Where Nobody Knows Your Name: Life In the Minor Leagues of Baseball (41 page)

Twelve days after the Red Sox released him, the Phillies called. They were looking for an outfielder for their new Triple-A team in Allentown. Having grown up in central Pennsylvania, Thompson was familiar with the Lehigh valley. Even if he hadn’t been, he would have taken the deal.

The IronPigs were his eleventh minor-league team. Remarkably, he had finally found a home—not the one he had dreamed about, but a home nonetheless. At the end of each season (four of them) he became a free agent before re-signing with the Phillies and returning to Allentown.

Very few minor leaguers become fan favorites. If they play well, they usually move up to the next level. Most minor-league fans go to the games for the overall experience—the promotions, the atmosphere, the mascots—and to see baseball up close at a relatively inexpensive price. The most expensive ticket in an International League park is $15. Those are the club seats that in a major-league park cost anywhere from $250 to more than $1,000 (yes, for one game) depending on the city you are in. Box seats typically sell for $10 (compared with $75 to $200 at the big-league level), and general admission in most parks is $5 to $7. Parking ranges from free to as much as $3. Most
major-league teams charge a minimum of $15 to park anywhere close to the ballpark, and if you want to drive your car to a game at Yankee Stadium and park in an official stadium lot, it will cost you $45. That’s before you’ve bought a single ticket or anything to eat.

Only rarely do fans come to a Triple-A park to see specific players. The exceptions are a young star passing through—like Bryce Harper at Syracuse in April 2012—or an already established star who is in town for a few days on rehab: Evan Longoria in Durham; Orioles second baseman Brian Roberts in Norfolk; Kevin Youkilis in Pawtucket.

The appearance of a star on rehab in a minor-league town can create major headaches for team officials. In May, the Rays signed Hideki Matsui, the onetime Yankee who had been the MVP of the 2009 World Series, and sent him to Durham to try to get into baseball shape. At the same time, Daisuke Matsuzaka, who had been a superstar in Japan before joining the Red Sox, was in Pawtucket on a rehab assignment after having undergone Tommy John surgery a year earlier.

The worlds collided in Durham on May 17, with Matsuzaka pitching for Pawtucket and Matsui batting cleanup for Durham. The good news for the Bulls was that they sold 10,064 tickets to the game after the first two games of the series had drawn a
total
of 9,061. The bad news was that there was absolutely no place to put all the Japanese media at the game.

On a normal night, there might be ten people in the Bulls’ press box. It can comfortably seat about fifteen. That would leave five empty spots for non-regulars. The only problem was that there were close to fifty members of the Japanese media there to cover the two Japanese stars.

“We just put them anywhere we could find empty space,” said Zach Weber, who was the Bulls’ PR director. “There was no way to find seats for all of them.”

The Bulls won the game 5–0. Matsuzaka, who had cost the Red Sox more than $100 million in salary and transfer fees and had won forty-nine games in five years, gave up two home runs pitching for Pawtucket. Jim Paduch, who started for the Bulls, pitched six shutout
innings. He was twenty-nine, had spent much of his career playing independent league ball, and was costing the Bulls about $8,000 a month. It is probably safe to say that not a single member of the media was there that night to see him pitch. He looked like the $100 million pitcher.

Matsui was 0 for 3.

Those nights were the exceptional ones—fans and media flocking to a Triple-A park because of who was going to be on the field.

But Rich Thompson became a different kind of exception in Allentown. To begin with, he was a very good Triple-A player. He was a consistent, if not spectacular, .270 to .280 hitter each year, and he was a threat to steal whenever he got on base at a time in baseball when stealing had become a lost art at all levels. He stole 138 bases in four seasons, played an excellent center field, and was always available whenever the team did any kind of event in the community.

He and his wife, Teresa, had started a family by then, and they felt very comfortable living in the Lehigh valley. In a league that had few players who could be described as fan favorites, Thompson became exactly that.

