The dream just never gets old

Head Strong: The dream just never gets old
Baseball's savvy elder statesman makes another starting rotation.
4.4.10
By Michael Smerconish - Inquirer
Inquirer Currents Columnist

It was the bottom of the ninth. Bases were loaded, two out, and a full count. The Phillies were clinging to a one-run lead, but with the Yankees threatening. It would all come down to the pitching of Steve Carlton.

And for that brief moment in the 1970s, I was Carlton, albeit standing in a Doylestown backyard far from Veterans Stadium, about to hurl a Wiffle ball toward my brother, standing 10 feet away with a yellow plastic bat.

All of us who grew up in the suburbs played like that back then, idolizing and imitating Lefty, as well as the Broad Street Bullies (I still have my Bernie Parent jersey), Dr. J, and Bill Bergey. One guy who grew up among us, a few towns away from me, in Souderton, had similar daydreams. But while the rest of us slowly became resigned to more conventional lives and traditional jobs, he lived that dream, and will continue to do so when the Phils open a new season Monday. The one who made it has done us proud. Jamie Moyer epitomizes what a big-league ballplayer is supposed to be.

That baseball's elder statesman won the final spot in the Phils' starting rotation last week is hardly a surprise. The guy Moyer beat out for the job, 25-year-old Kyle Kendrick, is more than two decades his junior. And yet, nobody was surprised when Kendrick displayed nothing but admiration after the announcement. Rivalry doesn't seem to be the right way to describe the spring competition between two gentlemen.

Moyer is from Big Red country. He graduated from Souderton High School in 1981 and has never let go of his roots. I once asked him about his recollection of playing high school ball and was pleased to hear him rattle off specific memories like the layout of different fields on which he competed (that Central Bucks East's had no right-field fence and a hill in the outfield) and guys he played against (like Steve White, son of Bill White, the former player, National League president, and Yankees broadcaster).

Thirty years later, Moyer is still putting on a hometown uniform and marching out to the mound, while the rest of us arrange partial season-ticket packages to root for him in person. From the stands we appreciate his resolve even if we wonder how he gets it done.

I saw him a few weeks ago, on the first day of work for pitchers and catchers in Clearwater. I told him that sometimes as I sit at Citizens Bank Park with a beer in one hand and peanuts in the other, I think I can hit his stuff. He smiled knowingly before launching into an explanation of the cerebral approach he takes to the game.

"I think I just have to have a little more guile and trust in what I do and build off the confidence that I have. And really, I think the biggest thing that I try to do is work off the hitter's ego," he told me.

"When a hitter walks up there to the plate, he's got a bat in his hand. He's supposed to hit it, and the fans in the stands want him to hit it really far. So that kind of works in my favor."
Hence the changes in velocity. And the meticulous pitch placement. And Moyer's habit of shaking off the catcher before he even flashes a sign.

Therein lies another of the truly great things about Jamie Moyer. It isn't just his longevity. Or his winning track record. It's the fact that the oldest player in baseball manages to convince all in the stadium - including the guys in the other dugout - that they can hit him. And then he mows them down. Intelligently. Methodically. Humbly.

Those of us who grew up at the same time - graying, working, and raising a family - can't help but appreciate a ballplayer like that. Especially one who grew up here, went to college on City Line, and still contributes to this community in ways that don't end with parades down Broad Street. He knows that's why we backyard baseball players-turned-weekend warriors are paying especially close attention to the twilight years of his career.

"Part of the reason I'm playing is for those people, that are in their 40s and 50s and 60s - whether they're the weekend warriors that work out or the people that train during the week," Moyer told me in Clearwater. "I feel like I can relate to those people a lot easier. I hope they can relate to me."

Actually, it's more a question of how long we'll be able to relate to him. Moyer is in the final year of his contract. He had an up-and-down season last year. He dropped out of the starting rotation only to find success down the stretch in the bullpen.

A few years ago I asked him how long he expected to pitch. He was enjoying what he was doing, he insisted, and didn't want to put a number or an expectation on that. "Because you know what? I pitched yesterday. I could have made a throw yesterday that could have been the last throw of my career," he continued.
Moyer was then "only" 44. "I feel like, as my wife likes to kid me, I'm playing on borrowed time," he told me. "So I'm learning how to enjoy that and make the best of it."

Today, my sons play Wiffle ball in the driveway. When it's the bottom of the ninth with the Phils hanging on and the game on the line, you can guess who is on the mound.

Michael Smerconish's column appears Thursdays in the Philadelphia Daily News and Sundays in Currents. He can be heard from 5 to 9 a.m. weekdays on "The Big Talker," WPHT-AM (1210), and reached via www.smerconish.com.