The Sixth Tool:

Hit and Run

2006-09-10T07:17:00.000-05:00

Then came the announcement from DeSear. “Logan and I have decided to create a new position. Ah, well it’s really not new, I guess. We’re just bringing it back as a pilot program to see if we can’t jump start things. We’ve decided to bring back the regional scout position.”

The room filled with several grumbles. The type that say here we go again. I looked over at Toby Bradford who used to be the regional scout in charge of my area before they did away with the job. He seemed just as clueless as me.

“We’ll start out with just one. The first regional scout will be in charge of all area scouts in Florida, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, South Carolina, North Carolina, and Tennessee. . . ”
Why wasn’t Toby standing to approach the podium? I was glad that they finally came to their senses and brought Toby back to lead us. I was really getting tired of having to report directly to DeSear. Maybe I could finally get a handle on things with him back in charge. Pawn off Georgia onto someone else and just focus on Florida like old-times.

“Congratulations Goldberg,” DeSear said as he began to applaud.

Goldie! For crying out loud, he’s just a bird dog. He’s never even been an area scout. Granted, he had some playing time in the minors, but that doesn’t mean spit. This region is arguably the most talented region in the nation and they put him in charge of it? You mean to tell me that Goldie is my new boss? Bradford’s too?

The rest of the room was slow to applaud but out of respect for DeSear, I guess everyone felt obligated to follow suit. Even Bradford. Not me though. I don’t make it a habit to clap for joy after I’ve been slapped in the face.

Goldie wheeled himself over to the side of the podium to shake DeSear’s hand. The two smiled and DeSear patted him on the shoulder. “This change is effective immediately,” Desear continued, “Goldberg will report directly to Logan until further notice.”

This was incredibly worse than I could’ve ever imagined. Even DeSear was getting stabbed in the back. A direct report to Logan? That meant DeSear just lost control over seven states. Some of the most fertile states in the draft. Kiss them goodbye. Forget the token title of Regional Scout. Logan just made Goldie a co-Director of Scouting.

East Roast Showcase

2006-08-19T07:22:00.000-05:00

Wanted to make a quick report on the East Roast Showcase at UNC Wilmington's Brooks Field. And do I mean Roast. The heat was one thing but the humidity must have made it feel like 110 degrees. Anyhow, DeSear wanted both Goldie and I, along with several other scouts from the eastern half of the country to attend. It also gave DeSear another brainwashing opportunity to remind everyone what the organization is looking for (i.e. what Logan Cooper is now looking for).
"Just drink the Kool-Aid and smile," a senior scout from the northeast said to me afterwards.

It also gave DeSear an opportunity to roll out some organizational changes to the scouting department. More on this during my next post.

But Goldie seemed a bit different this trip. We actually had some time to talk and he began to open up. I think even he appreciated our discussions. He even paid me a compliment. "You know Cutter, you're all right for an old guy." Trust me, coming from Goldie, that's a compliment.
What floored me, however, was Goldie's claim that he played minor league ball. As I looked at him in his wheelchair, I thought I was hearing things. Never once has he mentioned it before. Sure enough, I checked out his story and confirmed that he actually played three years of college ball and one year in the minor leagues. Half a season in rookie ball and the other in low-A. That would explain why at times he flashes some brilliance in his scouting reports. Ironically, he actually knows baseball from the inside but chooses to put his faith in statistics, past performance, and fancy-pants number crunching.

I haven't yet decided if this is more salt in the wound or a blessing in disguise. Maybe there's hope for me to sway him back. After all, he admitted that he was a product of good old-fashioned, grass roots, projectionable scouting. Well, he didn't quite put it like that, but that's the truth.

During our last meeting with DeSear, he pointed out some of the failures from our last draft and then some of the successes. "One of the draft's best success stories," according to DeSear, "was and continues to be pitcher Rio Carbrera." Started in rookie ball, promoted to low-A in just over a month, and now on his way to our AA club.

My jaw just about hit the floor. DeSear brought Goldie up to the front of the group to discuss how Goldie found this "pitching machine," how he knew that Rio would register success, and a review of all pre-draft and post-draft discussions. It was all very deliberate-- leaving me out of the presentation. But make no mistake, what Goldie laid out was a template of sorts for handling future prospects. That too was very deliberate.

Then came the announcement.

Elijah. A Fiery Ending?

2006-08-02T20:16:00.000-05:00

Every so often I give a call to one of my old friends who is now coaching AA within the organization. Besides seeing how he's tolerating the summer heat and a steady diet of bus rides, we chat about what he's seeing and which players are weak or not progressing as projected. Of course, we always get around to talking MLB. I thought that the events surrounding the recent trade deadline would be the topic du jour, but my coaching friend didn't want to talk about Soriano, Abreu, or Maddux.

No, he was more interested in someone named Elijah and his indefinite suspension from the AAA Durham Bulls. More disturbing to him was Elijah's fiery comments about possibly quiting baseball. I am very familiar with the two sport standout from the Tampa area. In 2002, he graduated from Hillsborough High, but what most don't know is that he also attended Jefferson, Chamberlain, and King High Schools. Four schools in four years. If you were to talk with a particular coach from one of these other three schools, you'll get an earful about Elijah's fingerpointing and refusal to accept responsibility for things that went wrong when he had a hand in them. A real team killer. Not to mention that he's been arrested four times since 2003 with the latest being in September of 2005. His own father resides in the Okeechobee (Fla.)Correctional Institution for second-degree murder. As the story goes, Elijah Sr. contronted a man who sold a fake rock of crack for $100 to Elijah's mother. Elijah Sr. shot the man dead.

But Jr.'s an incredible talent. I agree with the projections that he could hit 40 HRs in the big show. That's something you just can't ignore. Or can you? Although the talent is tempting, my coaching buddy was crystal clear that he wouldn't want him on his club. In fact, he told me that he would personally hunt me down if I ever recommended someone like Elijah for the draft. You just can't imagine what it's like to have someone like that in the clubhouse day after day. Non-stop pity party. Always complaining. Very cynical. Never happy. The first to point a finger when things are slumping. It simply drains the energy from a club making it that much harder to succeed.

It also seems that the skipper for the Rays (Joe Maddon) is on the same page. "We can't have that here," Maddon said. "If we're going to be good, that can't be part of us. And I don't care how good [any prospects are], I really don't. In regard to skills, that doesn't matter. We'll be just fine with maybe just a little less skillful, but a good teammate. And that's the message that has to be out there. And I really believe that. And I don't think there's any doubt about that. And that's what we're going to be about."

Pop -n- Cheese

2006-07-26T17:39:00.000-05:00

On the hunt for some pop -n- cheese, the Baseball Championship Series U17 at the Roger Dean Stadium in Jupiter, Florida, did not disappoint. There were roughly 10 teams from Florida and Georgia which gave me a fantastic look at the upcoming class of prospects. A team from Orlando even took the championship. If it can actually be said, I think Florida just might repeat its performance in next year's draft. The talent was even more consistent and fundamentally sound than the tournament held last summer. Bodes well for my territory.

I was even able to have Dr. Rakes stop by to interview several prospects that should go in the first five rounds. The summer tournaments are perfect for interviews since there's generally quite a bit of down time for players in between games. Most of the players had never spoken with a shrink before. Feedback from the players was mixed. The majority, however, said that it forced them to think about their game from different perspectives and multiple approaches. Hopefully they don't quit after the tournament or go into a major slump! As much as I love the Doc, too much thinking can be incredibly counterproductive.

Over lunch, I tried to resist my instinct to ask about Dallas Parker. That lasted all but three bites of my mushroom cheeseburger. The Doc assured me that he's making progress but that it's a slow process which takes a lot of time. To help prove his point, I reminded the Doc that I've been to so many anger management classes that I could quote the steps both backwards and forwards.

But apparently there's more baggage to his relationship with his father than I or even the Doc expected. And that's when the Doc hit me with, "But you can relate to him. Can't you?"

You see, he knows where I've been. It's a place where he hasn't been. A place that's only revealed to him through textbooks or the thoughts of his patients.

Sure, I can relate to Dallas.

Take the time when I was twelve years old. Pops had just finished a shift and a half when he walked through the door. Fortunately for me, the pork chop dinner I had picked up from a local dive was still hot and ready for him to eat. He sat down as I served all three place settings. I called mother who was laying on the sofa, but she was so drunk that she couldn't pry herself off the cushions.

As usual, not a word was spoken during dinner. I tried to eat but my mind wasn't on food. Pops made quick work of the chops. I excused myself after several bites. He never even looked up. I planted myself by the phone. My glove in hand punching a ball into the sweet spot. It was 6 o'clock. If I had made the city all-star team, my coach would call me at 6 o'clock. I was certain that the call would change my life. A couple minutes went by and I figured that I was just midway down the list. Another five minutes went by. Still no call. Another ten. Nothing. Another twenty. Painful silence. I buried my head deep into my glove. I had always made the all-star team. In fact, I had made every team that I had ever tried-out for. But somehow I had to face reality that for the first time ever, I failed to make a team.

With that, I heard my father push back from the table and laugh. He walked over to me and continued to laugh. Only now his laugh turned into one of those cynical laughs. You know, the kind that says you're a worthless piece of garbage. "You didn't make the team, did you?" he asked. Of course, he already knew the answer. Before I could muster my response, he had his belt halfway off.

My mother, sensing what was about to happen, slipped off the sofa and tried to protect her little boy. But she was useless. Pops easily shoved her aside and then cracked the belt against his hand. Out of options, I jerked up and tried to make it over the sofa and out the back door. I almost had it but my big toe nicked the top of the sofa and caused me to stumble. It gave him just enough time to cut off my escape. He grabbed me by the neck and pinned me down to the ground with his knee. "You're a lazy-good-for-nothing-spoiled-brat. You're a disgrace to me, your mother and the whole family. If you just would've practiced harder, this would've never happened." I practiced everyday for hours (rain or shine).

What happened next doesn't deserve a description. By today's standards, he would've gone to jail for that incident and many others. But that was 38 years ago. Things were different. Much different. But what really gets me was that for years I actually thought he was angry because I didn't make the all-star team. It wasn't until after Pops died that I came to realize it wasn't about me at all.

Up In The Zone

2006-07-17T05:21:00.000-05:00

The two undecided draftees are still my primary focus. Even with the summer camps and tournaments in full swing for the 2007 draft prospects, I have to really concentrate on making a solid showing with these two kids. In my world, the difference between five and seven signees is pretty large. Especially given the number of draftees from my area. But it won't be easy and with each passing day, the odds of them signing become less and less.

RHP Marcus Brown was one out away from finishing his sophomore year at junior college with a no-hitter. I was there. And so were four other scouts. His slider is the main draw. He consistently drives it down and away from a RH batter with a short repeatable delivery. One of the better sliders in my area. He mixes in a two-seamer in the neighborhood of 89-90 mph that tails into the knees of the RH batter. Both with nearly identical deliveries making it very difficult on the batter. At times, however, he gets under his slider early causing him to tip his pitch and hang it up in the zone. His frame is most likely tapped out at 5'10" 180 lbs which hurt him in the draft. But he's a standout in JC ball and would probably have his way with opposing batters in his junior year. Both he and his father are weighing the benefits of going to a 4-yr versus signing. We took him somewhere in the early-middle rounds. He was a draft and follow prospect with another team last year, but he failed to sign when they allegedly offered him tenth round money. Now I'm offering him less money, which means he could very well end up a draft and follow prospect for us.

LHP Cody Brewer probably should go to college but he has zero desire to hit the books. His parents won't even talk to me. They see college as the only way for him to go. Cody, on the other hand, has other ideas. He pretty much sealed his draft day success with some big appearances on the summer showcase and tournament tour. It also didn't hurt that he matched up well against some top HS talent this spring. A big strong frame who ironically doesn't pitch off his fastball. He has an above-average curveball that he can throw for strikes and a nasty split finger that really makes 'em look stupid. Unfortunately, he doesn't project too much more. What you see is what you'll most likely get. His four-seamer sits between 89-91 mph with above average command. Although he's already committed to a 4-yr university, he hasn't stepped onto campus just yet. I've offered a hundred times to speak with his folks but I can't get an audience to save my life. Even when I offer to get DeSear or Cooper to speak with them, I get the same cold shoulder. I honestly didn't think signability would be an issue given his selection in the early rounds. And let's face it, the slot money ain't pocket change. This one could be the proverbial straw if he doesn't sign.

I should know something for sure from each of these guys by the end of next week at the latest.

Stealing Away

2006-07-15T20:43:00.000-05:00

At this point, we have six draftees from my territory that haven't signed. Not good. Two of the six are out of the question as they have already committed to 4-yr schools and are packing their bags as I type:

OF Dustin Wood uses an unorthodox stance but makes consistent contact when pitches are down in the zone and can muscle balls out to the deepest part of the yard. Led his team in HRs. For a HS senior he showed great patience and maturity in his approach at the plate. A slender body type with room to fill-out. He's a 60 runner on the 20-80 scale. Decent accuracy but lacks the arm strength for right field. He'll be on my radar screen in two years. His father really pushed him towards 4-yr college when Dustin fell into the 20+ round.

C Tommy Hill was probably one of the cockiest kids in my territory let alone the entire draft. In his senior year he threw out 25 of 26 basestealers with POP times that rarely exceeded 2.0 seconds. I loved his snap throws down to first and third. He's a genuine leader, but he did have a tendancy to ride his teammates too much. Especially the pitchers. At 5'9", 165 lbs, not too many pitchers are gonna tolerate his harsh words. His offense was primarily gap to gap with an excellent feel for situational hitting. Unfortunately, he said if he wasn't picked in the first five rounds, he was off to 4-yr college. We took him after the fifth but prior to the tenth round thinking we could stear him into signing, but I was wrong. We'll see how he does with a veteran college staff.

Two others have committed to JCs and will become draft and follow prospects:

LHP Chase Lewis was looking to be picked somewhere in between rounds 3 and 6. This HS senior was keen on going the JC route if picked any later. When he fell out of the sixth round, we figured the worst that could happen was that he'd become a draft and follow prospect. We tried on at least four occasions to sign him after the draft but he and his family would have nothing of it. His 90 MPH fastball will only get faster. He can also cut his fastball making him one of my personal favorites. But his standout pitch is clearly his changeup. He grips it awkwardly which gives it a late tilt, diving away from righthanded hitters. He can throw it for strikes on any count. I've enjoyed watching him freeze batters between his changeup and the fastball. Only downside is his lack of repeatable delivery. But when he gets them guessing, it's all over.

RHP Lee Strong set himself apart by easily handling top prep talent at several national tournaments last year. But his cheese started to mold towards the end of his HS season. It went from 90 mph in January to 84-85 mph. His mechanics also seemed to look more labor intensive. His above average curveball and changeup were the only things that kept him on the radar screen. Both are plus pitches. Not that it matters but Carson (PC Geek) was extremely high on this kid simply because of his 92 - 7 strikeout-walk ratio. Anyhow, the sudden drop in velocity and a perception that his 5'10" 160lb frame was done growing, caused him to slip past the 15+ round. Lee and his "trusted advisor" (girlfriend that will be going to a local community college) agreed that he should attend the same local communty college to regain his velocity and hopefully increase his draft value to somewhere in the top five rounds. This wasn't the first time "love" got in the way of one of my signings. It will be interesting to see how he responds. On the mound that is.

The last two are undecided. I'll hit them up in the next post.

Pinstripes

2006-07-08T08:12:00.000-05:00

DeSear had a tone to his voice that said, "See, I told you this wouldn't work." And considering he only said two words, "Where's Dallas?" -- that was pretty impressive.

I called his cell phone but it went straight to voice mail. I then called his wife, Rachel at home. No answer. I called the Walmart where she works and had her paged. 10 minutes later she picked-up. I asked her where Dallas was? Of course, she was in disbelief. Apparently he had left the night before and was going to stay with a friend near the yard. I asked if she could call the friend but she left her cell phone at home and couldn't dial long distance from work. She gave me the number to call. Almost an hour had gone by since Dallas was supposed to report. I called the friend who sounded like he just walked in from an all-night party-- not as drunk as he probably was six hours ago.

"Dallas? He was supposed to meet up with me last night? News to me, dude." With that, he hung up. I called back Rachel to see if she had given me the wrong number. Unfortunately she hadn't. Now my cell phone was ringing. It was DeSear again. Pounding me with the same question but now laced with a string of profanity. If there's one thing you don't do, it was sign a contract and not show up.

Rachel was now distraught. Perhaps he was in an accident. I called the highway patrol and asked if there were any accidents last night along what would have been his most likely route. A few, but only fender benders. Nothing serious. Well that was good news. But it still didn't get us anywhere.

We were at a dead end. Rachel left work and headed for home to check her cell phone and answering machine. That took about 45 minutes. No messages on either. She called all her friends. Nothing. What little family they spoke to. Nothing. Neighbors. Nothing. The evening rolled around and Rachel decided to call the police. Of course, that didn't do much good when you live out in Sorrento. It was like calling Barney Fife and Andy Taylor.

The next day rolls around and Dallas shows up at the yard a little before 7:30am. Of course, he was whisked away for interrogation. Under the bright light he disclosed that he had been in South Carolina yesterday visiting his supposedly ill father in the Ridgeland Correctional Institution. I knew exactly where Ridgeland was because I scouted a kid from nearby Jasper County High School who I happened to project as an 80 for speed (on a scale of 20-80).

Come to find out, his father wasn't ill at all. It was just a ploy to get Dallas to the jail. Dallas wouldn't dare tell Rachel that he was going to visit his father. She despised the man and made Dallas promise that he'd never talk or see him ever again. Somehow his father learned that Dallas had been drafted and got a hold of his cell phone number. In his father's mind, Dallas was loaded with cash. Dallas suspected that his father was lying but Dallas needed to go for another reason. He needed to get all his hatred and anger towards his father out in the open to deal with it. He needed to put the past behind him before moving forward. And his father's plot to get him to the jail was just the opportunity he needed.

From what I hear, Dallas has shown flashes of brilliance in several innings of work, but for the most part is struggling with his location. He has mandatory telephone conferences with Dr. Rakes three times a week.

Rocket's Red Glare

2006-07-04T14:40:00.000-05:00

With short-season Class A and rookie ball getting off to a great start, it's been one of those proud papa moments again. We were able to sign five draftees before play started.

SS Orlando Fonseca
RHP Dallas Parker
C Mac Thomas
RHP Rio Cabrera
OF Cedric Franklin

The last two were Goldie's alone. If you remember, I objected to Rio Cabrera due to poor mechanics. But Cabrera has already had an excellent outing in his first rookie ball appearance and is getting some unusual attention from our GM Logan Cooper. Shortly after the game, Logan apparently made some lofty comments about Cabrera's "rocket arm." He even hinted that several more appearances like that and he'll be quickly promoted to high-A or perhaps double-A. But what got me was that he apparently thanked Goldie for all his hard work in uncovering and signing Rio.

And then he went on to praise OF Cedric Franklin! Yes, this was the homeless man loitering around first. He's getting a shot in center field and so far has made the most of his 28+ plate appearances. .325 batting average and .408 on-base-percentage. But more staggering are the 3 HRs and 7 RBIs. I may have to revise his nickname from dough-boy to C-Note. And of course, Logan took the opportunity to give another pat on the back to Goldie.

What about my draftees you ask?

Well let's see. Dallas was a no-show on the first day our rookies were supposed to report. That went really good for me. 30 minutes after the check-in time both Cooper and DeSear were on my like two crazed junkyard dogs.

"Where's Dallas?" DeSear asked over the phone.

Of course he showed up the next day, but not without a story. I'll get to that on the next post. But for now, I'm actually getting ready to watch some of the MLB afternoon games. Thank goodness for baseball on July 4th! And of course, a major thank you for the men and women who continue to make our freedom possible and to all those who have gone before them to make our freedom possible to begin with.

Green Light

2006-06-17T21:45:00.000-05:00

I may have been too harsh on my brethren. I was in south Florida with DeSear and Carson making a final, yet successful, run at signing one of our last top ten draftees. We finished up early and DeSear wanted to know where he was going to eat. Ah, my specialty. Of course, DeSear was looking for his usual Texas-style BBQ and I was more than happy to let him down.

"Let's go to this little Cuban restaurant I know just a couple miles down Kendall Drive," I announced.

"Cuban!" DeSear shrieked.

Anyhow, it was a dive but many of the area scouts frequent the locale for lunch. As usual, the place was packed. We couldn't even find a parking spot. I had to park across the street-- right next to another area scout from a different club who also happened to be getting out of his car. We exchanged our usual insincere pleasantries and discussed our latest signings on our way to the crosswalk. Carson pressed the button, the light turned green and we had the signal to walk. DeSear and the other scout (let's call him Albert), started into the street with Al on his left. Carson and I were bringing up the rear.

But within seconds, a car turning left from the opposite side sped through the intersection. I could hear the car accelerate over the thundering base of the rap music. It was a kid. Zero regard for life. I could see his eyes beneath the crooked Yankee's cap (I'm not picking on the pinstripes but it's just the truth). He was headed for Al and at the very last second he swerved to make a point. The kid wanted to make it seem like he was going to run us over. He yelled an "F" bomb and pointed out that the light was green as if to say we were the ones in the wrong.

What this kid didn't know, however, was that Al's brother happened to be killed in a traffic accident earlier this year. I'm sure it was incredibly traumatic for Al to be starring down a radiator grill so soon after his brother's tragic death. It would have been easy for Al to flip out and lose it. And quite frankly, I wouldn't have blamed him if he did. My instincts would have been to yank that kid out of the car and beat the living daylights out of him. Instead, Al threw out a single question. "Is that what you would say to the judge if you ran us over?" His lip didn't even quiver. And no, his adrenaline didn't take over. He was in complete control. He's always been that way. Even as a player. In fact, Al not only had the sixth tool during his playing days, he's now taken the sixth tool into real life.

I don't know if Al has children. But if he does, I'm sure he's a great father. An attitude like that is something I wish I had. I was always so quick to anger. So quick to rebuke on the first sign of disobedience. Always responding to their bad behavior with my first emotion (and it usually wasn't pretty). Lots of yelling and screaming. No patience whatsoever. If they weren't in time-out, they were getting a paddle. If they weren't getting a paddle, they were in time-out. It was constant oppression. No wonder my kids hate me. To think that I even look in my mail box for a father's day card is a complete joke. But for some reason, each and every year I still look.

Slot Money

2006-06-09T21:21:00.000-05:00

The good news is that we had a boatload of draftees come out of my area. The bad news is that we had a boatload of draftees come out of my area. Florida had 189 draftees. I nearly ran out of options which made for some tense moments near the 45th round. And believe me, when Logan gets frustrated with the cross-checkers and suddenly shouts out your name over the conference line asking what you have left, you just can't say, "I dunno." I'll get to my response near the end.

Anyhow, the expectations are incredibly high. If I'm not mistaken, we selected more players from FL/GA/SC than any other area across the country. GM Logan and scouting director DeSear wasted no time flying to Florida once they came to a quick negotiating standstill with our two top selections. I saw this happen last year too. All by design. Of course, one of the excuses they use is being "over slot," which requires them to jump through some additional hoops with MLB's chief labor counsel before striking a deal. Bogus excuse. They delay signing the elite players until things shake out with certain signings in rounds 5-20. If signings turn out to be solid, then maybe Logan feels he can be more aggressive in negotiating the elite contracts. If signings are not so robust, then perhaps Logan is more inclined to come to terms and get a deal done more quickly.