“The funny thing is I never thought I’d play baseball this long,” he said. “And I certainly never thought I’d play it in the minor leagues this long. I’ve always understood that I’m lucky to still be playing. One bad year, maybe even less than that, and I could be out of baseball. I’ve been sent down to Double-A a couple of times, so I always knew where I stood in the pecking order.

“Obviously, if I didn’t love it, I wouldn’t still be doing it. I have three children now and a mortgage, and I started 2012 making $15,500 a month for a six-month season. That’s not a bad living, but it isn’t going to mean I can retire or take it easy whenever I stop playing.” He smiled. “If I can get a month in the majors and get paid at that rate, maybe I can buy a nice car. But the idea that I’m going to play ten years in the majors and not need to work when I stop playing went away a long time ago.”

Thompson began 2012 once again at Lehigh Valley. He had passed his CPA exam during the winter and was extremely proud of
the fact that he had needed to take the test only once to pass it. “The stat I heard was that only 42 percent pass the first time,” he said. “I wanted to get it done the first time.”

On the morning of May 16 he was having breakfast at home. The IronPigs had gotten home from a long road trip a day earlier, and he was happy to be back with Teresa and their three children—aged seven, five, and two. His cell phone rang, and he saw that it was manager Ryne Sandberg. Like most players, Thompson’s first reaction was, “Uh-oh.”

Sandberg had called Thompson on only three other occasions. “It was either to tell me he was giving me a day off because he liked to let guys know before they got to the park or to tell me I was going on the phantom DL.”

The “phantom DL” is a minor-league term for the seven-day disabled list that players are sometimes put on when their team needs a roster spot either to send someone down (players on rehab don’t count) or to bring someone up a level. It is usually a veteran like Thompson who is put on the phantom DL when needed.

This time the call was different. Always to the point, Sandberg said, “Rich, you’ve been traded to Tampa Bay. They want you in Tampa tonight. Congratulations.”

Thompson was stunned. Scott Podsednik had been traded to the Red Sox a few days earlier, so it seemed unlikely that Lehigh Valley would move another outfielder at that moment—unless an injury in Philadelphia forced a call-up. He’d been traded and
not
to Durham but to the major-league team. By lunchtime he was on a plane, and he was at Tropicana Field that evening before the Rays game against the Red Sox.

With the Rays leading 2–1 in the eighth and trying to build an insurance run, manager Joe Maddon sent Thompson in to pinch-run for the painfully slow Luke Scott. Thompson didn’t steal a base, but he did induce Red Sox reliever Franklin Morales into a balk—which was just as good. He didn’t score, ending the inning on third base, but the Rays held on to win anyway.

The next night Maddon had him in the lineup—batting ninth
and playing center field. After striking out in the third, Thompson came up again in the bottom of the fourth, with Boston leading 3–1 and Sean Rodriguez on second base. Facing Red Sox star rookie Félix Doubront, Thompson lined a 1-1 fastball to center field for an RBI single.

At the age of thirty-three, he had his first major-league hit—and RBI. His teammates all came to the top step of the dugout to applaud him. It had been 2,645 days since his first at-bat in Cleveland. In that time he had been to the plate in the minor leagues 3,711 times.

“I didn’t feel vindicated or validated by it,” he said. “But I knew the road I had taken to get to that moment, and it was very gratifying to get there, no doubt. Everyone was great about it. I did get a little bit choked up thinking about what it had taken to get back. I wasn’t sobbing or anything, but I was a little choked up.”

He didn’t lose his focus, though, stealing both second base and third base. That meant in one inning he had gotten his first hit, his first RBI, and his second and third stolen bases—he’d stolen one as a pinch runner in Kansas City. After the game, Tampa Bay clubhouse manager Chris Westmoreland made sure he got the baseball that had been recovered from the Red Sox after the hit.

Thompson stayed in Tampa for three weeks. When Desmond Jennings came off the DL on June 5, he was optioned to Durham. Which is why he was in a Bulls uniform when the team traveled to Allentown on June 15. That was the day the IronPigs decided to honor him by giving him a cake and a jersey.

