to right field. For a better experience, please enable JavaScript in your browser before proceeding. Thirteen years after that color dream I finally met him, and he hadn't changed a bit. I met with the representative of the Giants and had to take a physical to clear me to play. The pitcher brushed me back and I was too slow to get out of the way and I was hit in the upper arm and boy did it hurt. Pretty sure it was 2016. When I returned to the dugout a couple of the Giant's high-fived me and I thought I would just burst from joy. I was already there and I caught it about two feet foul.