Although the number of our draftees from my area was up almost 50% from what I had last year, I still feel pretty good about things. I picked up DeSear in Orlando on Wednesday and we signed one of our top ten picks. Went very smooth. A close family member, who happened to be an attorney, was the kid's agent and admitted he was just there for the family's peace of mind more than anything. Besides, the kid admitted prior to the draft that if he were chosen before the xth round, he would sign for slot money. Can of corn. Don't we wish they were all that easy. One down . . . off to Rookie ball.

At the same time, Goldie (in his expanded role) went solo in signing one of his prospects. Remember the homeless guy loitering around first? Yep. That's him. Logan pulled the trigger on the kid somewhere after the 10th round. This spring, the kid actually increased his OBP to something like .560 and led the conference in walks for yet another year. But you won't see him listed on the official draft boards as a first baseman. No, it seems the kid had some fielding issues at first base and was moved midseason to right field. Apparently he lost some weight and showed some decent arm strength towards the end of the season. I'm not buying it, but at least he's Goldie's pick-- not mine. Another one down . . . off to Rookie ball.

And then there's Logan screaming at the top of his lungs somewhere after the 45th round. You'd swear it was the first couple rounds! DeSear and the cross-checkers were taking too long to produce a short list for the selection when Logan blew his stack. Sleep deprivation if you ask me. But anyhow, he starts shouting the names of several area scouts in California. "What's the best player you have left? 5 words or less why should we take him?" One prospect by one prospect . . . one area scout by one area scout. Just 9 teams away from us having to pick. Each scout talks quicker and quicker knowing that our time is running out. Many of the names go right over the heads of the cross-checkers. Then it happened.

"Cutter?"

The moment of truth was upon me. Go ahead, call me a hypocrite. I answered, "Dallas Parker. 95 mile per hour fastball."

Immediately two cross-checkers objected. "Loose cannon," "Zero makeup."

"I agree," said DeSear. "Not the type of guy we need on our club."

I could start to hear Logan announce the name of another area scout when he was quickly interrupted by a voice I hadn't heard during the entire two days of the draft. But when Angus T. Hunt spoke . . . it was like the old E.F. Hutton commercial (everybody listened). "I'm sure Cutter's already weighed the good with the bad and believes that Dallas Parker is worth the risk."

"He quit on his team," DeSear replied.

"He didn't quit on our team," Mr. Hunt snapped. "Dr. Rakes can work with him. Besides, who else on the board has a 95 mph fastball? I'm inclined to agree with Cutter on this one."

Silence. It was suddenly our turn to select. What else could Logan do?

Thanks to Mr. Hunt, I'll be having breakfast tomorrow at the Parker trailer in little Sorrento, Florida, to get a certain signature on a certain minor league contract. After that, I'll make my way up to middle Georgia to hook up with Goldie. Although we missed out on Shawn Bankman and Jackson Savard, Logan was able to snag one of Goldie's picks (pitcher Rio Cabrera - a guy who I thought had some major mechanical flaws) and one of the few picks we actually agreed upon, catcher Mac Thomas.

2006 Draft: Opening Day

2006-06-06T11:50:00.000-05:00

556 players later and I'm completely spent. The first 18 rounds were a blur. Although I can't tell you how many from Florida/Georgia/South Carolina we selected (that would be too obvious), what I can tell you was that Goldie and Carson were text messaging their fingers off while I spent more time on the phone than any opening draft day I can remember. Tomorrow should be equally if not more insane. Thankfully, we were able to book all our draftees for signing appointments before this coming Sunday.

Overall, I was looking for 130 prospects being drafted out of Florida in the entire draft. Unless I missed a couple, there were 72 drafted from Florida in the first 18 rounds. That's pretty high. Fortunately I built my lists up to about 150 prospects. I suspect we will go over that number by the end of tomorrow. But I'm not too worried because not every draft pick will show up on my list. For example, there were 16 kids picked this afternoon that never made my list of prospects. I either missed the boat or some other scout is taking a gamble. I admit that it's probably the former. But on the flip side, I'm sure these same scouts didn't have all 72 kids on their prospect sheets either.

Georgia was also higher than I thought with 22 draftees. I projected 45 coming out of Georgia for the entire draft. Same story with South Carolina who had way more draftees than I expected thanks to Clemson's run in the post-season. Funny how scouts jumped on the bandwagon with the Clemson players. I'm sure the College of Charleston and South Carolina U will have their due tomorrow.

Anyhow, speaking of tomorrow, it's already here and I'm beat.

Calm Before the Storm

2006-06-05T21:13:00.000-05:00

Considering today is the day before the draft, it's been relatively calm. All the cross-checkers, our scouting director, and the GM were traveling back to the mother ship as I like to call it. Our owner, Angus Hunt, likes to be an active participant in the draft, so he'll also have a reserved seat around the conference table. I heard he was flying back from Russia this morning after attending an auction which offered a rare art collection from the 18th century. Actually, I'm sure it was his wife's doing. Angus doesn't strike me as a Russian art collector but I could be wrong.

As for me, I made my rounds over the weekend. Held a final workout in central Florida on Saturday and was in south Florida on Sunday. These workouts were only for top prospects. I had several retired players run the workouts so that I could entice some of the top prospects to actually attend. It worked great. It gave me one last opportunity to build a deeper relationship with the prospects and their parents just in case our next meeting is at the negotiating table.

I've been on the phone pretty much non-stop with other prospects to confirm their signability. I had two kids come clean about past injuries. I also had a couple kids tell me straight up that they're not ready for pro ball and will be accepting scholarships to play college. It happens every year at the last minute. Cold feet are to be expected. It's a huge decision and I don't hold back in letting them know what to expect if they sign. But some kids aren't so direct in their communications. If a kid is still unsure at this point, I'd rather him play college. Let's put it this way, today I made several calls to DeSear letting him know to take several players off the board because they simply lacked the sincerity and confidence in communicating that they wanted to play pro ball. It sounds strange but if I'm not sold that he's ready to hop on a bus and begin his minor league journey to make it to the Big Show, I'm taking him off the board. Granted, you have your draft-and-follow situations, but for the most part, I'm taking him off the board.

But one thing is for certain. I'm going to be extra busy tomorrow and the next several weeks. I have four phone lines in my home office. One line will be connected to the conference room at the mother ship. It'll be on mute so I can hear all the draft selections and war room chatter but they won't be able to hear me. Another line will be dedicated to receiving calls from DeSear or Logan in case they need to discuss matters one-on-one. The other two lines will be for calling prospects, draftees, Goldie or Carson. And then there's my cell phone if everything happens to light up.

So what ever you do, make sure your seatbelt is securely fastened. The next couple weeks will be quite a ride.

The Five Tools of Lunch

2006-05-31T05:12:00.000-05:00

My brethren do many things to agitate me. Take one scout for example. For every afternoon game that I see him, he brings a picnic basket of sorts. It's really a cooler bag but it might as well be a picnic basket. I simply marvel at his routine. He sits behind home plate with his radar gun and then like clockwork in the bottom of the second, out comes lunch. Many would ask why he doesn't eat before the game? Good question, but then again, he's never been on time for any game I've seen him at. But at least he usually makes it before the bottom of the first. Anyhow, he slips the radar gun back into his laptop bag and then gently unzips his cooler bag.

Always on top is a printed paper napkin. He removes it and unfolds it from the right. He then places it down on the bleachers to his right. Always to his right. He smoothes out the napkin-- I'll swear to this. And then he removes a vegetable and puts it on the top left corner of his napkin. Sometimes broccoli, sometimes sliced peppers, but mostly raw carrots packed tightly inside a ziplock baggie. Then out comes a fruit. Sometimes a banana, sometimes a tupperware full of strawberries, but mostly red delicious apples (I can hear the crunch from a mile away). He puts this on the top right.

Then a yogurt appears out of the bag. A freaking yogurt. And not just any type of yogurt, but the kind with granola on top. Sometimes plain vanilla, sometimes raspberry, but mostly mixed fruit. He puts the yogurt on the bottom left corner of his napkin. Of course, the last thing he removes from the bag is a sandwich. And you guessed it-- bottom right corner. Sometimes tuna fish, sometimes egg salad, but mostly oven roasted turkey (Okay I really don't know if it's oven roasted but that's just my guess) and always on wheat! And what does he drink you ask? He takes a bottled water from his laptop bag and places it--- yep, right in the middle of the napkin. Ah . . . the five tools of lunch. He's a complete player. Takes a quick look around (probably just to see if others are noticing his masterpiece) and then starts on the carrots, finishing each course before moving to the next. Lunch easily lasts until the sixth inning. All the while, he's completely oblivious to the game. And without fail, he leaves by the middle of the eighth. Can you guess which team he scouts for?

And this is just for starters. Never mind the scouts who have no intention of signing one of my prospects but spend 30 minutes over the phone telling the kid he's the next David Wright and that they plan on taking him in the Xth round- three rounds ahead of where we were going to take him. Of course, the scout is doing this in hopes that we will get nervous and blow an earlier-than-needed draft pick on the kid thus freeing up some of the talent that should really be taken in the Xth round. Just one of the many tricks I see this time of year.

Healthy Stance

2006-05-26T05:27:00.000-05:00

I wish I could say that I never had a problem with a parent, but I can't. It used to be where the parents were cordial, respectful, and quite helpful. Now don't mistake what I am about to say, because some parents still get it, but this is one area that has deteriorated most severely over my last 23 years of scouting. Many of the parents I deal with today are obnoxious, arrogant, over-controlling, money hungry, know-it-all's.

They are incredibly pushy at the negotiation table and take everything way too personally. When I talk about a player's deficiencies, I always make sure to couch them in a way that I am only addressing the behaviors (actions) of the player instead of the player himself. If I don't, parents tend to get fired-up. In fact, they have a more difficult time with reality than the parents of 15-20 years ago. Those parents saw the deficiencies as room for improvement and a challenge for little Johnny to overcome. Today's parents would rather argue that no deficiencies exist and tell me I'm crazy because some other scout says their little Johnny is the next Albert Pujols.

That brings me to my approach. Rule uno . . . Quickly build an expectation that I'm simply here to evaluate both the good and the bad behaviors on behalf of my organization. Rule dos . . . Keep a healthy distance. I feel the need to maintain a professional, not personal, relationship with the parents. No matter how close I get with the parents, there's going to be a point in time when I point out reality which can tend to sour the personal relationship. Of course, I've learned this the hard way.

Other scouts, however, are their best buddies. They tell them what they want to hear, no matter what. They go over to the house for BBQ cookouts, kiss the babies, hold Grandma's hand, blow little Johnny's nose . . . not me. I simply won't do it. And I can't stand scouts that do. Which brings me to the other scouts which are really getting on my nerves at this point. I cringe at some of the stuff they're saying and doing. And I seem to be getting more than an earful (regarding what this scout did or said) during all my signability calls with the kids and their parents. Much more than usual. I think I'm overdue on going Billy Martin. Let the backstabbing begin. Next post: my brethren (only the ones I don't like, of course).

Setting the Lineup

2006-05-24T05:23:00.000-05:00

It's getting really crazy around here. And after talking with a cross-checker last evening, it looks like it's only going to get more crazy after the draft. It seems that with each passing day, the stock in our Florida and Georgia prospects keep rising. It was fortunate that I started out looking for 265 eligible draft prospects. If you remember back in December I projected 170 draftees coming out of my territory-- but now that number looks to be low. That's why I build in a cushion.

So, I've prepared both Goldie and Carson to be ready for what looks to be a robust signing opportunity for us. I normally don't get too excited when the rumormill turns to Florida, but this time it seems to be legit. Funny thing is that I haven't really noticed a pop in our region's talent level this year. That must mean that the talent level across the board is slightly lower than usual making for a sleepy draft. Of course, that'll mean the focus, as well as the pressure, will be centered on me to make the most out of what some in our scouting department are calling a lackluster draft. But understand that this draft, like most drafts, will yield a highly talented group in the first couple rounds. Beyond that, however, is the true measure of a draft's talent level.

And all I know is Florida/Georgia/South Carolina and the fact that the cross-checkers are calling me everyday with signability questions and looking for any signability updates. I had eight draftees last year. It could be as many as 15-20 this year. That's a lot of contracts. That's a lot of pressure. That's insane. Fortunately, (and I'd never thought I would say this) I'll have some help this year with Goldie and Carson. Of course, DeSear and perhaps Cooper will also be down this way for the larger, high-profile signings if they should happen in the early rounds.

And I forgot to mention that's also a lot of parents. I'm talking with them everyday now. I'll give you my approach with the parents on my next post. I have some rules I try to adhere to. Unfortunately, some other scouts in my area don't.

Guess Hitting

2006-05-21T10:19:00.000-05:00

We had some extra time in the dug out to talk hitting philosophy with several kids in our south Florida private workout. The kids at this workout weren't top 10 round material. They mainly were in the 10-30th round realm. Or at least so I thought. The way the cross-checkers and DeSear were talking afterwards, a few might actually slip into the top 10 rounds. That blew me away since Carson and I had already targeted our south Florida kids that should go in the top 10 rounds. But then again, we don't have much of a feel of what's happening in other parts of the country.

Anyhow, out of 10 position players at the workout, I would say eight were what I call, "guess hitters." In other words, these players sit back looking for a good pitch to hit. They've been coached to look for, "their pitch." To understand this approach more fully, it might be helpful to paraphrase one of the players-- I pick up the ball coming out of the pitcher's hand, see it, decide if it's a good pitch, and then decide whether to swing or not. There are at least 3 decisions involved before contact.

The other two adopted a more concise approach. They are swinging unless they see a pitch they don't like or are basically told to take the pitch. These batters make an assumption when they step to the plate that the ball is going to come right down the middle. They know it's coming right down the middle. They're not looking for it to come right down the middle, they know it. Big difference. If a pitcher has a great fastball, you simply can't afford wait to see the ball to get started. You need to anticipate where the ball is going to be and approach that area. You can stop if it isn't close to where you anticipate.

Now I'm not saying one approach is better than the other. Johnny Bench was a terrific guess hitter. However, I truly believe that a prospect who has average hitting tools and bat speed can project into a fine prospect as long as he adopts the later approach.

Of course, there is no substitute for bat speed regardless of approach. I believe it was Whitey Herzog that once said, "Speed never slumps." But in the later rounds of the draft, you often don't get that luxury.

Draft-and-follow

2006-05-19T20:06:00.000-05:00

What a week. It seemed like all our cross-checkers and our national scouting director couldn't get enough of Florida. Apparently, Florida talent is on the top of the food chain this year. It doesn't work that way every year, but this year seems to be one of those years. As an area scout, I don't really know how my kids stack up to other regions during the year. Sure, there are a number of publications that attempt to show the differences, but I never pay much attention to those. It isn't until a couple weeks prior to the draft that you really get to see what's going on. And it was obvious that the cross-checkers were much more impressed with the Florida talent level as well as the depth of talent that will populate the late stages of the draft.

Incidentally, we signed draft-and-follow prospect Diego Gutierrez this week. If you recall, he was the third baseman from Wekiva Community College that we chose in the 34th round of last June's draft. Diego's sophomore year did not disappoint. He developed as I expected, only with better arm strength. Other scouts were definitely high on him, but most of them projected him somewhere in between the 10th and 15th rounds. Diego knew this. As a result, DeSear and I offered him a package comparable to someone drafted in the 10th round. After he talked it over with his father, it was a done deal.

At our private workout in Orlando, we had you know who show up. Dallas Parker. All the cross-checkers were fully aware of his walk-off episode. One had even called the Wekiva coach to get his personal report on the incident. It certainly tainted their analysis of Dallas, as none of them thought he was ready to play pro ball at any level. I could sense that they saw the raw talent, but with the number of talented pitchers available across the country, Dallas didn't fit with their plans. It also didn't help Dallas when he boasted that several scouts have rekindled their interest and have said they will take him near the 30th round. It came off like we'd better get back on the bandwagon or else. The guy continues to keep shooting himself in the foot.

Anyhow, we just finished up private work outs in south Florida today. I'll recap those tomorrow since I need to take DeSear to the airport so he can catch his 10:45 flight out of MIA.

Under the Bus

2006-05-15T20:15:00.001-05:00

I can't even begin to tell you how infuriated I am with Goldie. Saturday's private workout took the cake. We invited Martin McGarrity, a standout LHP from East Dublin High School, to give us a taste as to why Manny projected him inside the top 10 rounds. Goldie and I had seen him pitch earlier in the year. It was like pulling teeth to get Goldie over to watch him.

Never once, however, did Goldie mention to me that he was going to throw me under the bus with McGarrity. What really ticks me off was that we both agreed on which prospects to invite to the private workout. But when McGarrity arrived, he was like, "Why's that guy here? Let's get one thing straight, it wasn't my idea to invite him."

I can honestly tell you, Goldie can be a cold as they come. But on the other hand, he insisted that we invite Shaun Bankman and his father so the cross-checker could see Shaun pitch one last time. Never in a million years would I have thought that Goldie would ever want to be in the same county as the Bankman's considering what happened at their house.

Anyhow, back to McGarrity. At first, we had him pitch all of his stuff without a batter and then we stacked him up against some talent. Fastball was in the high 80's, but he could purposely change speeds starting at the upper 70's. Same look, release point, and delivery whether it was thrown at 87 mph or 77 mph. Very deceptive if done correctly. He also mixed in a splitter to really get batters chasing. Again, same look, release point, and delivery as the fastball. And if that weren't enough, he had excellent command over his curveball. Not very fast. But very loopy and perfectly located.

I was really excited for McGarrity until Goldie called for a break in the action. The nerve. Trying to distract McGarrity and throw him off his rhythm. Goldie motioned for the catcher to come over. In front of the cross-checker and Toby Bradford, Goldie says he thinks he sees something. He tells the catcher that he wants to call the pitches for several batters. He gives him the signals (which I couldn't believe - almost like he had called signals before) and tells him to get back to the plate. For the next couple batters, Goldie has McGarrity jump back and forth between his fastball, splitter, and curve. Then Goldie calls the next batter over to him before the guy walks out to the batter's box.

He proceeds to tell the batter to watch the location of McGarrity's left elbow as he grabs the ball inside his glove after receiving the signal from the catcher. If his elbow is slightly higher than his glove, it'll be a splitter. If it's even with the glove, it's a curve. Below the glove, it's a fastball. It was all very subtle but as Goldie called the pitches, it became obvious that McGarrity was tipping from the stretch. Unintentional, of course, but from that point forward, McGarrity was toast. He was rocked from one side of the field to the other.

Three veteran scouts, all with MLB playing experience. None of us picked up the subtle movements. That's our freaking job. But then it dawned on me. Goldie set me up. McGarrity had only thrown a dozen pitches before Goldie called for a break. That really wasn't enough pitches for us to catch on (although it probably should have been). Goldie must have seen these movements when we scouted McGarrity in February. How nice of him to keep it all to himself (Of course, I really missed the boat). And he just tucked them away and waited for the opportunity to screw me over.

And man, did he ever. Both the cross-checker and Toby were totally impressed with Goldie's find. To make matters worse, the cross-checker leaned over to me and asked, "Didn't you see this crap when you scouted him?" Of course, Goldie had a free pass because he wasn't supposed to be the one finding this stuff. Goldie's the stat boy. I'm the tools and technique guy. I suddenly felt like I was on some Twilight Zone episode.

Then he asked Goldie, "So how did you pick'em up?"

Goldie looked at him and smiled. "Ever play Texas hold'em?"

[thump][thump]

Of course, that sound you hear is the bus running me over.

Glide-to-Stride

2006-05-12T21:59:00.000-05:00

Just got back to my hotel room after standing in one of those self-checkout lines at a Super Walmart in Atlanta. The place was packed. Of course, the guy in front of me was paying with pennies, nickels and dimes. Dropping each coin into the machine one at a time. I couldn't believe it. But what got me was that after he was done putting in $15 worth of coins for $12.28 of merchandise (Believe me, I had plenty of time to look at his check-out screen to see what was going on), he gladly took his $2 in dollar bills and $.72 in coinage and off he went! Someone please help me with this?

Anyhow, I'm in Atlanta with my old boss, Toby Bradford, (who as you may or may not remember is now the area scout responsible for the metro-Atlanta area and everything north of I-20), and one of our national cross-checkers ( yes, the same one who looks like Tom Selleck). The two held a private workout this afternoon in order to get a better look at several local JC and HS players. I decided to join them, along with Goldie, to see what Toby had compared to what we were seeing in central/south Georgia. Of course, the kids that were invited weren't necessarily the cream of the area but rather those who, for one reason or another, didn't get scouted by the cross-checker when he was doing his rounds earlier in the year.

Tomorrow, the cross-checker will be joining Goldie and myself for our own private workout in Macon. We've invited a select group of JC and HS players that we wanted a second look at. Again, these aren't necessarily our best players in the central/south Georgia area (the cross-checker already knows what they can do) but rather those kids who are likely to go between the 8th and 20th rounds. Many of them are Goldie's (i.e. Manny had nothing on them). But a few are Manny's which, of course, have more credibility with me and will most likely show better in front of the cross-checker. It should be an interesting afternoon because the cross-checker, unlike DeSear and Logan, hasn't been too warm and fuzzy over Goldie's stat-induced, scouting reports.

Monday, the cross-checker will be with me in Charleston, South Carolina. Tuesday afternoon, we'll be in Orlando joined by a second cross-checker and also DeSear himself. Wednesday morning, the two cross-checkers, DeSear, and myself will travel to South Florida. With the exception of a few one-offs, these private workouts should be the final work outs in-front of the cross-checkers. After these workouts, I'll be focusing primarily on signability issues. Of course, during the three days leading up to the draft I'll go back to having private workouts for my top prospects. I'll bring in a former player or two to organize a light workout. This is mainly to keep the kids occupied - so to speak (i.e. away from the other scouts trying to contact them).

Needless to say, 25 days before the draft is an extremely busy time and it's only going to get more hectic from here on out.

Delmon Young Suspension

2006-05-10T21:03:00.000-05:00

They can't be serious. 50 games and 50 hours of community service? Is that all? Kid was lucky I wasn't the Int'l League president because he'd be riding the pine for the rest of the season. And to say that it's only 50-games because the president couldn't prove "intent" is a complete joke. Young could probably throw his bat at the shortstop from home plate and hit him 9 times out of 10. Look, if I shoot a bullet in the general direction of someone because I'm angry with them but because of my bad aim I end up blowing a hole in their chest, I'm going down for murder or at least involuntary manslaughter. What if that bat connected with the ump's head and killed him? Is Young's lack of "intent" argument going to hold water?

A person "intends" a consequence when he or she foresees that it will happen if the given series of acts or omissions continue and desires it to happen (Wikipedia). You be the jury.

If you haven't seen it by now, here is Young's "lack of intent":

"I sincerely regret my actions in the game yesterday," Young said in a statement released by the office of his agent, Arn Tellem. "Regrettably, in the heat of the competition my emotions got the better of me.

"My behavior was completely unacceptable. I want everyone to know that I recognize that it is never right to throw a bat and I certainly never intended for the bat to make contact with the umpire. Nevertheless, I owe an apology to my team, the fans and most importantly to the umpire, for the incident. I am sorry."

Young was suspended three games for bumping an umpire while playing for Montgomery of the Double-A Southern League, and he nearly was ejected earlier this season after flinging a bat in the air and having it land about 20 feet from a pitcher who had just hit him with a pitch.

And to make matters worse, the regular umpire crews for the minor leagues have been out on strike. Many of the replacement umps have college and high school experience but Young wasn't ready to cut them any slack.