Four days after the modest ceremony in Allentown, Thompson was back in the big leagues. This time his stay lasted three days. Once again a player coming off the disabled list—Jeff Keppinger—was the reason he was sent back down. To some, it might sound like a waste of time to get called up to the majors for three days. For Thompson, it was worth almost $8,000 in prorated major-league pay, no small thing since he had taken a pay cut when he was traded by the Phillies to the Rays.

As an IronPig, Thompson was being paid $15,500 a month—one of the higher salaries in the minor leagues. The Rays capped their
minor leaguers at $13,000 a month, which meant the trade would cost Thompson about $8,000 in minor-league pay during the remainder of 2012. Fortunately, the twenty days he had spent in Tampa from mid-May to early June had been worth about $55,000, meaning his 2012 salary would be into six figures.

When he returned to Durham he rented a town house, figuring that was where he would be for the rest of the summer.

“I’ll be thirty-four next year,” he said. “I think I can still play, so if someone will have me, I’ll keep playing.” He smiled. “I’ve got plenty of years ahead of me as a CPA. In that business, you never win, you just do your job and hope you don’t lose anything. It can’t possibly be as much fun as this is—I can’t imagine any job being as much fun as the one I’ve got right now.”

And, unlike Moonlight Graham, he did get that second chance in the big leagues.

FIGHTING FATHER TIME

For Scott Elarton, the summer in Allentown was turning out to be long and hot.

Which had nothing to do with the weather—although it was also very warm.

On May 16, after he had pitched six innings of three-hit shutout baseball against the Indianapolis Indians, Elarton had a record of 5-1 and an ERA of 2.06. In the meantime, the Phillies’ pitching staff was struggling: Joel Piñeiro and Dontrelle Willis, the other veterans invited to training camp as starting pitching insurance, had both been released. Cliff Lee had gone on the DL in April. Vance Worley followed—on the day that Elarton dropped his ERA to 2.06. Less than two weeks later Roy Halladay was on the shelf.

On three occasions, the calls to Lehigh Valley came—but not for Elarton. “This is not a business built for the elderly,” he said one afternoon with a smile. “That’s true in more ways than one.”

Elarton pitched well enough to win against Gwinnett on June 7—giving up one run and four hits in six innings—but got a no-decision when the bullpen gave up a 1–0 lead soon after he left. His next start didn’t come until seven days later because of a rainout on June 12 and a rare off day on the thirteenth. Maybe it was working on six days’ rest instead of four, or maybe it was just a bad night. Either way, Elarton was hit hard by the Durham Bulls: he allowed seven
earned runs—including two home runs—and didn’t get out of the fourth inning. That started a string of seven starts in which Elarton gave up five runs or more every time out except once. By July 17, just after the All-Star break, his ERA had soared to 5.60, and he had dropped seven straight decisions. Any thoughts of a call-up to Philadelphia were in the past.

“There’s a lot that goes into pitching well, including good luck, and a lot that goes into pitching poorly, including bad luck,” he said with a wan grin. “I’ve had seasons where I felt like all the breaks I got were good: I’d make a bad pitch, and someone would foul it off. I’d get a call when I needed it or an out when I needed it. I had really good run support.

“This year it’s felt the opposite a lot of the time. A broken bat becomes a hit. I throw a pitch that I think is strike three, I don’t get the call, and the next pitch becomes a key hit. I can’t complain—that’s just the way baseball is sometimes. You figure that out as you get older. I haven’t been good enough the last couple of months, that’s the bottom line.”

Elarton knew that part of his problem was that his legs weren’t as strong as they had been when he was younger. He had worked out hard to prepare in the off-season, but not having pitched regularly for almost four years and having to work harder at thirty-six to make good pitches than when he was twenty-six had taken their toll. He kept grinding, believing that what he had been doing in March, April, and May was still buried someplace inside him.