Understand that Young is back in Triple-A to get a better grasp of the strike zone. Some would also argue that the Ray's depth in outfield is another reason he's in Durham. Maybe so, but a lot has been said recently about his inability to see the strike zone. I'm sure those comments were echoing in the back of his mind when the ump called a third strike. You can only imagine what he was thinking. Awe &$%#. I've got to deal with another strikeout because this turkey can't see.

Taking a called third strike goes right to the heart of his "strike zone" problem. All of his frustrations had to peak at the moment of decision. Only one problem, 99.9% of the players are able to suppress their actions at the moment of decision. Young on the other hand, could not.

You simply cannot count on Young to be there over the long-haul. What good are his five-tools if he ain't playin'? Give me a two or three-tool player that has the sixth tool over any five-tool player that doesn't. Young could learn a thing or two from Jonny Gomes.

Passed Ball

2006-05-04T22:28:00.000-05:00

Just when I thought the Dallas Parker project was finished, I received a call from Doc this morning. Doc had just hung up with one of our cross-checkers who still had Dallas on the outer edges of his radar screen despite the walk-off incident (I had the same cross-checker watch Dallas pitch in February). As it turned out, Dallas called Doc last night for some advice. According to the Doc, it was a productive call. I was just thrilled to hear Dallas had contacted someone about his problems. I had left a ton of messages for Dallas, but never received a return call. Doc told me that Dallas said he was too embarassed to call me back.

Come to find out, Dallas eventually went back to class but never returned to the team. The Wekiva coach was understandably upset at Dallas's sudden walk-off the mound and from what Diego told me, the coach lit him up all the way into the clubhouse and practically out to the parking lot. It was clear that Dallas was not welcomed back and Dallas wasn't the least bit disappointed at that particular moment.

I'm sure I could've mediated Dallas's return but I certainly wasn't going to make any effort until Dallas proved to me that he really wanted to play. Although his coach could use him right now in the FCCAA State Tournament, Dallas's playing days for Wekiva are over. And what a shame. It's not like his year was a total disaster either. He dominated for the most part but when he did get hit around, he lost his composure and the bottom fell out. More importantly, several other scouts told me that towards the end of his season, his velocity was holding constant when he needed a strike. If you remember when I saw him, he'd drop his four-seamer to the high 80's when he needed a strike. According to them, however, he was throwing 93-94 mph when he needed a strike. That told me that his confidence was where it was supposed to be.

Somewhere down the road, however, the Giant eventually took control of Dallas. But from what Doc tells me, Dallas now recognizes that he must take back responsibility. And although he very much wants a career in professional baseball, Dallas readily admits that he must control his fears in order to be successful. Time is running out on Dallas Parker. With the draft only 33 days away and not much opportunity to pack up his family to play ball at another community college, he knows he's in a desparate situation.

On Deck Circle

2006-05-01T19:31:00.000-05:00

You should know by now that I try to look at everything. I'm the type of scout that arrives at the field early just so I can watch a player step off the bus. How does he carry himself? Does he look like he wants to be there? Is he loose? Tight? I take it all in.

But something I noticed last week stuck out like a sore thumb. And this wasn't the first time I've seen this either. It's been getting progressively worse over the last couple years. I was in Ft. Lauderdale watching several HS district tournaments when I saw it happen. Carson was pretty high on this particular shortstop and I figured I would check him out to see if he warrants a spot on the short list. His team was up to bat in the bottom of the first with two outs, a man on second and a man up at the plate. As the kid wandered onto the on deck circle twirling his bat, he immediately started talking with some of the students behind the fence. It was real meaningful stuff like, "Did you hear who Jimmy was taking to the prom?" and "Deana really wants you to ask her to the prom."

With a 3-2 count, the kid at the plate knocked a ground ball causing the shortstop to dive deep towards second. The runner easily advanced to third and the batter beat the throw to first. Now there were runners on first and third with two outs. The Prom King was forced to break off his social session and head to the plate. It was a great opportunity for him to put his team ahead early in the game. He had the pitcher in a hole.

The first pitch was a decent four seam fastball over the outside half. The RH Prom King took a mighty long swing and barely caught up to it just over the back part of the plate. The ball lumbered off the barrel slicing in the general direction of the right fielder. A can of corn. The pitcher couldn't hide his emotions as he jumped off the mound with a Tiger Wood's fist-pump and sprinted back to the dugout.

Thinking back, I can remember Pete Rose kneeling at the on deck circle. And a number of other players would do the same as well. It was such an important part of their batting routine. The on deck circle was a place where they would analyze the game situation, plan their at bat, get loose, and get their emotions under control. This mental preparation allowed them to simply react at the plate rather than having to think at the plate.

Sure enough, during the Prom King's next on deck appearance, Deana and her friends were standing there waiting for him to look their way. Of course, having nothing better to do on deck, the Prom King blew Deana a kiss and asked her to the prom. How ridiculous. A mockery of the game. Only this time, however, he stepped to the plate and pulled the first pitch down the third base line for a stand-up double. His next three on deck appearances gave him enough time to completely plan his social calendar for the next two weekends. He ended up going 2 for 4 with 1 walk.

Situational Hitting

2006-04-23T18:15:00.000-05:00

Wrapping up some college games this weekend in south Florida, Carson (a.k.a. PC geek) and I had a frank discussion over something that can differentiate one player from another: an instinctual awareness for situational hitting and being able to execute accordingly. To me, I've seen a declining emphasis on situational hitting over the last 10 to 15 years. And it really extends from the highest level down to the youth leagues. Just look at the high salary premiums paid for home runs and slugging percentage.

Situational hitting is such a rich part of the game. Apart from pitching (I'm biased), it has to be one of the main attractions to the game. Carson didn't have a clue of what I was talking about. He kept reminding me that there was a reason for the high salary premiums paid for HRs, slugging percentage, and of course, he threw in on-base percentage. Although Carson has made great strides in scouting the tools, he still has difficulty putting value on certain aspects of a player's game that aren't always measured by the statistical world of production.

To help him focus (or so I thought I was helping), I gave him several basic examples. With the bases empty and no outs, the at bat is different from the same situation with two outs. With two outs, the batter who finds himself in a 2-0 or 3-1 count should be looking to drive the ball in order to get himself into scoring position rather than taking a walk. If he takes the walk, his team will most likely need a couple two-out hits to score him. If he gets into scoring position, then only one two-out hit should be necessary to score him. [Of course, Carson argued with me on the philosophy of not taking a walk in that circumstance. Any tactic that could hurt a player's OBP had to be faulty. He was certain that he could find some statistical data that would prove more runs were scored with two outs from a 3-1 count which resulted in a walk than a situation where the ball was put into the field of play from a 3-1 count (ie. the team would be better off taking a walk instead of swinging for a double).]

Another example would be a man on third with less than two outs. The hitter needs to get the runner in from third. It doesn't really matter whether the infield is in or deep. I'm looking for a hitter that stays on top of the ball, controls his swing (no overswinging), and puts the ball in play. A simple grounder directed to the gap between third and second or first and second. No pop-ups or short fly balls. And for crying out loud, never get caught taking a third strike in this situation! [Of course, Carson was screaming for the deep fly ball that might have a chance to go yard. To him, if a player is going to put himself in a position to be thrown out on a ground ball, why not swing for the fences for a chance to score two runs. If he comes up short, then the team scores a run on a deep fly ball. For anyone who's played, it's much more difficult to consistently hit a deep fly ball. There's too much opportunity to hit it short or simply pop-up. Most MLB outfielders can throw out a tagging runner on a shallow fly ball. Just get it on the ground and the chances are that something good is going to happen. The batter might even get it through the gap and improve his precious OBP]

Now, I realize that a manager should dictate the situational hitting tactics used during the game but the player needs to be able to execute them. Generally, a team gets to the playoffs because they have good pitchers who can beat the other teams' good hitters more often than not. But a way for hitters to overcome dominating pitchers is to use situational hitting to their advantage. Once in the playoffs, it's my opinion that the team who executes situational hitting is more likely to win. I want players who are comfortable with the concepts and can execute them willingly and without hesitation.

Changing Speeds

2006-04-22T21:19:00.000-05:00

Notyourdoc wants to know if I had a mental tool breakdown? How much time do you have? I can still remember it like it was yesterday. Putting the ball in my manager's hand. Stepping off the mound (not knowing that it was actually going to be my last time doing so). I looked up into the late-September night sky and inhaled the crisp air. Of course, I was in full denial of what had just happened. And I was full of excuses too. If the second baseman had just a bit more range. How could the shortstop pull the first baseman off the bag? Why couldn't the right fielder hit the cutoff man like he was supposed to? Why did the groundskeeper mow the grass differently that day?

But truthfully, I was getting hit hard in more ways than one. My mind was not focused on throwing strikes but rather on the divorce papers that were served on me just two days prior. She waited for an away trip to have me served. It was all very well coordinated on her part. She moved out that same morning and took the two kids with her. My daughter was 8 years old and my son was 17 months. In an instant, my life changed. I became bitter and found myself throwing one pity-party after another. Things only got worse when my daughter mentioned on the phone that Mommy had a new boyfriend. I quickly sank into several bad habits during the offseason. It was hard enough for me to eat innings with a clear head and healthy body. But when I showed up at spring training without either, the team put me into rehab and offered me a scouting job in Florida. 23+ years and several clubs later, I'm still scouting in Florida.

And yesterday was my son's 25th birthday. I know he's not in baseball. I've checked each and every year since he graduated from high school. And he's probably done with college by now, assuming he went. Maybe even married. For all I know, I could be a grandfather and not even know it.

Into His Kitchen

2006-04-20T20:50:00.000-05:00

I've been in the Palm Beach, Broward, and Miami-Dade County area this week. The high school teams are approaching their district tournaments and wrapping up their regular seasons. From what I've seen this year, there's no doubt that the strongest HS talent pool is located in these three counties. I would suspect that quite a few of the Florida state championship teams will come right from here. The community colleges also wrap up their regular season this week and the four-year programs will still be going strong through May and into June for those advancing.

Not surprisingly, this is around the time I see some fatigue related mental errors. For example, I was at a community college game this week scouting a freshman at third base. A real horse. Quick hands and impressive bat speed. Not afraid to let it loose. Especially with an inside fastball. I've watched him enough to know that pitchers with a runner on second and no outs will throw right into his kitchen and get burned by a hard shot to right field. It almost seems easier for him to hit it to right on an inside pitch. I love that ability in a kid.

But sometimes he's a bit too aggressive (or maybe impatient is a better word) given the situation at hand. For example, it was late in the game and his team was down by one. A runner was on third with one out. The infield was playing in. Mind you, he hadn't swung at the first pitch all night. And that strategy had served him well as he started 1 and 0 for his first three plate appearances.

He stepped to the plate and lo and behold, he took a hard swing at the first pitch and sent a ground ball to the second baseman. The second baseman held the runner at third and threw the batter out at first. The next batter popped out. End of inning and basically end of game.

I knew it drove me crazy to see him swing at the first pitch. And it certainly didn't help his cause that the ball was low and away. He had the pitcher in a hole. I could only image what his coach told him when he got back to the dug out. I sure know what I would've told him.

Impatience or perhaps lack of mental awareness. But either way, his mental tool broke down. And this was a good player who should go somewhere between the 30-40th round.

Double Play

2006-04-12T21:25:00.000-05:00

After spending all afternoon checking up on a few of my prospects from the Orlando area, I made my way up to the northern end of town to catch up with the Parker family for dinner. Unfortunately, Dallas was still AWOL. Oh sure, he called his wife to at least let her know he was still alive, but the long and the short of it was that he just needed to get somethings straightened out. He then told her that he was somewhere in North Carolina but that he would be back tomorrow. Normally that would've given her some peace of mind but Dallas said the same exact thing to her yesterday and he never showed up.

Not the best of situations. Rachel, his wife, was trying to act strong but I could tell she was on the edge of her seat not knowing what was going to happen. She was already putting in plenty of overtime at the Walmart supercenter to make ends meet. At 6:00 am sharp she would drop her off at a friend's house who ran a small daycare, and not pick her up until about 8:00 pm.

Today, however, was a special day because I was invited over for dinner at 7:30 pm. Rachel brought home a Walmart rotisserie chicken, potato salad, and dinner rolls. Madison, her daughter, plucked a roll from the bag and ran off to her room without her mother noticing. Mattie, as her mother calls her, still had that awful cough. I could hear her from the bedroom hacking away in between bites. Soon enough though, she was back at my side at the kitchen table wanting to make sure that I knew of her request to the Easter Bunny for an extra large chocolate bunny.

But when she turned to her mother and asked whether "Daddy" was going to color the Easter eggs with her like he promised, I just about wanted to wring Dallas' neck. What the heck was he doing? He had only lost four games all year (mainly due to poor run support) and his ERA was near three and a half. He was leading the team in quality starts and strikeouts. But things either went really great for Dallas or they went terribly bad. He would throw a two-hit shutout and then follow it up in the next game with with a six run first inning. To make matters worse, his attitude was equally inconsistent. According to Rachel, the scouts who were hot a heavy on him stopped coming around about a month ago and won't even call her back.

I offered to talk with the Wekiva coach to see if he would take Dallas back for what's left of the season but that I'd really like to talk with Dallas first before I did anything. I made it clear to her that even if the coach allowed Dallas back into the dugout, the players would most certainly resent him for walking out and that it would take many months to re-earn their trust and confidence. I then leveled with her that it didn't look good for Dallas in the upcoming draft. Once the teams get wind of his latest act, he'll be lucky to go somewhere between the 40-50th round. Although she pretty much knew this was probably the case, hearing it from me made it that much worse. So much that I could see her eyes begin to water as her face sank down into her hands.

Mattie dropped her doll on the living room floor and ran over to her mother at the kitchen table. Mattie instinctively knew her mother was on the verge of losing it. Perhaps she had seen this one too many times in the past. I felt terrible but that was nothing compared to how I felt when the five-year old suddenly told her mother, "I can get a job. Don't worry Mommy. It'll all be fine."

So much for the Dallas Parker project.

The Commissioner

2006-04-10T22:17:00.000-05:00

While watching a high school tournament in Sarasota this evening, I happened to be seated next to several old-time area scouts. Like always, in between innings we shot the breeze about mostly everything except baseball. Very rarely did we talk about the kids and their performance with the parents in earshot. However, the topic of Barry Bonds did come up. Showing my age, I happened to ask them what Bowie Kuhn would do if he were still the Commissioner.

Commissioner Kuhn was at the helm when I made my entry and exit from the playing ranks of MLB. I can remember him being very harsh towards those that abused drugs with hefty fines (at least compared to our pay back then) and quick suspensions. Just ask the four Kansas City Royals (Blue, Wilson, Martin, Aikens) that were suspended in 1983 for cocaine use.

And gambling? Let's not forget that it was Kuhn that had the guts to ban Willie Mays and Mickey Mantle from baseball for their promotion of legalized gambling. It was Ueberroth who later reinstated them in 1985.

My most vivid memory, however, was his confrontation with Kansas City Athletics owner Charles O. Finley. Actually he had already moved the team to Oakland when the two went at it. Finley saw the writing on the wall after losing Catfish to free agency. He tried to sell Rudi, Blue, and Fingers, but Kuhn stepped in to stop the transactions because in his opinion they were not in the best interest of baseball. Finley sued and the case became major precedent for the broad authority of the Commissioner. I did some quick research to find a quote from the appeal's court:

"The commissioner has the authority to determine whether any act, transaction, or practice is not within the best interests of baseball, and upon such determination, to take whatever preventative or remedial action he deems appropriate, whether or not the act, transaction, or practice complies with the Major League Rules or involves moral turpitude."
Charles O. Finley v. Bowie Kuhn (7th Cir. 1978)

Anyhow, our discussion was cut short by a phone call I received from the head coach of Wekiva Community College. It seems Dallas Parker walked off the field in the middle of the fourth inning after giving up a three-run shot. Didn't say a word to anybody. Packed up his bag and went home. Needless to say, I'm going over to Orlando tomorrow morning to see if I can hunt him down. And it wasn't like he was getting rocked. He had a one-hitter going with no runs.

Comments

2006-04-09T19:53:00.000-05:00

(Just this once for those that receive posts via email or feed and don't normally read the comments.) If anyone cares, today was the first time I responded to a comment with a comment instead of a post. Going forward I'll be paying more attention to the comments and will try to respond periodically in addition to my regular posts.

Cutter said...
Really, I don't normally read the comments. The Doc wanted me to get some things off my chest and that's been the whole premise of the blog...not me getting noticed. If I had zero people read it or 1,500/day, I'd continue writing just the same.

Although, I must admit I haven't done a good job of keeping my doctor's orders to open up. Thinking it through, I decided that maybe I should start to read them more often. That's why I threw in the alias idea. Maybe that's what I've been missing all along and why I haven't felt the blog doing much good for me. Perhaps on occasion I could respond to a few comments as sort of an extension to my treatment plan. On occasion, of course.

I mean look at notyourdoc. He drilled both Bonds and Bush with one single pitch. Whoa. He's really getting stuff off his chest both sportswise and politically. How efficient. Not a wasted movement. If only you could pitch that good on the mound? . . . Can you?

Anyhow I've never seen a scouting report compare a player to the Michelin Man but that's one I'll have to remember. I like it.

If I had a nickel . . .

Sunday, April 9th, 10:37 AM

Plunked (Part II)

2006-04-07T22:54:00.000-05:00

As I've already admitted, I don't normally read the comments to this blog. But one recent comment caught my attention. It was posted anonymously to my original Plunked post. The comment was very articulate and questioned my support of Barry Bonds given my past anger towards those that tarnish the integrity of the game. And I would have left it alone but the person went on to mention the Doc in the last sentence. That's when my suspicions called time and caused me to step out of the batter's box. Could this be the Doc again trying to coax me into a dialogue? After all, he's just trying to help me. And one of my many issues just happens to be . . . anger. What could it hurt to respond? Back into the batter's box--

Look, when it comes to Barry, I'd just rather deal in concrete facts rather than speculation, hearsay, rumor, or innuendo. That's all I meant.

And unfortunately, I seriously doubt whether Sen. Mitchell will be able to dig up many useful facts. He's already coming unglued with a number of potential conflicts (i.e. he's a director of the Boston Red Sox and the Chairman of The Walt Disney Company, the parent of ESPN).

Bonds has flat out denied using steriods and has never failed a drug test. I'm not ready to throw out his stats or put up an asterisk next to his name just because of some book or a grand jury transcript that was made public illegally. Bonds was not granted immunity for his grand jury testimony leaving him totally exposed to a perjury case if he lied under oath. Given his testimony and the fact that it's illegal to obtain steriods without a doctor's prescription, the Feds obviously didn't think they had a case for either perjury, or anything else, otherwise they would have indicted Barry by now. Therefore, one would have to believe that there just isn't enough conclusive evidence. And lest we forget, until you're proven guilty, you're presumed innocent.

But if he's ever found to be guilty of taking illegal performance-enhancing substances, then he will be forever disgraced and should be dealt with according to MLB steriod policy. Now whether that policy is too weak, that is for the pundits to argue. And whether Bud steps in to do something extraordinary will remain to be seen.

Oh and yes, the Doc has accused me of being in denial on more than one occasion. Perhaps this is just another one of those instances, but I don't think so.

ps: To those who post anonymously, perhaps you would consider using an alias so everyone can identify your comment with past comments and get a better flavor of where you are coming from when you post. Just a thought.

Ace (Part III)

2006-04-06T19:49:00.000-05:00

After ten minutes of trying to figure out what in the world was going on between the two, it finally dawned on me that both Goldie and Jacob "Jack" Booker (the classic breaking ball pitcher and Texas Hold'em prodigy) were talking a different language. A language which included terms like big slick, small blind, the button, limper, flop, American Airlines, the turn, fish hooks, the river, muck, and my personal favorite (given my psychological status). . . the nut hand or otherwise known as the nuts. Goldie spoke Jack's language and was able to build a degree of trust. The two were actually connecting.

Come to find out, Goldie is more than just a poker hack. When he's not in class or out here scouting, he's online playing poker for money. And not just for nickels and dimes either. He's actually pulling in enough to help fund his law school tuition! The things you learn. I wonder what the Georgia bar would think about that?

Anyhow, Goldie's approach was textbook. He started by acknowledging Jack's situation as a tough dilemma. He understood Jack's desire to play professional poker and the commitment it would take to play at that level. Thousands upon thousands of hands. Countless hours of folding and looking for just those two or three hands that will make your evening worthwhile. Once Jack knew Goldie fully appreciated his desire to take his poker playing to another level, Goldie swooped in to give Jack a reality check. He zeroed in on Jack's little league days and his tireless commitment to baseball year-after-year. That now was the time for Jack to get some return on his investment. That he could play poker anytime but that his opportunity to play professional baseball would only be open for a brief moment in time. Certainly he wasn't going to throw away the opportunity that he's spent most of his waking life to obtain.

I swear if Goldie were selling a used car, I'd probably buy it. He was that good. The most under rated part of scouting is sales and Goldie was a natural at it. Sales was and continues to be something that I have to work very hard at. I'm just not built for sales. To me, a career in baseball should sell itself. But that's not always the case. You're always selling the organization, the coaching, the facilities, the teammates, and the overall vision of management.

In the end, Goldie was able to convince Jack that he had to re-dedicate himself to baseball (not that he had to quit poker but instead putting baseball first and poker second), finish up the college season strong, and capture the opportunity that will make itself available during this year's draft. After an hour, he single-handedly turned that kid around. It was obvious to me that Jack's whole attitude towards himself and the game of baseball changed. How long it will last, however, is another story.

I would have left him to his own devices. Let him become a professional poker player. Why convince him to play baseball? A tiger can't change his stripes no matter how hard he tries and I'm not going to risk my job trying to help. I've seen it backfire too many times. Goldie, on the other hand, believes that Jack's potential is too good to pass up and that we should work with him rather than kick him to the curb. But to me, I don't want a gambler on my team who has to be convinced to play baseball instead of the World Poker Tour. It's safe to say that Goldie and I agree to disagree on this one. I'm sure I'll be hearing from DeSear in the near future.

Plunked

2006-04-03T20:49:00.000-05:00

I need to digress for a post. You need to first understand that I've been a supporter of Barry Bonds from day one. You simply can't imagine what it's like to put up with the media day-in and day-out. Like a broken record, they ask the same stupid questions over and over. But when they sniff something out of line-- you're fresh meat ripe for the killing. Guilty before proven innocent. You tell them "no comment" and they continue to ask the same question three different ways like you're all of the sudden going to answer the question. Without a doubt, it was the most tasteless part of my playing days.

So when I see Barry giving the media a cold shoulder and reacting the way that he does, I can't half blame him. In fact, part of me says good for him. Too freaking bad if they can't get past his smug look, condescending attitude, and arrogant answers. Leave the guy alone. And that's always been my stance.

That was until I read somewhere that he said his life was in "shambles."

Surely he can't be serious. Someone who makes over $20 million a year isn't going to get much sympathy from my end. Check out his salary since 1988. I look at someone like Goldie who always has a smile on his face. He's going to spend the rest of his life tied to a wheelchair. He's never going to walk again. And as far as I can tell, he doesn't even have a steady income. You don't hear him saying his life is in "shambles." As a matter of fact, he's just thrilled to be around the game of baseball. Thrilled to have a minuscule opportunity in scouting. And yet, Bonds, who is chasing one of the greatest records in professional sports history, finds his life in "shambles?"

This afternoon I drove past All-Children's Hospital in St. Petersburg, Florida. I would suggest that he walk into the cancer ward and talk with some of the kids who might not make it past the All-Star break. Then let's see if he still thinks his life is in "shambles."

Ace (Part II)

2006-03-24T20:33:00.000-05:00

That was all I needed to hear but Goldie persisted. Come to find out the kid was already late for a poker tournament at some frat house. I stood there dumbfounded as he quickly ditched his ball cap in exchange for a lid that endorsed an online poker site. It is my ignorant understanding that the NCAA rules prohibit wagering on the outcomes of sporting events, but when it comes to poker and casino-type games, it is silent. But if he receives any benefits from endorsing that online poker site, I would think that his eligibility could be called into question.

You hear of those people that win some online satellite tournament and are invited to play at some big-shot tournament in person. Many times the company that sponsored the online satellite tournament requires the winner to endorse their website if they wish to play in the big-shot tournament. I wonder if that's the deal here?

Anyhow, our little "Johnny Chan wanna-be" swears that he's well on his way to being a star in Texas Hold'em. He flat out told us that he feels like he can get to the final table in any tournament. If only he had that much confidence in his fastball. He said he learned the game by watching it on ESPN.

I asked him, "Which game? Baseball or poker?" He didn't answer. Of course, I didn't expect him to answer. I'm not interested in a gambler. It's not the type of person I want to put into the organization. Look at the story involving A-Rod. The Yankee's allegedly warned A-Rod to stay away from illegal poker clubs. They obviously were concerned that poker might darken A-Rod's image and that of their organization. And I completely understand. It is not in the best interest of professional baseball to have their players associated with gambling.

Goldie, a crime-boss in the making, completely disagrees with me . . .

Ace (Part I)

2006-03-22T21:35:00.000-05:00

I'm still grinding out signability questionnaires and face-to-face interviews in Georgia. Let's just say that I was at a four-year college to watch a junior pitcher that Goldie flagged as having an abnormally high ground ball to fly ball ratio. Manny had scouted the same kid coming out of high school several years back and saw some potential there as well. So I didn't think it would be a complete waste of my time. After all, the kid was drafted near the 20th round coming out of HS but opted to accept a scholarship with the university instead.

He spent the last two years in and out of the starting rotation. Good new is that he's a proven survivor with a reputation of getting himself out of jams on a regular basis. Bad news is that he finds himself in one too many jams on a regular basis.

Anyhow, when we arrived at the field about an hour before the game, we thought we saw him in the bullpen playing cards. Not a great first impression. Especially since he was penciled-in as the starting pitcher. Sure enough, we watched him take the mound after a lackluster pen.

The righty was your classic breaking ball pitcher. Curves. Sliders. Slurves. All were released from a high three quarters slot with a nasty arc that looped pretty wide. You could tell that he had a high degree of confidence in his break and did not have much difficulty coming inside on R/H batters. On those rare occasions when he did miss, it was in the dirt at 59 feet. He also did an excellent job of mixing in both off-speed and fastballs to maximize deception. His fastball, however, needed the most work. It always seemed to be low and away with below average velocity. A very tentative delivery and hardly ever the same release point. It also seemed that he was only throwing two-seamers which tailed erratically. This is where he needs to improve if he wants to go any further.

But he certainly has the tools to improve. It would, however, take a considerable amount of time for him to obtain enough confidence to come inside on both R/H and L/H batters while increasing his velocity. In other words, he was another project. But after watching him pitch, we both agreed that he was worth the undertaking and stuck around to have a conversation with him.

I can honestly say that our conversation was an experience all in its own. It was the first time that I ever had a player tell me that he was seriously deciding on being a professional poker player instead of pursuing a career in baseball . . .

Signability

2006-03-20T20:53:00.000-05:00

Less than four months at the job and Goldie's been given more responsibility. Dare I say a promotion. When DeSear uttered the words more responsibility I almost threw up. Of course, when my sympathetic feelings toward Goldie wore off about ten minutes down the road from the Bankman house, I was fast on the phone with DeSear. I could care less that Goldie was in the van hearing every word. Shoot, I even put DeSear on speaker.

"He's a freaking bird dog for cryin' out loud. He basically promised to pay the kid a $750,000 signing bonus! I can't even do that!"

It was now my opportunity to throw Goldie under the bus and I wasn't going to waste anytime letting DeSear know how I felt. But to my dismay, DeSear was unmoved. In fact, DeSear followed up with, "Do you think he's worth that much?"

As if Goldie did no wrong. I kept trying to go back to how poorly Goldie handled the situation but DeSear refused to go down that road. He kept wanting to zero-in on whether $750,000 was too much.

Goldie leaned over and announced that he was just toying with Shawn's father. That he didn't make any promises and that he simply wanted to see the man's reaction. Afterwhich, he felt like farmer Bob was totally bluffing and that Shawn would probably sign anything from the 5th round or better-- but that he probably wouldn't last later than the 4th round (meaning that a $300,000-$500,000 bonus range was probably more reasonable). According to Goldie, neither Shawn nor his father were seriously looking at any colleges and that Shawn confided in him that he was going pro no matter what.

That was good enough for DeSear.

As for me, Goldie had piqued my curiosity. He's been sandbagging me all this time. This kid wasn't simply all WHIP ratios and on-base percentages. I had to find out what else he had in his bag of tricks.

The Balk (Part II)

2006-03-17T08:09:00.000-05:00

I tried to set the stage for our discussions but Goldie kept interrupting to ask about Shawn's progress over the last few outings.

And then Goldie turned to the father and asked, "You have to let me know that if we take Shawn in the third round that he'll sign. You need to give me something that I can take back to the club."

Huh? What about me? I'm the scout here. Not him. Who gave him the right to ask this question? I was stunned. It had to be the work of Donald DeSear and Logan Cooper. I couldn't get the air over my vocal cords to cut him off.

Without hesitation the father answered, "Son, you can take him whenever you want. But if he don't git a signing bonus of at least $700,000, he ain't signing. That's what the other fella who just left an hour ago said he'd give us."

That had to be a lie. We were getting played by a cagy cotton farmer. Not only was it high for a third round prospect, no scout would come out and promise a specific dollar amount. Check that . . . at least most scouts would not come out and promise a specific dollar amount. Unfortunately, Goldie fell right into the cotton gin and responded, "Then I guess we'll have to pay him $750,000."

"Works for us," the father stated while extending his hand over to Goldie's as if some sort of deal had been struck.

That was my cue to interrupt. "And I suppose Mr. Bankman that you also shook the other fella's hand who promised the $700,000. Time to go Seth. We've taken enough of this family's valuable time." I got up from the table and made my way through the kitchen. I could hear Goldie apologizing to Shawn and his father as he wheeled himself from the table and followed behind me. My anger towards Goldie turned to rage with each apology given. I couldn't wait to get out to his special van and read him the riot act.

I was moving so fast that I practically took the hinges off their kitchen door. Goldie was struggling to keep up. As soon as he hit the ramp, however, I heard his wheels start to skid. Unfortunately the dampness of the night air lined the wooden ramp with a slippery dew. Although his wheels were locked up, his chair went skidding down the ramp out of control. I was barely able to jump out of the way when he crashed sideways onto the ground throwing him a good six feet from his chair.

I was scared to death. But Goldie immediately began to use his hands to crawl over to his overturned chair. His legs were withered and lifeless. I looked back up at the family expecting some help but all I saw was a smirk coming from the father and then eventually a laugh. The mother also began to laugh and then the kids followed suit. Even Shawn.

My rage towards Goldie was quickly replaced by my rage towards this family. I offered to help Goldie but he quickly dismissed me. He wanted to show everyone he could handle it himself. So there I stood, watching him struggle to upright the chair and to pull himself back up into it. Almost back, his hand suddenly slipped and he fell back to the ground. More laughter and finger pointing. Like they were at the circus or something.

It took me back to a day when I remember my own son falling off his bike and watching the neighborhood kids laugh at him. I ran out of my house so fast to pick him up. He was all bloodied and bruised but nothing could compare to how hurt he was in his heart that his "so-called" friends laughed at him. When he started to cry, I knew it wasn't because of the cuts and scrapes. I was so angry with those kids for laughing at him. And my feelings toward the Bankman's weren't much different.

The Balk (Part I)

2006-03-16T21:36:00.000-05:00

Goldie and I made the trek over to Albany, Georgia, on Tuesday evening to visit with the area's top high school pitching prospect, Shawn Bankman, and his family. Not even Goldie could ignore the lefty's intimidating 6'4" 200 lb frame with even more room to grow. His four-seamer in the 89-90 mph range will no doubt get quicker. When I saw him in November, he was throwing from a high three-quarters slot, short stride, with little to no scapula loading. Not a lot of movement from his two-seamer or his slider, but just enough to get a miss or two. Excellent opportunity for improvement. Only one problem. There were ten other scouts watching him. The likelihood of us getting this kid was low. Nevertheless, I introduced myself to his father and maybe called him once over the phone. Both were one-way discussions and never an invitation over to the house.

Goldie, on the other hand, gets the invite without a problem. And he did it with text messaging between him and Shawn. As we pulled up to their farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, there were younger kids running all over the place. When Goldie lowered himself out of his special van, I could see them stopping to stare and whisper. He wheeled himself over the grass and up an old wooden ramp leading to a side door which was really their main entrance through the kitchen.

We were greeted by Shawn, or shall I say, Goldie was greeted by Shawn and I was greeted by Buster, the family's golden retriever who stuck his nose pretty much everywhere from my waist down. Of course, Shawn's mother told the dog to stop but like my children, he didn't listen and I kind of got the feeling that the family enjoyed watching me defend myself and my dignity.

We eventually sat down at the dining room table and waited for Shawn's father to join us. Soon enough, the 6'5" 240 lb third-generation cotton farmer exited the bathroom cracking several jokes about lighting a match and slapping Goldie on the back.

Throwin' Grease

2006-03-13T21:12:00.000-05:00

85 days until the June draft and I'm stuck in central Georgia listening to Goldie praise the virtues of the WHIP ratio. Quite frankly I'd rather be hunting with Dick Cheney, but I'm trying to have an open mind.

And yes, I did see the three prospects that Goldie had been hounding me to see. All with outstanding WHIP and Strikeout to Walk ratios, according to him. I was somewhat impressed with the movement of one of the pitchers. That was until he began to annoy me with his constant fidgeting. Rubbing his fingers under his cap, touching his face, wiping his brow, scratching his ears, picking his nose, adjusting his cup, and doing it all over again before the next pitch. I swear I was watching Gaylord Perry. In fact, his pitches were moving just like Perry's. Indeed, way too much movement to be legit.

"He's throwing grease," I announced to Goldie, like he would even know what I just said.

"No way, old man," he responded. "It's a hard slider."

I didn't know which was worse. The fact that he just called me an old man or that he was in complete denial of the cheater in his midst. As I was about to lay into him, his cell phone started to beep. I expected him to answer but he simply flipped open his phone and began to read something.

"Aren't you going to answer it?" I asked.

He sighed like he was trying to tell me that I'm a couple generations behind the technology curve. He showed me the screen of his cell phone. It was a text message that read, "7 pm tomorrow okay? Shawn."

It didn't make too much sense to me until Goldie explained that Shawn was none other than the area's top high school pitching prospect, Shawn Bankman. And that we have an appointment to discuss signability issues with him and his parents tomorrow at their home in Albany. Apparently Goldie's been trying to have an open mind as well. This should be interesting.

Bottom of the Ninth (Part II)

2006-03-07T22:58:00.000-05:00

Thankfully he didn't fly-in to just talk to me. He had an early dinner arranged with several other owners to discuss what can only be described as important matters. Given the weather conditions up north, I could certainly understand why some of the owners would be flocking to either Arizona or Florida to check out the opening games of Spring Training.

"Where's all your stuff?" he asked after crushing his cigarette into an ashtray that resembled a catcher's mitt.

"What stuff?" I responded knowing full well what he was asking for.

Mr. Hunt smiled. He went on to let me know that Logan and DeSear were on their way here to fire me but that he stopped them. I believe he called them a bunch of whining tattle tales just looking for an excuse to hammer me, no matter how trivial the issue. And that he's been the only thing standing between them and me having to look for other employment opportunities.

He even called Logan a young arrogant punk. But that he ultimately hired Logan for all the right reasons. And if I could paraphrase Mr. Hunt, it would go something like this - I'm not a philanthropist. I'm a businessman who likes to win and turn a profit. Pure and simple. And Logan's looking to build a team that will give me the most wins for the dollars I want to invest. He gets it. But what I also know is that he's not a baseball person. He's never played the game competitively. Oh sure he knows baseball theory but he doesn't know the more practical things that can make or break a professional ball club. That's where you come in.

The tools and intangibles that you spend so much time trying to detect are something that Logan does not and cannot fully appreciate. Yet, you do not fully appreciate the analytical process of performance scouting which has incredible merit from an efficiency point of view. What they do is more objective and concrete. They can analyze someone's performance numbers and decide what they're willing to pay for those numbers. Much like the way things are done in the real business world. When I decide to buy a company, I spend countless hours breaking apart the financials to see what its worth. But if you think about it, that's only part of the equation when valuing a company. The other part is what I call the forward-looking part. And you just can't assume past performance will equal future performance. You really need to spend a great deal of time thinking about the company's future potential and what you would be willing to pay for that potential.

You see Cutter, anybody can break apart financials and past performance. That's the easy part. But only the best can go the extra step to accurately predict a company's potential and ultimately determine its true worth. That's the more subjective part. The forward-looking part. The speculative part. That's where the big deals are either made or broken. And it's a good thing that past performance does not always predict future performance. Because if it did, there would be no opportunities to speculate and make a killing.

What you do Cutter is subjective and at times, very speculative. You and the other senior scouts are my forward-looking part. In my mind, we will never win a World Series Championship until both the past and future come together to eventually put the best team on the field in the present. I just can't hire Logan to get the best past performers. And I just can't hire guys like you to get the best future prospects. I need both elements. I need both of you to work together if we are ever going to win a World Series Championship. And let's face it, I'm not getting any younger. Are you with me?

With that said, we shook hands and I vowed to work more closely with my performance scouting counterparts. Needless to say, I'm up here in Macon, Georgia this evening getting ready to look at Goldie's three prospects that he accused me of refusing to look at.

Bottom of the Ninth (Part I)

2006-03-06T22:40:00.000-05:00

Twelve o'clock sharp came and went as I sat patiently in the lobby of the Tampa International Jet Center. After about fifteen minutes, a nice young lady approached me and asked if I was Maxwell Jones. Her question took me back about thirty years. A question like that probably happened several times a week during my playing days. People just wanting autographs or maybe a picture or two.

But to this young lady at the Jet Center, I was just another face with a name. She let me know that their flight was inbound on final approach and that she would escort me out to their aircraft once it was parked.

It wasn't too long before a Boeing Business Jet emblazoned with the team logo on the tail rolled up to the terminal. A linesman guided the high performance Boeing 737 to a parking spot and then quickly chocked the nose wheel. Within seconds, a truck mounting a long flight of stairs pulled up to the aircraft door. Not wanting to face the music, I began to plan my escape route. But a sudden tap on my shoulder brought me back to reality and before I knew it, the nice young lady had me walking out onto the tarmac toward my twisted fate.

She stayed at the bottom of the stairs while I began my trek upward. About half way up I made the mistake of looking back only to find her waving goodbye as if I were on some sort of death march. How could she know anything? Anyhow, I turned my attention back to climbing the stairs. As the aircraft door popped open, I was nearly blinded by the sun reflecting off a set of large gold initials A-T-H affixed to the outside of the door. There was someone who looked like a flight attendant motioning me inside. Her smile was phony and completely void of any feeling. Things only got worse.

I expected to see Logan and DeSear but they were nowhere to be found. The woman with the fake smile led me past a spacious area that looked like a family room, then past a conference room with a large table, and eventually towards a door with the initials A-T-H.

"He will see you now," she said as the door opened automatically.

He? What happened to they? I walked into the dark smoke-filled room as the lady closed the door behind me. I could barely make out a desk and someone seated behind it. I stumbled closer to focus my eyes on the person's face. Red embers glowed from the end of a cigarette as the person inhaled. I still couldn't make out who it was. I tried to draw closer but I ran into a chair that was in front of the desk. It was at that point that I saw the person reach over to a lamp and turn it on. I rubbed my eyes just to make sure they weren't playing tricks on me. I stood in complete disbelief and utter shock.

It was none other than Angus T. Hunt-- the owner of the club.

Change Up

2006-03-04T11:21:00.000-05:00

Where is everybody? I can't get a hold of Doc. Stat boy and PC geek aren't calling me back. But then again, what else is new. I did find it strange, however, that someone from the front office called me this morning. I didn't recognize the woman's voice but the number on my cell phone did match up with the front office number so I know it wasn't a prank. She told me to go to the Tampa International Jet Center instead of the main terminal and reminded me that I was to be there at 12:00 noon sharp.

Odd that someone in the front office was working on Saturday, but I guess even those 9 to 5 folks have to work a weekend or two every now and then. And it was also odd that I was being asked to go to the general aviation terminal instead of where the commercial airlines load and unload passengers. DeSear hardly ever get's to take a ride in the charter fleet. Logan does it all the time, but DeSear? Almost never.

The Run Down

2006-03-03T21:30:00.000-05:00

Today was supposed to be a travel day to Georgia but due to my conversation last night with Donald DeSear, I was instructed to remain in Tampa and cease all scout related travel. Both he and GM, Logan Cooper, were already planning to fly into Tampa International on Sunday to watch some of the Grapefruit League action. Only now I get to be part of their busy weekend agenda. Little ol' me. Apparently they've even reserved a conference room inside the airport hotel for all of us to meet at noon.

And get this-- I'm to bring my laptop and all hardcopies of scouting reports, prospect notes, and video that I've generated over the last year. DeSear also wanted me to bring the old three-ring binders that Manny had put together for the Georgia and South Carolina prospects.

When I asked why I'm to bring all this stuff, he simply responded that, "We just need to review what you're doing for us. Soup to nuts. All of it. " I called Toby Bradford, my old boss, and he said that it sounded like they're going to fire me. Gee, you think? I then called Manny and he said that's the same thing DeSear told him the day before he was fired. Once he arrived at the review meeting they immediately took all his stuff and then told him to not let the door hit him on the way out. I called the Doc but for some reason he's not returning my calls. Maybe I'm just getting paranoid for no reason, but I would really be more comfortable if the Doc made that diagnosis rather than me.

It goes without saying that I had a hard time sleeping last night. Of course, when I did catch a wink or two, I kept finding myself in a dark boardroom with who else but The Donald. He kept pointing his finger at me. His lips suddenly began to move in slow motion but nothing was coming out. Unfortunately for me, I could still make out what he was saying. Any guesses?

No matter what, I've decided not to bring a darned thing to the meeting. Nothing. Nada. Zippo. If they want my laptop (well, I guess it's really their laptop-- they gave it to me in the first place) good luck in trying to get it back. All of my notes, reports, and videos are priceless. I wouldn't know where to begin with trying to put a dollar value on that stuff. Good luck getting that too.

I keep telling myself that I'm probably getting paranoid for no reason. They're probably just going to tear me apart and force me to do more with Goldie and Carson. 31 years in the business. It's gotta count for something. I sure wish Doc was around.

Pick Off Attempt

2006-03-02T22:10:00.000-05:00

I barely heard my cell phone vibrating on the hotel night stand. Somehow I woke up. In a daze, I fumbled my hands on top of the night stand only to knock the phone onto the floor. Without thinking, I prodded my fingers over the grungy hotel room carpet in hopes that the phone would magically appear in the darkness. The good news was that I quickly found the phone before the caller hung-up. The bad news was that I quickly found the phone before the caller hung-up.

When the national scouting director calls you at 6:15 a.m. to ask about three prospects in Georgia that you've never heard of, chances are that the rest of your phone call isn't going to help your standing with the organization. Not to mention that Donald DeSear was already sitting at his desk in Texas when he called. That's 5:15 a.m. his time. I could tell he was loaded with at least one pot of coffee and ready to rip me from one end to the other.

I tried to deflect his questions by saying that I was headed to Georgia this weekend and that there was a good chance that Goldie had already set it up for me to see those guys. But of course, he didn't.

"No, Goldie already sent me the list of players that he plans to show you this weekend and during the next week. What I'm talking about are the three prospects that you refused to look at."

Unfortunately, it was all coming back to me. Freaking Goldie. Going behind my back to stick it to me. We simply ran out of time and I had to get back to Florida to catch a tournament. I told him that I would take a raincheck on seeing the players but when I saw that Manny had no notes whatsoever on them, I figured they too were loser prospects just like his can't miss first baseman who doubled for the Pillsbury doughboy. I never got back to him to reschedule.

DeSear then proceeded to grill me for the next 30 minutes on being a team player. I don't know how much longer I can put up with this nonsense. But that's not all. He's going to call me later this evening once both he and Logan Cooper decide on some form of corrective action. This ought to be good. I wonder if I'll get the paddle?

Left Stranded (Part II)

2006-03-01T08:19:00.000-05:00

Just to continue my previous post, Donnie McLaughlin is no stranger to juvenile detention. No stranger to courtrooms, judges, and attorneys. No stranger to having his Miranda rights read to him. And obviously no stranger to tattoo and piercing shops.

But as Carson will quickly point-out, he's an incredible talent that will no doubt excel at the next level. Easily a top 5 round pick. He's made it through the first semester of junior college with just enough GPA to keep him on the playing field. No arrests since he turned 18 years old last October. To him it's glaringly obvious that he's turned it around and is headed in the right direction. We'd be crazy not to draft him.

I call this condition of Carson's, Five-Tool Blindness. Simply put, you're blinded by the five-tools and their superiority. You don't want to look at anything else. You spend countless hours trying to find someone of his caliber and when you find him, a little voice inside starts to convince you that he's turned away from his checkered past and all will be just fine and dandy going forward.

You see, under his tilted cap and countless tattoos and body piercings, is a boy who just doesn't get it. He mopes around between pitches. Slumbers his way into and out of center between innings. He looks lazy. Disinterested. Arrogant. But when he wants to turn it on he most certainly does. You have to wonder how good he would really be if he always kept it on.

But then comes the issue of controlled substances. Two of his arrests were for possession.

"So what? Put him in rehab from the get go," announces Carson, still blinded.

I can't help but shake my head. Just ask the D-Rays about Josh Hamilton, the first overall pick in the 1999 draft. And the list could go on and on. I asked Carson a simple question. If he was with the D-Rays front office back in 1999 and actually knew of Hamilton's issues (I'm not saying that the D-Ray's knew anything), would've he rather drafted Josh Beckett, Ben Sheets, or Barry Zito, instead of taking a $3.96 million dollar chance on Hamilton? Beckett, Sheets, and Zito were all drafted in the first round in 1999. Of course, the question was completely unfair but I just wanted Carson to start thinking about risk management and building a team with an eye towards character. And I recognize my question can totally be turned back on me with other players like Mickey Mantle, Darryl Strawberry, Dwight Gooden, etc. Questionable characters can win ballgames and World Series titles.

But I'm not ready yet to throw seven figures, six figures, or any figures at a kid with questionable character. Let me put it this way, I'm not willing to risk my job on it. I can hear the coaches in our minor-league system thanking me profusely for drafting such a problem child. The chances of failure are just too great. I'll move on and find another five-tooler. Take a longer-term perspective. A perspective that would honor the game. In the long-run, the game will thank us.

And after that monologue Carson says plainly, "So how about we look at taking him in the 40th round or later?"

"Or later," I respond.

Left Stranded (Part I)

2006-02-23T21:56:00.000-05:00

Just spent a couple weeks down in South Florida. Carson is still "PC geek" in my book, but he's coming along. My biggest problem is going to enough games with him to teach him the art of scouting. To him, it's still a science. A computer science project. But it helps to not only have him hear what I'm saying but to see it live under real game conditions. His knowledge of baseball trivia is remarkable, but he is rather weak on the tiny nuances of the game that are critical to my work. He also needs a lot of work on his writing skills. What most people don't realize is how much writing a scout does. You've got to be able to articulate what you see and then put it to words in a meaningful way.

I say he's coming along because of what he showed me yesterday. He took me to a JC game to look at a freshman center fielder named Donnie McLaughlin. A kid I had already seen in high school at least a dozen times. But Carson didn't realize it. He thought that this was truly the first time I had seen the player and I didn't let on any different. I wanted him to explain to me what he saw in the kid and to then tell me what he might become.

Several scouts were in earshot as Carson gave it his best shot. Even they were impressed with Carson's evaluation of Donnie. But impressed me the most was that he left his statistical jargon at the front gate. At least he was trying to change his perspective. Unfortunately, I had to show him that what may look terrific on the field might not be what our organization needs.

"So where did he go in the draft last year?" I asked.

Carson shrugged. "I was just trying to focus on the tools."

"45th round," answered Bobby Leonard, one of the scouts seated two rows below us.

Carson was dumbfounded. "How could someone with that much talent and all the tools not go in the early rounds?"

"Not all the tools," I replied. "Isn't that right Bobby?"

Bobby nodded. "Got some issues with the law."

Extra Innings

2006-02-08T23:46:00.000-05:00

Just so we have an understanding. I don't normally read the comments, much less respond to them. No different from when I played. I never read the papers. Ignored the radio. Didn't watch the news (yes...they did have television back then). And never even heard a peep from the fans although I'm sure they were screaming all sorts of stuff in my direction.

But the last comment that was posted Tuesday evening caught my attention. Don't ask me why I even read it. Like I said, I normally don't. And going forward, I probably won't. But the "anonymous" comment was truly an intelligent thought followed by a very perceptive question. So perceptive in fact, that it almost seemed like it came from a professional. Such a simple thought and question but loaded for bear. Almost like the questions I get from . . . the Doc!

I mean really Doc . . . proding me from the comment line? You didn't think I would notice? But that still doesn't change the fact that your thought and question have intrigued me. So, I thought it might serve me well to respond. Forgive me if I go Jerry McGuire.

You're right in an absolute sense. Just, "do your job, watch them, grade them, file your report and move on." That's my basic responsibility to my organization. But what about my responsibility to the game of baseball itself? Baseball is more than something that just sustains me. The game is a part of me. It is who I am. Just like a fingerprint. My identity. And if part of me is in declining health, I notice it. I feel it. It brings me down.

Those kids didn't "suck." Quite the contrary. That draft-and-follow pitcher is a real flame thrower with terrific tools. He's got a great future ahead of him, IF he can truly respect, appreciate, and approach the game like a professional. His level of mental awareness was more centered around himself rather than the game. A growing problem among younger players. And as more and more players adopt this approach, the face of the game will slowly start to contort and morph. It already has. This is just something that I've seen over the last ten or so years and the potential ramifications disturb me.

I would also say that the parents aren't helping matters. They're pushing their kids harder than ever. Of course, they are very aware that the stakes are higher than ever. But if little Johnny is out there simply playing for a top dollar draft slot, I've got news for him, he ain't gonna make it long term. Compared to ten years ago, I see more kids today with better physical talent but their mental approach to the game is much weaker. You can have a personal trainer, a batting coach, the best agent in the world, and a lock on all five-tools, but if your mental approach is nowhere centered on the game you can expect to join the growing list of guys who cashed in their fat bonus check and walked away without ever coming close to their potential.

And management isn't at all innocent either. It all starts at the top. The teams with the highest payroll are looking to fill their roster with the top individual players in their respective positions. But why don't they win every year? Perhaps because they're enough players still around that get it and respect the game and the team more than their own individual recognition and status. But as more and more big league players decide to adopt or buy into a mental approach centered around themselves (even though that approach wasn't what got them to the Big Show to begin with), the game will become more diluted for lack of better words, and the best individuals will start to win more pennants no matter.

Once a majority of players think that the game needs them more than they need the game, that will be a very sad day for me and an even more sad day for baseball. That is what I'm worried about.

The Squeeze

2006-02-05T22:49:00.000-05:00

Ever eat the chicken pot pie at Boston Market? I've had it for the last three days and I can't get enough of it. I figure that'll last for about another day or two but I'm milking it for as long as possible on this road trip. It goes without saying that with high school and college coming into full swing, I'm on the run seven days a week now. Today I did two college games. Both JC's.

I know it's early but I'm seeing some shabby play. For example, I saw a draft-and-follow pitcher make a solid pick-off move to second only to find his throw sailing over the bag into shallow center. But it gets worse. As the pitcher continued to sulk on the mound, the center fielder dashed in to scoop the ball and throw it to third on a line. Once the throw left the center fielder's hand, I could see the pitcher finally realize that he'd better get his butt over to third to back it up. Of course, the center fielder's throw was off target and ended up in the fence behind third. The pitcher quit running as he passed the coach's box. The run scored.

I saw a sophomore taking a nice lead off from second with one out. A somewhat low angle line drive hit sharply to right sent the speedy sophomore runnin' for home. Only one problem. The right fielder was playing shallow. Something the runner should've checked before heading off into the sunset. The fielder didn't even have to make a great break on the ball to catch it. By the time the speedster got to third, the coach was screaming for him to turn back. Double play.

I even saw an attempt at a squeeze go terribly wrong. The batter steps into the box after receiving the signal. The pitcher winds up and the batter decides to get a head start on things. He squares off early. Are you kidding me? What level was I watching? But it gets worse. I was expecting the see the pitcher adjust and throw it right down the kid's throat. Nope. Too much to ask for. He threw it right down the middle of the plate! What a gift, right? Nah. The batter popped up the bunt. The catcher caught it. One pickle later, double play.

Ah, that feels better.

This week I go back down to South Florida to spend some time with Carson.

Back on the Mound

2006-01-22T22:52:00.000-05:00

Just haven't felt like writing lately. I know that's a lame excuse but the Doc kinda forced me to step off the mound and evaluate the situation. You see, holding back and avoiding my personal issues are really easy things for me to do. I'm actually quite good at it. Quite frankly, leaving my comfort zone to dig deeper is far worse than giving up a walk-off homer. I'm just not going to do it. I'll just avoid posting. That'll do the trick. But just a couple days ago, Doc set me straight after reading my Et tu Brute jab. He challenged me to keep writing and promised that if I would just open up, that I would see progress. Then he said something about quiting which pretty much closed the deal. Needless to say, I'm back on the mound for now. I'll give it a couple more innings to see what happens.

When I say "national cross-checker" what do you envision? I guess that really depends on who's reading this. Ten years ago it would undoubtedly be a former player who started at the local level, moved into a regional role after about five years, and progressed into the national role whenever he kissed the ring enough times or at least got lucky with several players who made it big.

Today, it could be anyone the scouting director wants. And I mean anyone. Not necessarily a former player but someone very loyal to the scouting director whom he can control and simply be an extention of himself. Let's face it, the scouting director can't be everywhere at the same time.

One of our national cross-checkers (we have several of them) has been on my turf for the last two weeks or so. We've been running hard from Jacksonville to Miami giving me the opportunity to have him see as many top area prospects that should go in the first 10 rounds. But unfortunately, the highlight of each day is not the play on the field but rather, "Where are we going to party after the last at bat?"

Good for him, very bad for me. I woke up this morning on South Beach with an empty fifth of vodka on my hotel nightstand. Or was it a handle? And don't think for a second that I stayed at one of those gems on Ocean, Collins, or Washington. No, I politely stumbled myself back to some dive on Euclid Avenue. Of course, he stayed at the Loews Hotel on Collins. Something wrong with that picture but nevertheless we must have hit at least four clubs last night: Shine, Mansion, The Clevelander, and Mango's.

He's mid-thirties, former player, a young Tom Selleck look-a-like. A real charmer. Not to mention that groups of ladies are all over him like pine tar stuck to George Brett's bat. I, on the other hand, have had my day in the sun. Been there, done that. Old hat. I could care less about being seen and developing long-term relationships . . . albeit for one night.

God only knows where he is tonight. But the night is still relatively young. I'm sure I'll get a call on my cell phone at some point after midnight. Just so he's up by tomorrow afternoon. We need to be in South Miami by 3:00 p.m. to watch two high school workouts and then afterwards meet with the families of two blue chip prospects.

Swing and a miss.

2006-01-03T15:16:00.000-05:00

Man, he just knows right where to pitch me. No, I didn't call my son for Christmas. And Doc, don't even ask me about my daughter because I didn't call her either. Somewhere in my cell phone is their mother's number, but I haven't spoken with her in two years and I doubt she even lives in the same city much less the same state. My son is 24 and my daughter is 31. I'll spare you from doing the math-- I was 18 when my daughter was born. Unfortunately I'd have to hire someone to do a skip trace search to find them or do one of those internet searches where you pay like $19.99 to get all their info. Sad thing is, I spoke with Goldie the day after Christmas regarding some college workouts in his area and I somehow remembered to wish him a happy Hanukkah. Here's a guy that I just met no more than a month ago (not to mention that I really don't like him) and I can wish him a happy holiday but I can't even pick up the phone and call my own flesh and blood to do the same.

But what was I going to say? Sorry I was never there when you needed me, but Merry Christmas! Doc said that would at least be a start. That I would have to initiate. Pay the money to find them or connect with their mother to get their information. But do something because in his clinical opinion I've gotten worse since we last talked.

Doc then brought up the blog. Of course, it was his hallowed suggestion that I write it in the first place. To my surprise, he was rather critical of the content. He said I really needed to express myself more. Let it flow and show the batter all my pitches so to speak. His perception was that I've been holding back and avoiding my personal issues. And that I wouldn't get much out of the blog if I didn't start to dig deeper.

Perhaps he's right. I've been writing since the World Series and it seems I'm no better off than when I started. If anything, I'm more angry and frustrated. I'm sure "Stat boy" and "PC Geek" have something to do with that but Doc says I can't keep blaming them. That I'm attacking performance scouting as merely a way to avoid delving into the real issues of my life. A diversionary tactic of sorts. Okay, I get that. He may have a valid point there. But . . . and get this . . . he went on to say that I should maybe give performance scouting a chance or at least be open to the idea. Of course, not as a way to replace my scouting philosophy, but as a way to enhance it. That way I could just move on and turn my focus back to solving the real issues.

Of course. Sure. Whatever Doc. Did you notice my haphazard nodding? You know, the type of nodding you do when you've completely zoned out on someone after hearing something totally absurd. Although I love you to death Dr. Rakes, you are on the club's payroll and I can't help but think you might be at least somewhat biased towards management and their newfound love for performance scouting when we talk. Of all people. . .

Et tu, Brute?

Slidin' Home (Part II)

2006-01-01T09:24:00.000-05:00

"So do you play for yourself or for your daughter?" Dr. Rakes asked Dallas bluntly.

I thought it was an innocent question at first. But thinking it through further, it was a loaded question with really no right or wrong answer on the surface. The player's reaction and the way in which he answers determines whether the answer is right or wrong.

"Who does this guy think he is?" Dallas snapped as he glared at me. "As long as I throw strikes, what's it to you or him?"

In other words, he wasn't playing for himself and was very defensive about it.

On the car ride over I had told Doc about Dallas dropping his velocity to get the strikes he needed under pressure. Doc asked me if I thought Dallas had the talent to make those pitches without dropping the velocity. Of course he did. Without a doubt. "So why do you think he drops his velocity?" He asked me rhetorically. "Because he lacks confidence. Fear is in the driver's seat."

Dammit. I was afraid he was going down that road. To me, I've always called it something more visual: "The Giant." The sum of all negative thoughts. It's that huge. We all have it to some degree or another. It's just that some are better at controlling The Giant than others. "Surely he isn't afraid Doc. Maybe he's just trying to be more deliberate with his delivery to ensure a strike," I tried to explain.

"There you go again, Cutter. The denial thing. Seems to be a recurring issue with you."

Great. Now it was all back on me. Lord knows I didn't want to get into my issues around the holidays. But just as Doc was about to press me further, the reflectors on the "Parker" mailbox nearly blinded us as they came into view from behind the big oak tree. I swerved onto the dirt driveway only to prolong our inevitable conversation. His memory was like a trap...nothing escaped and he always circled back. This time would be no exception.

Anyhow, back to Dallas. Doc quickly went to work by dialing into the goals that Dallas had set for himself. As Doc expected, they were vague and ill-defined. What surprised me was that Dallas spoke in terms of "luck," "fate," and "just getting some breaks." He even thanked his "lucky stars," on several occasions.

Doc also pointed out afterwards that he used "I have to," or "I gotta," way too many times. I had to cringe when Doc said those phrases were just nice ways of saying, "I have no control over what I'm doing. " According to the Doc, Dallas was creating an environment of pressure, tension, and resentment. I found this conclusion interesting because the last time I saw Dallas pitch, it looked as if his anger motivated him and he pitched better as a result. I mentioned this to the Doc, but my credibility with the whole denial thing looked as if I was trying to make excuses for Dallas. The Doc wasn't buying it. "If he's motivated by anger, he's going to have a miserable career and an even worse life."

Doc suggested that Dallas sit down and evaluate what he could and could not control in both his life and on the field. Dallas pretty much admitted that his mind would drift at times on the mound and he would think about those things he could not control. As soon as he determined which actions he could honestly control on the field, then Doc wanted him to structure some reasonable goals directly related to those actions. That would put Dallas back into control instead of simply playing up to other people's expectations and trying to please everyone else. Dallas would be taking sole responsibility for whatever he did or didn't do to achieve the goals. He would be more focused and in a much better position to undertake his next task-- tame The Giant.

In the end, I couldn't really tell if Dallas was buying into the Doc's suggestions but I sure was. If I had only heard those suggestions when I was getting started, things would have been different. Much different. But Dallas did give the Doc his cell phone number as we were leaving, which I thought was hopeful considering how things started. As we made our way back down the dirt driveway and onto the dark country road, Doc asked how much time I wanted him to spend on Dallas as if to say, "This kid needs a lot of work. I don't want to be wasting my time on this kid unless he has the physical tools to be great." I assured him that it would be time well spent.

Doc just shook his head and smiled. "Did you call your son for Christmas?"

I knew he would somehow come back to me. I just knew it.

Slidin' Home

2005-12-29T23:54:00.000-05:00

This week I've been in Tampa for the AAU Winter Nationals. The weather has been simply phenomenal-- 70 degrees, low humidity, and crystal clear skies. Makes it really difficult to do my job. But when I do bring myself around to focusing on the players at hand, I've mainly been jumping between fields at Hillsborough High School, Florida College, and University of South Florida. Those are where the L1 and L2 divisions for high school are playing.

Of course, if all I had to do was hang out in Tampa for the week to watch prospects, my life would be simple. But that would be too easy. Instead, each of the last three evenings I've made my way through the parking lot known as Interstate 4 to Orlando. That's where I hook-up with the sports psychologist for our club, Dr. Julian Rakes. Come to find out that he's actually in Orlando teaching several classes at an annual sports psychologist conference. At first I thought he was attending to learn the latest shrink techniques, but I guess he's so far above the rest that he's teaching them instead. Pretty impressive. That's my Doc.

Over the last three evenings I've picked him up from his hotel and we've driven all over Orlando interviewing roughly two prospects each evening. Most of which should go in the top ten rounds of the draft and will likely be playing this summer for a minor league team (provided they sign).

I cannot overstate the value of a solid psychological profile. Gone are the days where the top draft pick gets a $100,000 signing bonus (ala Rick Monday). Today, seven figure bonuses are the norm in the first round. I absolutely need to do my due diligence. Especially when the makeup is suspect or at least questionable. I cannot risk having a head-case wash out in the first year after a nice fat bonus.

That brings me to Dallas Parker, starting pitcher for Wekiva Community College, whom we met this evening at his trailer somewhere out in the sticks of north Orlando. Incidentally, he shared with me this picture of him making Christmas cookies for his daughter. Poor guy didn't even have a rolling pin. Apparently he promised the kid next door a half-dozen cookies if he could borrow a wood bat to roll out the dough. I can certainly testify that it indeed worked as Dallas offered me and the Doc some left over cookies that made it past Santa. They were the best I've had in years. If baseball didn't work out for Dallas, I'm sure he could find a job baking. Dallas spent a good fifteen minutes talking about the recipe, how to make the icing, and certain decorating tips.

Everything was going well until Dr. Rakes interrupted with a premeditated question that set Dallas ablaze.

Texas Leaguer (Part II)

2005-12-24T07:25:00.000-05:00

Xavier Pacheco, 3B, R/R, OFP: 52/60
xx/xx/1988
5'10', 170 lbs.
Compact body with an athletic look. Strong legs. Medium frame. Body similar to David Bell when he came out of the draft in 1990. Room to fill out. Father is approximately 5'11', 190, with muscular body.

Hitting for Average and Power: Wide stance on firm base. Rhythm is fluid. Slight uppercut. Quick hands through the zone allowing him to handle breaking ball with ease. Full arm extension and follow-through. Consistently putting the barrell on the ball. Ball jumps off the bat with pop. Little wasted movement. Power CF to pull. Lines the ball to opposite. Not afraid to swing with two strikes. Aggressive with balls in zone. Very disciplined and patient. Scrappy. Loves to work the pitcher. Always spends time after practice in BP. I could see him in the early part of the order.

Fielding and Arm Strength: Low center of gravity and stays in it at all times. Good balance and range. First few steps are quick and decisive. Good nose for the ball. Quick feet to establish solid base to throw from. Hands could be a touch softer. Fast to bunted balls. Slight carry through on throw to first. Throw from deep third has an arc. Off-balanced throws also have an arc but are accurate. Very rarely does his pull the first basemen off the bag or into the base path. Quick release.

Speed: 4.2 seconds on contact to first. Steals at will. Not quite Chone Figgins speed but more like Alfonso Soriano. Very rarely caught. Threat to tag-up on hits anywhere in the outfield. Savvy baserunner with good anticipation. Speed to makeup for any over-aggressiveness. Turns routine doubles into triples.

Weaknesses: To play third at the next level he needs to strengthen his arm. His arm is average to below-average which means he will only be able to throw out average to below-average runners. He could also use some more power in his bat. Although he hits it hard, most of his hits are line drives. Even during BP his HRs are mostly on a line.

Summary: If he doesn't improve on his arm strength, I can see him being moved to second base. Although he does produce runs, I see him as more of a run scorer at the next level. More of a Wade Boggs-type of third base hitter. Likely to score more runs than RBIs on a consistent basis with home run production in the low teens. Will hit plenty of extra bases. Like a Marcus Giles if moved to second. Also has the potential to be a dependable base stealer like Soriano.

The Sixth Tool: Enjoys the game. Early to practice, latest to leave. Helps coach younger players. Vocal leader. Takes direction well. Eager to improve and self-motivated. Wants it on his shoulders to knock home the winning run. Bounces back well after errors or bad plate appearances. Not easily distracted. Same level of mental focus in practice as in the games. Pit bull scrapper. Always covered in red clay. No desire to play college. Tough family life. Mother passed away at a young age. Father works two jobs and is rarely at home or at the games.

Texas Leaguer (Part I)

2005-12-21T21:38:00.000-05:00

I love the Waffle House. There's just something about entering through those glass doors. Their food isn't so great but their people always shout out a warm greeting as soon as you set foot on their greasy floors. And they always seem to know what I'm thinking.

"You looking for a little computer guy with glasses and a laptop?" the waitress asked while pouring a cup of coffee for a patron at the bar. Her voice is raspy from years of smoking which reminded me that I should probably kick the habit sooner than later.

I nod and she points to the corner booth on the end. I can see his young face illuminated by a laptop screen. Deep in thought, feverishly typing away. I dropped my notebook onto the table and slid into the booth. He managed to take his eyes off the screen for a split second to acknowledge me. No words. Just a quick glance. What happened next was like one of those bloppers dropping between second and center. You don't know quite what to make of it.

The kid reached down into his bag of tricks and pulled out a ten page scouting report on Xavier Pacheco. He slid it over to my side of the table without taking his eyes of his computer screen. The report had a nice cover page with the kid's picture and his basic information: bats/throws, height/weight, date of birth, etc. Mind you, I was just looking for a paragraph or two about what tools he saw and what kind of player he thought Xavier would become. It goes without saying that Carson and I are on different planets. Maybe even different galaxies. Nah...different universes.

As soon as I turned to the first page, Carson pushed his laptop aside and said two words. "Chipper Jones." After a long pause, he went on to say that if he had to compare Xavier to a third baseman in the majors, it would be Chipper. There was another lengthy pause as he continued to study his screen as if the consequence of all mankind depended on it. The suspense was killing me.

I turned my palms to the sky as if to say, anytime you're ready, jack... He then went into this highly technical thesis of sorts using Xavier's varsity high school stats compared with Chipper's MLB stats. Oh, and there were graphs too. Lots of them. I took the liberty of showing you one of them above-- Chipper's OBP. He showed me all sorts of ratios and trends as well as their correlations. Although I felt like he was picking a stock instead of a ball player, I must say that it was a fascinating display. Of what, I still don't know, but it was interesting to say the least.

I was waiting for the page about Xavier's tools and how these fundamentals would match up to Chipper's. But it never came. It was pretty much a statistical lovefest. Carson admitted that this was the first time he had scouted a high school player but he was relieved to find all of Xavier's high school stats online with a local paper. He even found Xavier's "all-county" photo in the same archive. The traveling team apparently had a short bio for Xavier on their website too. The wonders of modern technology. But I always just asked. Which brought my curiosity to another question.

"Did you at least talk to him?"

"Maybe 30 seconds. Just enough to get his cell phone--"

I waved him off in disgust. It was time for me to share with Carson what I first wrote about Xavier when I first scouted him. I reached into my bag of tricks and pulled out a handwritten report done earlier this year.

Quality Start

2005-12-19T21:59:00.000-05:00

"The Player who can retain his joy for baseball is the one who has not let others' needs intrude upon his own. He is also the one most likely to perform the best, and that, in turn, will help keep the fun in the game. His senses won't be dulled; his being won't be threatened." -- The Mental Game of Baseball.

Found: Carson Bailey, a thirty-something wonderboy looking to find the next Albert Pujols with his PC. Not to mention that he's my new bird dog for south Florida. We ate lunch at a small pizzeria on the circle in Hollywood. In looking back on how things went, I can honestly say that today was quite a day for "firsts." Until today, I've never seen anyone put mayonnaise on their breadsticks. Until today, I've never seen anyone bring a Starbucks latte into a pizzeria explaining that it brings out the best flavors in a pepperoni pizza. Until today, I've never heard of anyone emailing the GM of a club with some uniquely arranged data on college players and being offered a job on the spot. Not even Goldie was so fortunate. I believe it took him at least three emails to get the GM's attention.

Until today, I had never heard the term "Sabermetrics." Hopefully I spelled that correctly. Anyhow, I couldn't get Carson to shut up about it. Even worse, he insisted on trucking through his pizza while talking at the same time. Little bits of pepperoni flew out of his mouth all over the table, including on my own plate. When I wasn't picking the extra topping off my pizza, I tried to discuss my philosophy on scouting. Unfortunately, Carson has an advanced listening impediment which causes his tongue to never slow down. I couldn't hardly get a word in edgewise. At least Goldie let me talk. Now whether he was listening is another story.

When I was able to ask for some sort of bio, he reached down for a well-worn Manila folder and pulled out what resembled a resume. The corners of the paper were dog-eared and there looked to be a round coffee stain from a Starbucks coffee cup, no doubt. He confessed that he didn't expect that I would ask for the resume and then proceeded to hack through an awkward apology for its appearance. Taking a quick glance, it was all business related and computer stuff. He got his MBA from some school in Philadelphia, worked on Wall-Street for a couple years, left to start his own computer company and is now in the process of trying to sell it.

"Any game experience?" I asked.

"Does little league count? I batted clean-up," he replied sarcastically.

I ran my fingers through what little hair I have left. That's just great. He's a smartass too! Where's my cigarettes? When does the sports psychologist come to town? Not a minute too soon for me.

Not really knowing what his capacity for the game was, I decided to give him some homework. Two traveling teams were scheduled to scrimmage in Kendall tonight in order to prepare themselves for a tournament over the holiday break. I had roughly three legitimate draft prospects that were to be in action. One of which was a third baseman named Xavier Pacheco. I watched his kid last year rally his high school team to a district championship as a junior. What impressed me the most, however, was his mental focus during the district championship game.

The opposing team's players, parents, students, and even the mascot where shouting bizarre and downright offensive comments at Xavier every time he entered the on-deck circle, took the field at third, and stepped in the batter's box. It was non-stop and incredibly distracting even for me just watching. Apparently Xavier had transferred from that same school a year earlier and everyone got the great idea that he was a traitor and deserved to be abused in the worst way.

Anyhow, he hit the game winning RBI and went 3 for 4 that evening. I asked him afterwards about all the shouting and name calling, and how he could maintain his focus for nine innings. He responded bluntly, "Somebody was calling me names? Who?"

Xavier simply detached himself from the "real world" and became the game. The "intruder's" weren't even given a chance to enter his field of play. In the end, their attempts to frustrate Xavier and to ultimately make him lose concentration, were futile. It is rare for a junior in high school to possess such mental focus in a clutch game. I have been one of his biggest fans since that game. I know his game inside and out. That is why I sent Carson to scout Xavier and to write a scouting report for me to review tomorrow morning. Not only do I want Carson to see the type of player that I'm looking for, but I want to see how good Carson is at seeing it.

Force Out

2005-12-18T21:10:00.000-05:00

Wrapped up a great showcase this weekend at a community college south of Tampa. Populating my database and updating the signability questionnaires was top priority. I also picked-up on some new talent for next year.

Tomorrow, I'll be traveling to Ft. Lauderdale to have lunch with my new bird dog for south Florida. And like my relationship with Goldie, this too is a pre-arranged marriage. I swear, DeSear and Cooper are out to get me. Florida's been my life for years. I know the college coaches, HS coaches, AAU and other top traveling team coaches, and even a few of the little league commissioners in those prime areas.

To put someone in my market...especially south Florida, is criminal. This is almost getting too much for me to handle. I'm this close to going "Billy Martin." (fingers held almost together) Why don't they just fire me and get it over with? And to top it off, I've been told that this new bird dog of mine is a whiz at. . . (anyone, anyone). . . you guessed it. . . the computer. Can you believe this crap? What the hell are they trying to do to me?

But there is some good news. Words cannot express how thrilled I was to learn that our club's psychologist is coming to Orlando between Christmas and New Years for an annual shrink conference. Maybe I can be their case study? Maybe I already am? Where are the cameras and hidden microphones? I can hear 'em now, "Let's take an old-school baseball scout and surround him with some statistical freaks that believe the only three things a pitcher can control are K's, HR's, and walks." Where are my padded walls because I'm going to the Hotel California for sure! You can check out anytime you'd like but you can never leave.

And when they're done poking and prodding me like the experiment I've become, perhaps our club's psychologist can break away to interview Dallas Parker and a couple other Orlando kids with questionable make-ups. I can't forget to call Dallas and the other kids this week to set it all up. But of course, me first Doc.

Oh and by the way, Russell Reed is en fuego down in the Liga de Beisbol Profesional de Puerto Rico. He's tied with several players for second in home runs with 5 and tied for first in stolen bases with 6. Not to mention, his batting average is well over .330. Damn, did I just quote some statistics? Goldie's rubbing off on me already. At least I didn't quote his OBP . . . yet.

Performance Scouting? Never. (Part IV)

2005-12-16T22:07:00.000-05:00

I actually made him repeat what he said. Then I made the mistake of bringing up earned run average as a way to throw out defensive errors to get a better read. I then got an earful of how ERA was flawed and not worth a damn.

Regardless, Rio was horrible in the pen. He had a terrible time keeping his fastball down and his breaking ball was about a foot short of the plate. He also spent way too much time in between pitches as if he were overanalyzing whatever was going wrong. The pitching coach offered no advice and stood their expressionless until it was time to give the green light.

In my mind, it was a critical moment because many inexperienced pitchers cannot overcome a devastating pen when they cross the foul line. They don't have the mental toughness to put the previous thoughts aside and focus on the next pitch. In other words, their head fails before their arm has a chance to show what it can do. Experienced pitchers won't panic because they know they'll find their groove in the game, if not the pen.

Goldie, on the other hand, saw nothing wrong. He was more fascinated with the radar gun. I practically had to pry it out of his hands so he would listen to my observations. Of course, he was quick to dismiss my concerns and reminded me that Rio gave up the fewest walks in the conference. He said all this with a smile knowing it would aggravate me.

I doubted Rio could recover from his pen, but the guy looked like a new pitcher once he took the mound. Just the way he carried himself on the mound during three warm-up heaters (all strikes) showed he was indeed confident and ready to pitch. Could the walk from the pen to the mound make such a difference? Rio immediately went on the offensive, throwing right down the middle of the plate, knee high. His velocity on the fastball was nothing to get excited about-- 90 MPH, but it had a distinct tail that I did not see in the pen. The leadoff batter wasted no time and came out swinging. Two pitches later the batter was down 0-2.

Expecting something offspeed or out of the zone, he surprised me by going right down the middle with another fastball. He locked up the batter who fouled it down the right field line. The next 0-2 pitch was another heater, but this one was outside and happened to tail into the corner for strike three. The batter didn't even swing.

Overall, Rio faced seven batters with his 30 pitches. He struck out three. Two grounded out and the other two hit singles. What impressed me the most, however, was that he quickly worked four of the seven batters into 0-2 counts. And on all 0-2 situations, he didn't relax knowing he was ahead. He continued to be aggressive. Instead of "painting the corners" he threw low across the middle. It was refreshing to see. Batters are more likely to chase low pitches rather than outside pitches.

But Rio did have several things wrong mechanically. His left foot (the planting foot) continually hit heal first as he planted it. He also has the "herky-jerky" as I call it. Not only does he look like he's laboring to throw the ball hard, but his arm jerks and bends during delivery in a way that makes me uncomfortable. I think there's a pretty good chance that down the road he'll have an arm injury just because the way his arm works. I can see why Manny didn't follow this kid. Although I liked his heart and it appeared he had some potential (although I didn't admit this to Goldie) I would never recommend him because of his mechanical flaws.

Goldie, however, was in complete denial over the mechanical flaws. Convinced I was trying to torpedo one of his top prospects, he accused me of having a personal vendetta against him. Of course, I agreed with him (on the personal vendetta part), but I still held to my guns regarding the mechanical flaws. There are just too many good pitchers in our territory with fluid arm motions. Why take a risk on a "herky-jerky" if you don't have to? Rio is the type of guy that would pitch great for a couple of years in the minors, suddenly blow-out his arm, and never be the same again. What good are his stats if he ain't playin'?

Anyhow, I'm sure this won't be the last time I hear about this. Goldie's probably told everything to Logan Cooper by now.

Performance Scouting? Never. (Part III)

2005-12-15T21:53:00.000-05:00

Today was a travel day from Macon, Ga to Tampa, Fl. The I-75 express (and for those of you who were wondering, I opted for the Bar-B-Q Pulled Pork at Sonny's instead of my usual at Cracker Barrel). I spent quite a bit of my drive-time talking on my cell to HS coaches and a few JC coaches. Whenever I get the chance, I make it a habit to drill them about certain players' tendencies, their reactions to certain game situations, their performance in the classroom or lack thereof, and strangely, what their parents look like. If a HS senior is 6'3" and a buck fifty, but Pops is 6'4" and 230 (without the spare tire), then odds are that this kid is still filling out and will likely have more power in the coming years. Yes, I look at that stuff.

Goldie on the other hand could care less. We spent most of yesterday driving around central Georgia looking at talent (I use that term loosely) that he had identified as potential draft picks. I need not go any further than the first prospect we looked at. A pitcher from Perry JC. Let's call him Rio Cabrara. The head coach knew we were coming so he had the sophomore begin with a routine pen warm-up and then had him throw about 30 pitches through the heart of the lineup. The kids batting knew we were watching so they were trying their hardest to impress at the expense of their "star" pitcher. Keep in mind that Manny, my predecessor scout in this area, had nothing on Rio. Nothing. That included AAU and the local high school.

In talking with the coach beforehand, he explained that his team was forced to play with mostly freshmen last year due to some academic suspensions and other unforeseen reasons. He said they simply got rocked defensively and led the conference in errors and runs scored against. It also didn't help that they were dead last in runs scored. But of course he was all optimistic about this year considering that mostly all of his freshman have returned. Just as the coach was wrapping it up, Goldie started in on me with what I would call an "idea". At first I thought the "idea" was rather novel (if not ridiculous), but in the last 24 hours I've discovered that the "idea" really isn't all that new-- which just goes to confirm my old fart status. Here's what he said (as best as I can remember):

"When it comes to pitching, I focus on home runs, strikeouts, and walks. These are what the pitcher can control. Last year, Rio allowed the fewest home runs and walks in his conference and was like 5th in strikeouts. It wasn't his fault that the infield was like swiss cheese. The guy had one of the best ground ball to fly ball ratios in college."

Where do I even begin?

Anyhow, let me pick up on this tomorrow evening. I could easily write for another hour or two about what transpired after Goldie's "revelation," but I'm beat from the drive and would hate to just ramble on. Let me distill it down to a manageable post and we'll take it from there.

Performance Scouting? Never. (Part II)

2005-12-13T21:06:00.000-05:00

To me, Logan Cooper's demand was a slap in the face. Making me hire this kid was one thing, but requiring that both Seth and I agree on every prospect coming out of Georgia was ludicrous. My immediate boss, Donald DeSear (the national scouting director) hasn't said a peep about this sudden change of events. I've told him time and time again that I work alone. I've got a great network of high school and college coaches in Florida. Manny had a tremendous network of coaches in Georgia and South Carolina that I'm slowly getting to know. But Manny did have a bird dog, though. The kid was a former minor leaguer who went onto be an area scout in the northwest with another club. But at least the kid had a taste of what it was like to sign with a big league club and live on the road for several years going from minor league park to minor league park. He played the game for years at various levels giving him a terrific baseball foundation to draw upon as a scout.

What experience did Seth Goldbaum have? I'm sorry, but watching SportsCenter everynight, professing to be a follower of Bill James (did he ever play ball?), and reading something called Baseball Abstract just doesn't get it done. Taking a step back, I could probably say the same for Logan Cooper, our GM. Sure, he played little league and high school, but he was never drafted and never graced the lineup card of a minor league team. Gemini Christmas, he's an Ivy Leaguer who majored in math! What experience did he have to lead our organization to a World Series? Little if any I would argue. But the ownership saw something I didn't. A sort of efficiency argument. A business argument. They began to look at things like payroll dollars per win and payroll dollars per run scored. This was all foreign to me. What happened to the old guard? Baseball folk have naturally been former players. What the heck was going on? I guess I see the direction we're headed but I'm not buying into it.

But somebody in the front office has to be on my side. I don't know who. I certainly don't have pictures of anybody, so it's beyond me that they would be keeping an old fart like me around. Granted, I'm only 49 but that's how I feel. We don't have the lowest payroll nor the highest. We're middle of the road and simply looking to maximize our opportunities. I'm all for that but making me hire someone without any experience and making him and I agree on all prospects coming out of Georgia is flat wrong.

Reluctantly (more like kicking and screaming), I agreed to meet "stat boy" tomorrow at a junior college in Perry, Georgia, to scout two players that "stat boy" previously emailed me. We'll then make it over to Middle Georgia State to scout several other players of his. By the way, none of them were mentioned in Manny's 4-inch, three-ring binder of prospects from Georgia. This ought to be good. If "stat boy" and I are really going to make a go of it, I figured it would be well worth my time to show him my approach to scouting these players and to compare my reports with his. And if we have time, perhaps we can run over to Macon U to scout the homeless man loitering around first base that both Goldie and now apparently our GM thought was a "can't miss" prospect.

Goldie did mention something about law school final exams this week but he said he could probably reschedule tomorrow's final if it was absolutely necessary for him to scout tomorrow. Of course, I told him it was absolutely necessary.

"And while you're at it Goldie, see if you can get me some stats on kids who start out 0 for 2 and end the game 2 for 4."

Goldie grinned from ear to ear as he wheeled off towards his special van parked in handicap. "You won't regret this Cutter. We're gonna make a great team."

"Yeah, we'll see kid."

Performance Scouting? Never.

2005-12-12T22:29:00.000-05:00

Had an interesting lunch today. I met up with the kid in the wheelchair-- Seth Goldbaum of Performance Scouting, Inc. We ate outside at a little cafe just off a college campus in central Georgia. That was our first mistake. It was a bit chilly this afternoon, but it wasn't the food or the atmosphere that mattered. I was there to see what he meant about me being fired before the high school season.

"So tell me Cutter, where does Mac Thomas rank on my list of catchers in Georgia?"

I knew damn well because I scrambled to dig it out before making my quick exit out of Tallahassee. The curiosity was killing me to see where he ranked Mac. Interestingly Mac was number three on his list. "I don't recall." I lied.

"Number three," he answered. "All his numbers point to him being a success at the next level."

"His numbers? The next level?"

"Yeah. On-base-percentage, walks, extra base hits, passed ball percentages, and stuff like that."

"What about heart? Desire? Leadership? And extra special stuff like that? Do you have stats for those things?"

He paused for a moment. "Bottom line, isn't performance all that matters? I mean, if a player produces statistically, he's a proven commodity."

"So why have you ignored the high school players?" I asked. "They have decent stats."

"Let's face it, they don't play against top competition. I've found that their statistics are wildly skewed in their favor. It's also very risky because they have yet to be really challenged by stiffer competition."

I chuckled under my breath. "Haven't been to the WWBA have you?"

"What's that?"

"Figures. You see kid, anybody can look up someone's stats and basically evaluate a player's past performance. The real key to scouting is how well you can evaluate a player's tools, his ability to improve on those tools, and whether he has that something extra special which I call the Sixth Tool. These are the things that will carry him into and keep him in the Big Show."

Seth sighed aloud. "I can see I have a major convincing job ahead of me."

"You're damn right. And so far, I haven't heard anything that would convince me that I'm about to be fired and that you're the one that can save my job. But strangely enough, I've got a deeper problem. I talked with Logan Cooper this morning. He made an unusual demand. . ."

(continued tomorrow)

Complete Game (Part III)

2005-12-10T05:56:00.000-05:00

You may have heard from other scouts that the catcher is the hardest position to scout. I feel I have a leg up on my counterparts considering I was a pitcher for my entire career. I know what I want to see in a catcher and I know how to spot it. 31 years in the game doesn't hurt either. When others are simply looking at POP times and batting prowess, I dig much deeper. Of the 30 catchers I need to put on my wish list, Mac Thomas will be one of them. And now that the Hot Stove is over, I see why our GM wanted me to focus on catchers.

I've already told you that he has a small frame for a MLB catcher. A Paul Lo Duca of sorts. But what I like about Mac is that his uniform is always dirty after a workout or game. He goes for extra bases. He even steals. This kid has "hustle" and "Grit" written all over him. But he's had to work for all his tools. Some God-given talent of course, but he's a work in progress, always has been and will always be. Very different from Jackson Savard. And I'm here to tell you that's not a bad thing!

He has powerful legs giving him a strong base. His quickness is impressive and wreaks of countless hours of drills and practice. I love that he tries to gun down a runner taking liberties at first or even third. But he has the arm strength, accuracy, and more importantly, the confidence to do so. His flexibility is also worth mentioning. Part of his pre-workout/game routine almost looks like a yoga class. He recognizes the value of moving laterally on loose hips and being able to pounce and react naturally and fluidly without looking uncomfortable. I asked Jackson whether he was worried about players stealing second on Mac. He laughed. "Players don't want to steal on Mac. Makes my life easier. I don't have to keep throwing to first."

Despite all of that, the most impressive aspect to Mac is between the ears. He is a proactive catcher. He sets the tone for the game. He drives the game where he needs it to go. And when things get off track, he's very good at anticipating the opposition's next move and getting things back on track. Very rarely does a pitcher ask for another signal. Very rarely does he look over to the coach looking for guidance on what to do next. He's a freaking general out there. And his pitchers come out smelling like a rose. And that's fine with him. Very unselfish. He's the first player out of the dugout to congratulate a teammate who just hit a home run and he's the first player in the dugout to console a pitcher who was yanked for hanging one up in the zone resulting in a three-run shot. Players look for his lead. His enthusiasm is infectious. These are the things I look for. Some may call them little things. I call them vital.

Watching Mac take batting practice, I heard a voice from behind me. It was a young voice. One that I had heard before. Couldn't quite place it. I turned to see who it was. It was this kid in a wheelchair. Outside of his big nose, he was a good looking kid probably in his early twenties. Black curly hair, really built in his upper body, but very thin legs. Probably due to atrophy or something else I speculated.

"Mac Thomas, huh?" he asked, as he wheeled himself up to the fence. I couldn't help but hear the sound of clay grinding on the sidewalk against his wheels.

"Sure is," I replied, not really wanting to talk to anyone, much less a kid in a wheelchair.

"Pretty decent hitter. Above average POP times," said the kid, trying to make small talk with me.

I responded without looking at him, "Playing catcher is more than just POP times kid."

"Of course," he quickly retorted, " Mac has one of the lowest passed ball statistics in his conference. Not to mention that his bat provides a nice .450 on-base-percentage. Racks up the walks too. If I had a nickel for every time . . ."

"Look it kid, playing catcher is much more than statistics," I interrupted, wishing that he would get the hint and wheel himself away. But he didn't.

"Uh huh. Statistics are one thing. But performance scouting is another."

I turned to look at him after hearing those dreaded two words. He quickly gazed out at Mac taking BP not wanting to make eye contact with me. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I asked.

"Remember that list of catchers I sent you the beginning of November?"

"Who the hell are you?"

"Seth Goldbaum."

"Get away from me kid. I don't need your help." I tried to walk away but the kid turned his wheelchair and rolled himself after me.

"That's not what I hear. Logan Cooper wants you to hire me. He said you would be calling me to set something up."

"You've got a listening problem kid. I don't need your help, especially someone . . ." I barely caught my next words before they rattled off my tongue but the damage had already been done. My demeanor and tone gave away my piss-poor attitude. The kid's face contorted with a furious rage.

"F . . . you. You piece of S . . . You sucked as a player and you're washed up as a scout. I'm trying to help you but you don't see what's happening around you. Baseball is changing."

And then he said something that really caught my attention. "You'll be fired before the high school season starts. I'm the only one that can save your job."

Needless to say, after this showcase in Tallahassee finishes up today I'm on my way back to central Georgia to see what the hell he knows that I don't.

Complete Game (Part II)

2005-12-09T20:54:00.000-05:00

Enough is enough. Let's get down to business. This afternoon I drove a good six hours to Tallahassee and I'm beat. There's a showcase at a local community college this weekend that I couldn't miss. Anyhow, let me talk about Jackson Savard, the junior pitcher at Macon U. Virtually a star at every level thus far. Little league, AAU, and college. Earlier this week, I knew his team had a 3 p.m. workout. So I made my way over to the field at 2 p.m. I do this on purpose. Sure enough, Jackson was in the outfield stretching and warming up. One hour before practice. He had a routine. The same routine I saw the day before. The same routine I saw two weeks ago. After about fifteen minutes, he began to jog the warning track with several other players who had just joined him. One of those players happened to be Mac Thomas.

Every last one of them had a smile on their face. They didn't get there early because they had to. Or because they wanted to impress me by showing up early. No, they were there because they wanted to be there. It was obvious that they appreciated the details of the game. The smell of the freshly cut grass. The pop of the glove with every catch. The friendly chatter as they began a quick infield. It was beautiful, dammit.

I watched very attentively as Jackson did a pen. With the pitching coach nearby, Jackson was full of questions and wanted feedback after almost every pitch. How refreshing it was to see someone so coachable. The kid was looking for little tweaks here and there that would give him some added movement or perhaps an additional 2-3 MPH. It was clear that he was a student of the game. All business. Never even had a clue I was watching him. Jackson was totally poised. Passion and drive were written all over his face.

It was almost like he had something to prove. I love that attitude. A good number of kids who've been the star player for a number of years can sometimes develop a harmful ailment-- an arrogant attitude where they feel they have nothing to prove to anybody. In other words, their past performance should speak for itself and carry them to the next level no matter what. Or they feel their physical attributes are so superior that they don't have a need to put in the extra work to refine their skills. Once he finds out that the other kids are catching up, he then motivates himself into working out by imagining the other kids working out harder than him and are catching up. His motivation is to stay a step ahead.

But I don't want a kid who has to be motivated by imagining his competition working out harder than him. I don't want a kid who wants to stay just a step ahead. I want a kid who is motivated from within and demonstrates a passionate commitment to the sport. I want a kid who is never satisfied or content. I want a kid who wants to reach his full potential no matter how hard it is to reach it. Discipline, work ethic, and willingness to learn, are just several of the attributes I need to see in order for me to consider a kid a legitimate draft pick. And this is just a starting point.

Jackson has those attributes and more. What really helps Jackson is that he isn't affraid to fail. He's very aggressive with batters. In other words, he pitches it right down the heart of the plate and he does it quite often. Of course, he's very deceptive about it with a great blend of off-speed, breaking, and fastballs. He's not the fastest pitcher around but his approach is very similar to Greg Maddux. Incidentally, practice ended at 5 p.m. I stuck around talking to the coaching staff until about 6:15 p.m. As I headed back to my car, I could still see Jackson in the outfield working on his aerobic base and Mac getting some extra swings inside the batting cage-- an hour and fifteen minutes after practice had already ended.

(tomorrow I'll take a minute to tell you about Mac Thomas and then finish up with a little blurb about who I met at the Macon U workout.)

Complete Game (Part I)

2005-12-07T21:32:00.000-05:00

Since I'm in Georgia today, I would be remiss if I didn't at least mention Kris Benson and more importantly, his wife's antics. Kris went to high school up the road in Marietta, Georgia. If I'm not mistaken, his wife went to a rival high school nearby. According to the New York Daily News, Anna Benson criticized the New York Mets for attempting to trade her husband in part because of her alleged negotiations with Playboy to pose nude. "We would never, ever have signed with New York if they had said they were going to trade us," she told the paper as reported by ESPN.com news services. "I was Miss [Politically Correct] for the Mets the entire time I was there."
"I have no deal with Playboy," she added.

Okay. What is this "we" and "us" crap? I guess I'm confused. I've never seen her fastball. How many strikeouts did she throw last year? This is the same stunt I believe Mia Hamm pulled when Nomar was traded to the Cubs. This "we" and "us" stuff has to go ladies. Just keep cashing your paycheck (Oops, I meant your man's paycheck) and go decorate the house or something. But please don't get confused with who's really making it all happen.

If you haven't read my "Girl Hop" post from the other day, you may want to check it out.

Today I was at Macon University watching junior pitcher, Jackson Savard, for the second time in the last four weeks. Manny ranked him the 8th best RHP in both Georgia and South Carolina. I had an appointment after the workout to interview both him as well as the senior catcher, Mac Thomas. I happened to really like the catcher. Manny had him rated as a 48 (fringe prospect) with a future OFP of 53 (fair prospect). This was a bit low in my opinion. I also had a chance to re-scout the homeless man loitering around first base.

But the real reason I wanted to write about Savard and Thomas, is because they both have what I call the Sixth Tool. They also come from two very different backgrounds making it a great comparison as to how the Sixth Tool has impacted their play and ultimately their future potential. Savard is naturally blessed with pitching tools. He's always been the star player from little league, AAU, high school, and now college. He was drafted out of high school in the 36th round but his father decided it was best for Savard to take a full ride to Macon U instead.

Thomas on the other hand is not naturally blessed with catching tools. He has a small frame for a catcher; comparable to Paul Lo Duca. He wasn't the star player in little league, AAU, and high school. In fact, he was just an average catcher. It was no surprise that he went undrafted out of high school. He ended up playing for a community college in Florida (that's where I started watching him) for two years. Went undrafted after his freshman year and was projected as a possible 40-50 round prospect after his sophomore year but was passed up because he told the scouts he was going back to Georgia on a partial scholarship to Macon U. His junior year ended up being a break-out year for him. But the scouts passed him up thinking that it was a fluke. I, on the other hand, will go a bit deeper and tell you otherwise.

And I also need to tell you who I ran into at the Macon U field. You're never going to believe this. If you're thinking it has to do with Performance Scouting, Inc., you're freaking baseball ready!

(I'll continue this tomorrow. Donald DeSear is calling my cell phone as I type.)

"I'd walk through hell in a gasoline suit to keep playing baseball." - Pete Rose

Winter Meetings

2005-12-06T20:40:00.000-05:00

Ah, I just love the smell of the Winter Meetings in the morning. All the activity. Speculation. Jockeying. Backstabbing. Sell-your-mother-down-the-river negotiating. And it usually all comes on the heals of a deep inward reflection on where the organization is and where it wants to go. That explains why yesterday I had a late-night, one hour phone call with our GM and national scout director. It was a good thing that I had done all that number crunching over the last week regarding the number of prospects I planned to track down. But then again, my instincts are usually one step ahead of management no matter how young or old they may be.

But this "planning session," as our youthful GM put it so eloquently, was a little different than usual. I knew something was up for the GM to call me from Dallas. For me to take up any of his precious time during the Winter Meetings was ludicrous. Anyhow, Logan starts the call by letting me know how fortunate I am to still have a job. Oh joy. Thanks again for the vote of confidence. He then proceeded to announce his plans to fire a quarter of the scouting staff. Keep in mind that he had already fired half the staff in October. The good news for me was that he wasn't going to expand my territory.

The bad news, however, was that they wanted me to hire at least two bird dogs. They both laid out a clean argument that it would be nearly impossible for me to cover three states without any help. Bird Dogs are unpaid associates that gather scouting data and compile reports for a certain area in order to focus your search and make your time more productive. But it is so subjective. Garbage in, garbage out. If your bird dog doesn't share the same philosophy for the game or he prefers a certain type of player that is much different than what you are looking for, you will get burned and players will slip through the cracks.

If I have told them once, I have told them a million times, "I work alone." But I can honestly say that populating my lists with 265 players has never been done before. I'm used to 170 players at the most. And certainly not between three states. I must admit that a couple times last week my stubbornness broke down and I felt that maybe I did need some help this time around. But then pride comes charging back to answer, "Screw them."

Only this time, I don't think I have much of a choice. They want me to at least hire someone in Georgia and another one for South Carolina. The third one would be for Florida but since I've been doing that job for a number of years without a bird dog, Florida is the lowest priority. And of course, they had some suggestions on who I needed to hire.

"We've been getting some pretty interesting emails regarding some Georgia prospects," Logan said.

"Oh, yeah? Let me guess, Performance Scouting, Inc.?" I asked.

"That's the guy. I called him up the other day to chat. Really knowledgeable kid. I believe he said his name was Seth Goldbaum. He goes to law school early in the day and can dedicate a good part of the afternoon and evening to scouting."

"Goldie! That kid kept peppering my cell phone with calls wanting a job. And he runs Performance Scouting, Inc.?"

"All I'm saying is that you give this kid a chance. I really like his stuff. He's right on the edge of performance scouting."

Yeah, right on the "edge" of a cliff. "With all due respect, have you read any of his scouting reports? They're horrible. I actually went to scout one of his alleged college prospects three weeks ago. A first baseman from Macon University. But after two innings, I thought I was watching a homeless man loitering around a soup kitchen. Simply pitiful. No energy. Scored a 36 OFP."

"Look Cutter, all I'm saying is to give Seth a chance. Make contact with him and get together. I'm not asking, I'm telling. And by the way, that homeless man loitering around the soup kitchen had an on-base-percentage of .530 last year and led the conference in walks. He's one of the most disciplined hitters in that league. I would suggest you take another look at him."

Ouch. The GM telling me how to do my job. Not good. And why in the world was our GM so interested in Seth Goldbaum? And what was this performance scouting crap? We don't scout using statistics. That's past performance. We're in the business of projecting future performance. Read any prospectus for a mutual fund (if you still have any after the tech bubble) and you will see that past performance is no indicator of future performance.

It's the tools that carry a player into the future. Not his stats. It's all about the tools baby. Perfect example will be the players I'm scouting tomorrow. I can't wait to tell you all about them. I will be updating their signability questionnaires and should have a bunch of stuff to talk about.

Batting Practice

2005-12-04T21:29:00.000-05:00

On the Friday before Thanksgiving the 40-man rosters were set. Our club had one of my prospect/draftees become a "newbie" to the roster. Let's call him "Riggs." Whenever that happens it's kinda like a proud papa moment for me. He probably won't make the opening day roster for the Big Show but you never know what can happen in spring training. A couple injuries here and there, you get on a hot streak, and voila, you're off the porch and runnin' with the big dogs.

Anyhow, Riggs called me this afternoon to chat. It had been a long time. We drafted the left-handed hitting sensation four years ago right out of high school. 18 years old. I never will forget the first time I saw him. A skinny HS junior that looked like a puff of wind could blow him over. The "real" prospect that I was scouting was getting ready to take BP (batting practice) but I had to wait for this lightweight kid to supposedly knock a couple grounders to second so my guy could take over to show 'em how its done.

I wasn't even going to pay attention at first. I figured I would go take a quick drag or do something meaningless for the next five minutes. But what suddenly intrigued me was that the kid reached for a wooden bat. I thought that he surely picked up the wrong bat (ala Sammy Sosa). I whispered to another scout close by, "Let's see how fast he goes back to get his aluminum stick." The scout shrugged as if he knew something that I didn't.

Of course, what happened next was as pure of a hitting clinic that I had ever seen by a HS junior. His bat speed was incredible. No wasted movement whatsoever. None of this dropping or raising of the hands as the pitch was being delivered. The coach pitching BP changed his delivery, speed, and location on almost every pitch to Riggs. It didn't matter. Riggs was just as smooth with change-ups as he was with fastballs.

I was also impressed with his quick hips and hands. He would just go with the pitch and drive it to all fields. His arm-extension was excellent and his follow-through was textbook. Even more impressive was that he was driving it over the fence. A good 400 feet. And this was with a wood bat. The scout who had earlier shrugged at my ignorant comment then turned to me and said, "So now I guess you know who I came to see today." I could do nothing but shake my head. Fortunately, a year later we were able to draft Riggs in the eighth round.

When we talked today, it was evident that he was just happy to be playing baseball. Yeah, being selected for the 40-man roster was an important milestone for him, but ultimately Riggs has developed a steady, consistent approach that will serve him well over the long-term. He couldn't stop telling me how much he has learned over the last four years and how much more he still has to learn. I couldn't help but think that his desire to continually study and learn about the game would soon pay-off in a big way.

You need to understand that he went from batting .500+ in his senior year to .250 in rookie ball. And only 3 HRs as compared to 20 HRs. Riggs had never been away from home. He admitted that he simply wasn't prepared to handle the endless number of long bus-rides and playing conditions that weren't nearly as good as his old high school field. He recalled one night game that the lighting was so poor that he lost the ball in the stars instead of the lights!

But he put aside the numerous 0 for 4 appearances and pushed on. Determined to turn it around and improve, he worked his butt off. Sure it was slow and painful. But he did it. His AAA coach recently told our GM that he wished he could have 9 players just like Riggs. What more could a player ask for in terms of a compliment?

Are you starting to get the picture of what the sixth tool is? With all the talent Riggs had coming out of high school, I would've never recommended him for national cross-check if I didn't think he had the sixth tool. Over time, I'll give you more detailed examples of the sixth tool. We'll even get to see a couple college players this week in Georgia that have it. I'll have some extra time to spend with these prospects to really drill down into their mental approach to the game. The type of stuff that signability questionnaires don't capture.

Girl Hop

2005-12-02T22:36:00.000-05:00

I have to digress today. I saw this college kid who, for all intensive purposes, girl-hopped his pitches. You know what I'm talking about, right? Ever watch those Olympic girls playing fast-pitch softball? Well, it's that funky hop-step the pitcher takes. At first I thought my mind was just playing tricks on me. There was no freaking way that this 19 year-old college sophomore was girl-hopping his cheese off the mound. It wasn't until about four pitches later that I realized he was indeed girl-hopping. I then tried to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Maybe he's just a submariner with an awkward technique," I thought. Or maybe he was just pitching like a girl. I swear his knuckles were scrapping the dirt as he delivered. That's underhand in my book. Then you toss in that stupid step towards the plate and you've got a perennial Olympic standout. He'll just have to adjust his package under the cup in order to bring home the gold, but what the heck-- take one for your country dammit. Given the shorter distance from the mound to the plate, he'll probably pitch a 120 MPH equivalent. That would be insane. Much better than the cadre of predictable mid-80 MPH pitches that were getting rocked over the left field fence. Needless to say, I didn't bother putting this quack on my list of 90 RHPs.

I'm usually not this critical, but understand that I don't peep a word when I'm sitting behind home plate. I hold it all in and it kills me. You just never know who's listening. It could be the kid's father or worse yet, his girlfriend. Suggesting that he make an adjustment to his package may not go over too well with his main squeeze. Afterall, she probably thinks he's got a great future in baseball and can't wait to start spending his seven figure salary. Or at least she's going to make sure she's in a position to influence the powers to be that her boy should be a top draft pick.

Don't think this doesn't happen. More times that not when I go scout a workout, I'm outnumbered by girlfriends 3 to 1. These girls are the most dedicated bunch. Filing their nails and talking insatiably on their cell phones. Every now and then they take a quick glance at their payday who happens to be working his ass off trying to impress me. But these cunning little vixens know that the scouts can make or break their life of luxury. Let's just say that on a few occasions they will go to extremes to ensure a top draft selection with a nice signing bonus attached.

Several years ago, a buddy of mine who scouted with another club gave into the temptations at hand. This one girl was constantly calling him and he just eventually caved in. She figured correctly that her man was tenth round material but that she could negotiate her man into say a third round pick... the difference between a $50,000 signing bonus and a $500,000 signing bonus. My buddy went on to exaggerate this kid's scouting report and then proceeded to overpower several cross-checkers into seeing tools that just weren't there. Just when everyone was buying into this kid as a third rounder, the girl got greedy. She sent him some compromising pictures and threatened to show them to his wife if her man didn't go in the first round. He was doomed. There was no way that kid was going in the first round. He sat in the war room and watched helplessly as the first two rounds went by. As planned, her man was picked by the club in the third round. Several hours later, my buddy's wife called him on his cell phone. She wanted a divorce.

Moral of the story...don't girl hop.

Lineup Card (Part II)

2005-12-01T21:57:00.000-05:00

Now that I've estimated 170 draft picks from my territory and divided them up between pitchers and position players, I round each up to the nearest five. This gives me 70 RHPs, 30 LHPs, 20 catchers, 10 first basemen, 10 second basemen, 15 shortstops, 10 third basemen, 15 center fielders, and 10 other outfielders.

I then apply one of my rules of thumb. If a position is targeted to yield between 0 and 20 draft picks, I add 5 to the projected number. Between 21-50, I add 10, and between 51 and up, I add 15. If my boss asks me to emphasize a particular position, I will add anywhere from 5-10 to the projected number of that particular position.

After applying my rule, I now have 90 RHPs, 45 LHPs, 30 catchers, 15 first basemen, 15 second basemen, 20 shortstops, 15 third basemen, 20 centerfielders, and 15 other outfielders. These are my targets for each position that I must scout in preparation for the 2006 draft in June. A total of 265 eligible draft prospects is what I'm shooting for. I will have a spreadsheet for each position. The first thing I do is populate the spreadsheets with about 125 or so players that I scouted last year but weren't eligible for the 2005 draft because they were either HS juniors or 4-yr college sophomores. In addition, I'll add all the players in my territory who were drafted in 2005 but failed to sign with the club that drafted them and are currently eligible for the 2006 draft. This gives me a good starting point.

I will rank them according to OFP (overall future projection)-- a number between 20 and 80, with 50 representing the average major league ball player. I'll also sort them by geography to help make my travel time more productive. Over the next six months it will be my job to re-scout the 140 or so players already on my spreadsheets and to find another 125 draft eligible players that will complete my lists. There won't be a day that goes by where I'm not constantly ranking and re-ranking them.

As soon as the new year rolls around, I will start pestering our national cross-checkers to come visit my top prospects. That's usually fine with them since it's probably dumping snowing up north. But invariably they'll migrate their efforts northward after the snow melts. This puts a little more pressure on me to identify my top prospects early.

Of course, at the same time I will also be looking to scout about 125 HS juniors and 4-yr college sophomores to populate a new database for the 2007 draft. Always looking ahead. Believe it or not I already have about 30 players for the 2007 draft database. These kids I saw in the spring when they were HS sophomores and 4-yr college freshmen.

Anyhow, that's how it all starts. At least for me. Now it's time to get down to business. Just drove 6 hours to Charleston, South Carolina, to watch workouts for the College of Charleston, Charleston Southern, and The Citadel. Let's see what they got. Are you ready?

Lineup Card (Part I)

2005-11-30T21:10:00.000-05:00

With the rush of both high school and college seasons just around the corner, now's the time to layout my game plan. My approach is pretty mundane and hasn't changed much over the years. Looking at it from a numbers perspective is a good place to start.

Given my territory of Florida, Georgia, and South Carolina, it should be no secret that Florida will yield the greatest number of prospects. I would speculate that it would be 3 to 1 in relation to Georgia prospects and more like 10 to 1 in relation to South Carolina prospects. I expect that somewhere between 120-130 prospects will be drafted out of Florida high schools and colleges. Using my ratios, I would expect 40-45 prospects will be drafted out of Georgia high schools and colleges, and roughly 10-15 prospects will be drafted out of South Carolina high schools and colleges. Considering that I only own those prospects south of I-20, I would expect my prospect numbers to drop by half in Georgia to 20-25 prospects and by a third in South Carolina to 8-12 prospects.

So let's say that at best, my part of Georgia and South Carolina should yield roughly 40 draft picks. At best, Florida should yield roughly 130 prospects. That gives me a bit more than a 3 to 1 ratio comparing Florida prospects vs Georgia/South Carolina prospects. If I break down a monthly timeframe, I'll probably end up spending three weeks in Florida and one week in Georgia and South Carolina. We have six months leading up to the draft. Doing the math, I'll be spending roughly 18 weeks in Florida, 4 weeks in Georgia, and 2 weeks in South Carolina. Not a bad gig in the dead of winter and early spring.

In talking with Donald DeSear this weekend, he was abundantly clear that our GM wants us to focus on starting pitchers and catchers. Not to neglect the other positions, but that is our focus in rebuilding the farm system.

Of course, good pitching is always in demand. Over half of all draft picks are pitchers. In general, RHPs (right-handed pitchers) are much more abundant than LHPs by a margin of 5 to 2. You'll probably get close to 575 RHPs and 225 LHPs taken on draft day. This is where I start my approach. I've already estimated that my territory should yield about 170 draft picks. 95 or so will be pitchers. 68 RHPs and 27 LHPs approximately.

The remaining 75 or so will be position players. Knowing how the numbers usually shake out, I would estimate 17 catchers, 9 first basemen, 6 second basemen, 13 shortstops, 6 third basemen, 14 center fielders, and 10 other outfielders. I'm certainly not married to these numbers, but in my experience they should be pretty close.

Tomorrow, I'll go into what these numbers actually mean to me and how I go about using them in my game plan.

Ho Hum. Reed Signs.

2005-11-28T21:16:00.000-05:00

After months of failed negotiations, I was certain that I'd never see the name "Reed" on the back of any jersey associated with our club. Fortunately for me, I was wrong. The kid signed last Friday. I can't disclose the terms but I can tell you that my original estimation of a seven figure signing bonus was incorrect. Apparently they worked out some perks in lieu of a cool million. Not bad for a late second rounder.

We wasted no time in getting Russell Reed down to Puerto Rico on Saturday. A flight delay caused him to get to the stadium in the fifth inning but from what I hear, he was still able to dress and at least sit on the end of the bench. I can tell you from my own experience that it's a humbling start. He's in a foreign country. He doesn't know anyone. The stadiums are beat and the accommodations are worse. His own teammates will see him as competition. Some will know about his signing bonus and hate him for it. To make matters worse, the season started on November 11th and the team's cliques have already been established. The only way to get accepted is to produce. It takes an incredible amount of mental discipline to put everything else out of your mind and focus on the task at hand.

Knowing that Reed was playing video games in his parent's palacial residence just a matter of days ago, I seriously doubted he would make an immediate impact. I was wrong. Someone told me that on Sunday he went 2 for 4 with 2 RBIs. Coach put him in right field even though Reed was drafted to play center. That little switch alone would've thrown many players into a tail spin. Pretty impressive on Mr. Reed's part. The league doesn't play on Monday's but I'll be curious how he does tomorrow.

Speaking of tomorrow, I'll breakdown my thoughts on what I saw at the Disney Tourney this last weekend and give you a glimpse of how I will approach this coming high school and college season. This will be good for me to lay it all out considering I have this new territory. And without fail, Performance Scouting, Inc., has emailed me a whole new batch of college players out of Georgia. Doesn't that kid ever quit?

Choke-Up (Part III)

2005-11-23T23:22:00.000-05:00

So, where was I? Oh yeah, I made an appointment to sign the kid. I can remember getting lost in a very old neighborhood just north of downtown Ft. Lauderdale. Not exactly a great place to be lost. Not quite the ghetto but certainly light years away from the upscale suburban lifestyle of Russell Reed. Finally getting to his house, there must have been twenty cars out front. Half of which had those crazy lowrider hydraulic systems.

From what I could tell, his entourage included friends, uncles, aunts, grandparents, cousins, girlfriends (I counted three...two of which got into a fight less than a minute after the signing), and of course, his alleged advisor. None of which had ever seen a minor league contract. I sat down at the kitchen table with Blake, his father, and the advisor who thought he was Scott Boras reincarnated. His mother was too excited to sit. She kept asking me if I wanted coffee, water, soda, or some of her secret recipe rum cake.

Blake was in a daze as I went over the terms. His father and the advisor asked a few questions but they mainly wanted to know where the contract mentioned the $105,000 signing bonus and where his first assignment would be. I showed them Addendum A which said he would be assigned to the Rookie team. Addendum B confirmed his $105,000 signing bonus to be paid as follows: $50,000 due 30 days after the contract is approved by the Commissioner's office with the balance due opening day of the 2006 season. They were a bit miffed at the payout terms but realized there wasn't much they could do about it. Blake's old man signed first. His hand could hardly settle down to sign. Sweat was dripping down his forehead. Blake, on the other hand, quickly stroked his name without much emotion or fanfare.

"Thanks Pops," he told his father as the two stood and embraced each other. The whole house went up in a loud cheer. Within minutes I had a champagne glass in my hand and was asked to give a toast. I gave my usually congratulatory speech, first to the parents for their countless hours of playing catch, washing uniforms, and driving Blake to practice, games, and tournaments. Then I congratulate Blake with a warning that it won't be easy from that point forward. Only about 20% of the players picked in rounds 6 through 10 make it to the Big Show. It will take a large degree of commitment and sacrifice to the game. But that the club was confident that Blake would be up to the task which is why we drafted him.

Two weeks later, Blake showed up at the Rookie team with a little problem. A torn UCL - ulnar collateral ligament. After a bit of questioning, it seemed he felt something go wrong after a throw to from third to first during his guest player appearance that fateful Saturday afternoon. He thought it would just go away. No need to tell anybody. The doctor with the Rookie team recommended Tommy John surgery and we voided his contract. Almost five months after surgery, his rehab was going well and on target. Although the success rate is 85% for a full recovery, he'll probably re-enter next year's draft and sit through all 50 rounds without getting a call. He apologized several times to me this last weekend. I told him to forget about it. The kid just wanted to play ball and was in complete denial. I got burned. It happens.

Anyhow, I'm traveling to Orlando tomorrow to prepare for the Triple Crown Thanksgiving Disney Tournament held at Disney's Wide World of Sports. I don't have much use for Turkey day anymore. I'll probably go to Boston Market for a turkey carver sandwich. The farther away I can get from my Thanksgiving memories the better.

By the way, Donald DeSear and Logan Copper are visiting Russell Reed this Friday evening. Since I'm going to be in Orlando, they wanted me to stop by to extend my congratulations. Rumor is that Russell Reed has agreed to sign for a cool million and that his last name is already stitched into a uniform that's hanging in a locker room down in Puerto Rico. He'll take the first flight out Saturday morning and be in the lineup for their evening game. But I'm not holding my breath that any of this will come true.

Choke-Up (Part II)

2005-11-22T23:28:00.000-05:00

I ran into Blake Parsons at the WWBA World Championship. "Who the heck is he?" you ask. If you may recall, I had two of my eight draftees go unsigned. I already told you about one of them: Russell Reed. But just when you think things couldn't get much worse than the Russell Reed situation, please allow me to introduce you to Blake Parsons. 8th Round pick from a high school juggernaut in Ft. Lauderdale that I call "The Factory." The kid was a strong five tool prospect that could play either third base or the outfield. I even saw a touch of the sixth tool in him. More on that later.

I remember calling him the weekend before the draft. It was a Saturday morning and all was well. He acknowledged his expectation of going in the top ten rounds and was very upfront about needing a six figure signing bonus. That wasn't a problem for us. However, I knew we probably couldn't wait past the 8th round to pick him because Philadelphia and Kansas City were scouting him pretty hard.

I prodded him about college. It was abundantly clear that college was not an option. The kid was going pro all the way. I asked him what he was planning to do in the week leading up to the draft.

"Nothin' much," he responded, oblivious to my intentions.

His club team didn't have any games scheduled, so I figured I was safe. Unfortunately, he failed to let me know that he was invited as a guest player to participate in a local tournament that same afternoon and Sunday.

Draft day came around and I was rather insistent that we had to pick this kid in the eighth round or better. As the sixth round came to a close, our GM called Philadelphia and Kansas City to feel them out as to where they might go in the coming rounds. Both clubs indicated pitching. It was hard to tell, however, if this was just a decoy. We jumped on Parsons in the eighth. I called to congratulate him and as you would expect he was elated and immediately wanted to work out the details. We came to a verbal agreement and I set a time to meet with him and his family.

(to be continued)

Choke-Up (Part I)

2005-11-21T23:05:00.000-05:00

Sigh. I know... I know. Too long in between posts. Won't happen again. Would it help if I told you that my hotel didn't have high speed access? Somebody mentioned dial up but I refused to take the plunge back into ancient history.

Let me tell you something, the Roger Dean Stadium Complex is as premier a venue as you can find for tournament play. The WWBA tournament showed a bunch of talent. It was a great opportunity for me to compare my prospects with those around the country. As a scout, you normally don't have a good feel about how your local kids stack up against those in other regions. You'd like to think they stack up better, but that's really for the national cross-checkers and the national scouting director to ultimately determine on draft day.

Tomorrow, I'll talk about some of the new talent I spotted as well as some of the old faces I was glad to hook up with. But today, I wanted to go into a couple things that simply made me sick. So sick I just wanted to barf all over the diamond.

First of all, I can't stand parents that ride their kids like there's no tomorrow. I see this high school senior who's having a decent night at the plate. His fielding, however, was a bit less than to be desired. His downfall started in the fourth inning. He was already 2 for 2 on offense when he lost a deep pop fly in the gap between center and right field. What should have been a routine third out, he bobbled it miserably and fell head over heals onto the warning track. Runners on second and third scored. When he eventually got back to the dugout, his coach couldn't even get a word in edgewise because his "jack---" father had come down out of the stands to completely belittle his son for "losing the game." Sure enough, his son, brimming with confidence, ended the day 2 for 5 and watched his team lose by one run. As he sat dejected on the end of the bench, I heard his father announce loudly, "Let him walk back to the hotel. Good for nothing."

You have to wonder if the kid would be playing baseball if it weren't for his father pushing it down his throat. It is so difficult to prospect kids with over-the-top parents. You never know whether deep down they really want to play ball or whether it's just their parents' dream for them. But it is something that I take notice of. It can hurt a prospect if I think his parents are pushing too hard. I want a kid that hasn't been pushed by anyone but himself. Because when he starts to go from hotel to hotel on the road in the minors, he's going to be tested. He's going to have slumps. He's going to have rough times. You have to be mentally strong. You have to really want to play ball. Period. Or else you're gone.

Second thing that annoyed me was the kid with red contact lenses. Talk about trying to get every little bit of an advantage. I guess it was Nike that released these new lenses to a select few. How this kid got a pair I'll never know. Maybe his folks knew someone, but it was really freaky to see him walking around with red eyes. Apparently it filters out both ultraviolet and blue light making it easier to see the ball. Although he wasn't a top prospect coming into the tournament, he attracted quite a bit of attention batting .525 with three homers. I don't quite know where I stand on this. Half of me says it's cheating. Almost like putting your eyes on steroids. If you can pick the ball up quicker, no doubt you will have more time to react and the pitch will seem slower. The other half of me says you still have to put the bat on the ball. For years, guys playing outfield have worn shades to block out the sun. What difference is this?

Wild Pitch

2005-11-17T23:29:00.000-05:00

Today was the opening night for the World Wood Bat Association Championship held in Jupiter, Florida. Mainly just registration and I believe a couple games tonight. My main focus over the weekend, however, will be on the ten or so potential draft picks from my area that will be playing. All high school players. The tournament gives me a great opportunity to meet the parents and get a feel for what they would like little Johnny to do after graduation.

This brings me to one of the more important decisions on whether I recommend a prospect for the draft: signability. Take for example a conversation I had this evening with a father in our hotel lobby. His son is a very talented senior who plays for a high school in Jacksonville, Florida.

"So how's Chet been hitting the ball this fall?" I ask to start the conversation.

"Really good. Finally getting some decent opposite field shots. Becoming less and less of a pull hitter," answered the father, a true salesman with an eye for what he thinks we're looking for.

"Give him time. Nothing wrong with being a pull hitter as long as he continues to get the same results. Most college coaches will tell you the same thing."

"Well, as you know Cutter, he's not looking to play college."

"Doesn't that depend on where he's drafted?"

"Like I said, he's not looking to play college. We've been in contact with at least six other clubs that are interested in him."

"Oh yeah. That's great. Who's my competition?"

"You'll probably see them around this weekend."

I knew he probably wouldn't divulge the different clubs but it never hurts to ask. I then followed up with a question that really cuts to the heart of the matter. "So where do you think he'll go in the draft?"

"At least the fifth round," he answered without hesitation.

This was a total lie. No doubt a negotiating tactic. The kid was closer to the tenth round in my book. The difference in money between the fifth round and the tenth round could be a very low six figure amount. So at least I know how far apart we are.

"And if he goes in like the thirteenth round?" I asked.

"That won't happen."

"But if it did?"

"Won't happen."

"How about the tenth round?"

"We'll cross that bridge at that time."

In other words, I'm not giving you anymore ammunition. He'd probably go the Juco route with anything worse than the tenth round. I quickly make a mental note of our conversation and will make it part of his file when I update his report this weekend.

Warning Track

2005-11-14T22:08:00.000-05:00

Been out of pocket for the last five or so days. Can't quite explain other than I've got my good days and bad days. On one of my good days I was able to stop by South Georgia College this weekend to see their fall showcase. Manny had about a dozen players in his three-ring binder that were at the showcase. It was a good opportunity for me to see what they had and to scope out any talent that he either had missed or were up and coming HS juniors that he had never seen.

Fall showcases are a great place to see my prospects at work. Many of their workouts are like mini-exhibitions in hitting, running, fielding, throwing, etc. It's perfect for me. And there's always some time afterwards to talk with the players to see where they are coming from and where they want to go. Of course, college might be their aspiration and I certainly wouldn't talk a kid out of going to college if his heart was dead set on enrolling. I learned a long time ago that if the kid is leaning towards college...let him go. I'll still track him in college.

Now, don't mistake my comment for preferring a college kid over a high school kid. I'm not like my friend the "stat boy" who seems to ignore all high school talent in order to focus on his "can't miss" college wonderboys.

For me, however, they've been more like Pillsbury doughboys. Take the first baseman at Macon University that I scouted last week. You couldn't get a more pear shaped body than that kid. Short and stocky. I just wanted to poke him. Maybe I could scarf up some Toll-House cookie crumbs that he left on the basepath. What a treat for opposing hitters who get on first.

For those of you who know about OFP (Overall Future Potential) scores, he scored a whopping 36. If you just show up to the field, you get a 20. The best you can score is 80. The average major league player is 50. A fringe prospect starts at 40.

Let's start with his speed. He batted lefty (thank goodness) and I clocked him to first at 5.0 seconds. That's slower than molasses going uphill in the winter time. So, on a scale from 2 to 8, he got a 2. At the end, you add up the points and multiply by 2 to get his OFP. I also do a future OFP to see what he could become. He still got a 2 on the future OFP. I don't see him improving to a 4.4 which is what it would take to improve his score.

Next is fielding. He wasn't too fleet of foot when the ball was hit in his direction. The second baseman bailed him out on a slow dribbler that I was sure he could get to. He also misplayed several dirt balls where he failed to scoop it up properly. Present OFP for fielding was a 3. Future OFP same.

Arm strength is the next tool. It was pretty much dead center. No life. OFP was a 3. Future OFP same.

Hitting is where he had some potential. He had short arms which was to his advantage. Should get to the ball quicker. Not as many holes either. His rhythm was smooth. It wasn't like he was up their chopping down a tree. He was never off-balance either.

He seemed like he had a good strategy at the plate. He never took the first pitch and sometimes he even watched the second one. What I liked most was what he did with two strikes. He was aggressive. Not afraid to strike out. No fear. I could tell he was a survivor due to his hitting ability. This was probably why "stat boy" latched onto him.

Hitting for average, I gave him a 5 on the present OFP. A 5 on the future OFP. Hitting for power, I gave him a 5 on the present OFP and a 6 on the future OFP.

There you have it "stat boy." Read it and weap. Your "can't miss" prospect is a "no prospect" in my book.

Fyi...the 17th starts the HS Wood Bat Championship in Jupiter, Florida. I'll be there with about a million other scouts.

Change Up Cluster

2005-11-09T22:20:00.000-05:00

What a fiasco. The Russell Reed situation keeps getting worse. Our illustrious GM, Logan Cooper, decided to stay in Indian Wells, California, and listen to Bud Selig address the GM's at their annual meeting. Probably not a bad idea to stick around for Bud's speech but he never should've hinted to Reed and his advisors that he might take the company jet to Orlando for a half-day to personally discuss the boy's contract.

Can you imagine Reed and his father's delight to find out that Donald DeSear was there to save the day because they weren't important enough to get the GM who originally said he would be there, but later backed out! Think that you, as a parent, would have a bit of a problem with that? Damn, I know I would. From what I heard, DeSear practically got ran out of the house. The only thing that bought him more time was having Logan call during one of his five minute breaks in between meetings.

Logan apologized for not being able to make it but announced his confidence in Donald DeSear as being fully prepared to bring our organization's best offer to the table. He also said he looked forward to getting Reed down to Puerto Rico for some winter ball as soon as the AFL ends. Reed's father and their agent were livid. Perhaps something will happen tomorrow before DeSear leaves town. But I'm not holding my breath.

Three Total Plate Appearances

2005-11-08T23:55:00.000-05:00

If I see another Cracker Barrel on I-75 I'm gonna puke. I swear there's one at every exit. And the sad thing is, I've eaten at three different CB's in the last three days. Sunday, I was in Winter Haven checking out a handful of players at the Florida AAU Fall Classic. Had the homestyle chicken dinner special that night. Monday, I headed up to Tifton, Georgia to have dinner with a high school coach that Manny was tight with. He had something that resembled meatloaf and I had Momma's pancake breakfast...for dinner. And this afternoon, I had a half-pound bacon cheeseburger with steak fries dipped in mayo. Now that I've blown my budget, it's back to Wendy's. Dollar chili and dollar frosty.

Anyhow, after lunch I headed to Warner Robbins, Georgia to watch Middle Georgia State workout. I was there to check out five players. The two outfielders that Manny was tracking and the three senior position players that "stat boy" sent me. I wasn't impressed with any of them. The three recommended by "stat boy" lacked so many tools. One was so fat that he . . . on second thought, some things are best not said. Forget I even mentioned it. Now, if my sport's psychologist buddy were reading this (and he just might be) he'd probably go looking for my cell phone number so he could get on my ass for holding back. I must admit that I've held back entirely too much over the last several weeks and well...to be perfectly honest...I'm overdue. Maybe tomorrow will be your lucky day and I'll go "Billy Martin" on something or someone.

Incidentally, "stat boy" emailed me four junior college players on Monday. Two from Perry, GA and Two from Milledgeville, GA. Where ever the heck they are? All of which failed to grace the pages of Manny's 4 inch, three-ring binder for Georgia and South Carolina prospects. I was about to delete the reports from my inbox when curiosity got the better of me. I printed these out as well as his other reports and added them to the back of Manny's binder. Proving somebody wrong was like hitting a walk-off homer.

I emailed "stat boy" to let him know that I'm going to visit Macon University tomorrow to see what his "can't miss first baseman" actually looks like. I didn't tell him that I was really going to look at the pitcher that Manny was so impressed with. If I read "can't miss" one more time in his scouting reports, I'm definitely gonna to puke.

Damn, I almost forgot. I have to call DeSear tonight. He left a voice mail for me right before stepping on a three hour flight from Denver to Orlando. Both he and our club's GM, Logan Copper, were headed for Orlando to meet with you know who-- Russell Reed and his entourage. Let me just put it this way, the GM doesn't go flying around the country visiting second round draft picks unless something big was about to happen. I should have some news tomorrow.

Forget Uncle Charlie

2005-11-06T18:55:00.000-05:00

Now I had two smelly overweight scouts crowding me behind home plate. Dallas glided his 6’5”, 230 pound frame into a cadence that was ready to eat innings. Although he was sluggish in the pen, his arm began to look more lively and fluid which each new pitch. On the surface, his mechanics were smooth, effortless and consistent from one pitch to another. His delivery was at high three-quarter angle with pretty much the same release point every time

Through two innings of work, I could tell he had about five pitches: Heater, cutter, sinker, curve, and splitter. His heater had a tendency to ride high in the zone from time to time. Both his cutter and sinker painted each of the corners nicely. The splitter was extra special since it came out looking like a fastball until it dropped off the table causing the batter to contort in ways you thought were humanly impossible. His curve, however, was very unpredictable control-wise and needed the most work.

I was happy to see Diego giving him fits. Dallas eventually struck him out but not before a nine pitch battle. I’ve known for a long time that Diego had a hole on the inside about waist high. Dallas finally threw enough pitches to find it with a sinker. I guess you could say that Dallas had won the battle but Diego won the war.

After just two innings of work, it was obvious that Dallas had thrown way too many pitches. 48 to be exact. He was routinely falling behind in the count which put added pressure on him to throw strikes. At first, it looked like he wasn't going to handle the pressure. He would punch the ball into his glove, kick the rubber in frustration, and blow off several choice expletives. But after a while, I noticed that his anger was a source of motivation. It also seemed to intensify his concentration. He was able to deliver the strike when he needed it. There was no question that he got better instead of worse under pressure.

Unfortunately, my radar gun told a slightly different story. Dallas was taking something off his pitch to get the location he needed. His heater dropped to around 87 MPH. In essence, he was trying to place the ball tentatively instead of attacking the plate with confidence. The two other scouts noticed it as well. A certain kiss of death at the next level.

But at this level, he had only given up two hits, two walks, and no runs. The third and fourth innings were pretty much a repeat with slightly less pitches thrown. Nevertheless, Dallas had thrown a total of 91 pitches through four innings. His coach did the right thing and sat him down for good when he came back to the dugout. No sense wasting his arm. Through four innings, he had given up four hits, three walks, and one run. It was Diego who actually lined a curve ball to the right field corner scoring a man who had previously hit a single but stole second.

To me, the catcher called too many curve balls early in the count. Dallas should have called off the curve and thrown his heater. All four hits came off his curve ball. He had plenty of motion but zero deception. In fact, I’ll have the check the video to confirm this, but I believe he was raising his elbow causing a higher release point. If a batter sees a different release point and knows a curve is coming, it’s a huge advantage.

The good news is that movement and secondary pitches can be tweaked and taught. Velocity on the other hand, is something you’re born with. Fortunately for Dallas, his genetic code registered a 94 MPH fastball. Unfortunately for me, the name “Dallas Parker” will be spreading much faster than that.

"It is better to throw a theoretically poorer pitch whole-heartedly, than to throw the so-called right pitch with feeling of doubt..." --Sandy Koufax, in A Thinking Man's Guide to Baseball by Leonard Koppett.

Caught Looking

2005-11-05T18:37:00.000-05:00

I believe it was Yogi Berra that once said, "Baseball is 90% mental, the other half is physical." That brings me to Dallas Parker. Yesterday afternoon I arrived at Wekiva Community College not knowing what to expect. The coach and I spoke on Thursday about getting Dallas at least five innings of work so I could see what this kid could do. I peeked over at the bullpen and saw Dallas warming up. Whew. At least he made it to the field.

I walked over to the pen to get a feel for his pitches. For those of you who don't know, I'll let you in on a little secret. When a pitcher warms up, he sometimes signals to the catcher what is coming next. If he waves his glove forward, it's a fastball; pulls it back for a changeup; moves it side to side for a slider; turns it over for a curve; and pushes it down for a splitter or forkball. Makes it easier for me to understand what I just saw.

He looked a bit sluggish on the hill. Not quite the pop when I first saw him. Still some good movement though. The forkball totally fell off the table and plugged itself in the dirt. A couple more pitches and the coach signaled Dallas to the mound. I took off to find my seat behind home plate. Of course, I had all the weapons with me: Jugs radar gun, notepad and pen to record each pitch thrown, and a video recorder.

Making my way over behind home plate, I was horrified to see two scouts from opposing teams sitting exactly where I was going to sit! It was too late for me to turn around when they spotted me.

"Hey Cutter. Diego gonna pitch?" one of the scouts asked, pointing to my radar gun.

Dammit. They came to watch Diego at third but now they're going to find out about Dallas. Gone are the days when top talent goes unnoticed until draft day. In the back of my mind, I sorta hoped that would be the situation with Dallas. I should've known better. If you're really good, you're not a secret for long.

"Well look who it is. Dumb and dumber. Don't you guys have some expensive talent to watch elsewhere," I replied, knowing each of their team's payroll was significantly higher than my club's. "You're in my damn seat. Move it."

"Why? You lookin' at a pitcher?" the other scout asked as he spit into a cup. It was a courtesy to give up the seat right behind home plate if someone needed to clock a pitcher and you didn't.

"No, I've got my radar gun just to see how fast your new GM fires your candy ass. Of course, I'm looking at a damn pitcher."

They both eyed each other and smirked. I could see what they were thinking. Old Cutter's lost his mind. There's no pitchers around here. They vacated their seats and started to move down third base line.

"How's Russell Reed?" one of them asked, knowing whole-heartedly that he was putting my face into a pile of crap. I immediately flipped him a bird. Jerk. He would've killed for the opportunity to take Reed but he knew damn well we hadn't signed him yet.

As the players took the field, Dallas stepped into his office and began to throw his final warm up pitches. I looked over at the two. Both had stopped talking. I think I even saw some dribble coming down one of their chins as Dallas delivered a four-seamer that topped 93 MPH. I had to admit that it was comical to watch the two overweight scouts practically knock each other down trying to get out to the parking lot. Seconds later they returned with you know what-- their freaking radar guns.

0 for 4 and One Error

2005-11-03T22:59:00.000-05:00

No takers on the scouting report? Maybe some other time. Before I go on though, understand that most of my brethren believe that the kid I watched tonight will go in the first round. I counted seven scouts in the stands. Of course, I knew all of them, but many if not most of the parents didn't have a clue. To their credit, however, it's not like we go around with our team's logo on our chest. It just works better that way. They don't need to know us, but we know them only if we need to.

Anyhow, the kid went 0 for 4 tonight and kicked a ball while playing short for one error. My friend over at Performance Scouting, Inc., is probably writing this kid off as I type. On second thought, he did have one walk. That should count towards his precious on-base percentage. And did I mention that I received another email from my friend today? A statistical batting analysis of every catcher that plays college ball in Georgia. Can you believe that crap? I tried emailing to mention that he's wasting his time. I'll let you know if he responds. FYI...his email address had the name of a law school in central Georgia after the @ symbol. There went my Harvard theory.
The fundamental difference between me and "the stat boy" is what I can see this kid becoming. I could care less that the kid went 0 for 4. It's how he went 0 for 4 that concerns me the most. Compare these two extremes. On one hand, let's say he grounded out on the first pitch thrown to him on each of his at bats. On the other, let's say he caused the pitchers to deliver over 35 pitches in his five plate appearances. Which 0 for 4 performance would you take?

As a scout, it's actually valuable for me to see a talented kid go 0 for 4. How well does he handle the disappointment of going 0 for 4? He better handle it well because when he gets to the minors, I can guarantee he will have dry spells. Most kids coming out of high school aren't used to dry spells. They are used to dominating. But if he throws his helmet, utters a buffet of four-letter words, fails to re-focus himself, and drags his teammates down with him, I'm looking elsewhere.

Does he run out the play at full speed or dog it down to first? I've got my stopwatch going from the moment the ball makes contact with his bat until the moment his foot stomps the bag at first. If he dogs it, I can't get a good read on his speed and that is extremely frustrating for a scout.

How does he carry himself after kicking a ball into the dirt at shortstop? Is he visibly shaken. Does his anger carry over to the next batter, or worse -- the next inning. I've seen talented kids strike out on their first two at-bats and become so distraught that it's a gimme they're going 0 for 4 that night. A player's ability to put things behind him and move on is an extremely important skill in baseball and cannot be overstated. Maybe "the stat boy" can get me some numbers on kids who start the game 0 for 2 and end up 2 for 4?

Seriously, tomorrow I go back to northern Orlando to watch Dallas Parker pitch. Hopefully he can stick it out for five innings and not cause a bench-clearing brawl beforehand.

Foul Territory (Part II)

2005-11-02T22:25:00.000-05:00

Driving across Alligator Alley this morning on my way to watch South Dade Community College, I figured I would call the company that emailed me those three scouting reports yesterday. Of course, a machine picked up. I wasn't surprised to hear some punk who's voice was still crackling from puberty. "Ah, thanks for calling Performance Scouting. Please leave a message and I'll call you back. Bye bye."

Sad to say, his voice did seem somewhat familiar. Too familiar actually. In fact, I was sure that I had heard him before but I just couldn't place when, where, or who.

After listening to his message though, I'd bet all my chips that he was just some pencil pushing, Harvard grad who's never faced anything faster than the pitching machines at his local batting cages. I didn't bother to leave a message. But that didn't deter him from emailing me two more scouting reports this afternoon. These two players were from Macon University. Again, both seniors. And again, my territory. One was a pitcher and the other a first baseman. Manny had been tracking the pitcher but not the first baseman.

Of course I read the reports, word for word, stat for stat. The audacity of someone trying to do my job for me. And I didn't like his style one bit. He had so much to learn about writing scouting reports. There were way too many statistics. Not enough words. Not enough description about the player and his tools. No comparisons to other MLB players he's seen. No vision about what this prospect could become in the future. To make matters worse, the guy threw in his own commentary. For example, on the first baseman's report, he'd write, "Burke's on-base percentage of .505, the most important isolated offensive statistic, is the best in his conference and quite frankly-- insane." I couldn't give two craps about an isolated offensive statistic.

At first base, I want a bat that can hit in the top half of the order with some definite power potential. Give me someone that I can see evolving into a Todd Helton or Eddie Murray type hitter. But I also want some nimble footwork, soft hands, and a laser accurate throw. That's what makes my first basemen different from the others. Some scouts, especially the lazy ones, will trade or even sacrifice a first baseman's defensive tools in favor of their offensive firepower. Granted, top hitters are at a premium, but bad defense at first can lose championships. Just ask the 1986 Red Sox.

Tomorrow I head up coast to St. Lucie JC and then catch an U18 AAU scrimmage in Vero Beach at 7:30pm. I'll probably get back to my hotel at 10pm, so look for my post sometime after that. The U18 scrimmage will feature one of the nation's top five-toolers. I would imagine at least a half dozen scouts will be there to watch this high school phenom. Maybe I'll post my own scouting report on the kid just to show you folks what I'm talking about? If you're interested, post a comment and I'll put my scouting report up for show tomorrow night; otherwise I'll move on to something else.

Foul Territory (Part I)

2005-11-01T23:55:00.000-05:00

I'm down here in southwest Florida trying to catch some JuCo workouts. I watched Venice Community College and Ft. Myers Community College yesterday. There were four potential draft prospects that I wanted to touch base with. All sophomores. Two pitchers, one shortstop, and one center fielder. Not outstanding ball players but all should go in the bottom third.

Today, I was able to see Golden Gate College and Naples JC in their afternoon workouts. There were two freshmen for Naples JC that I would consider to be draft and follow material. Both were drafted out of high school in the 40+ rounds but neither signed. I actually scouted them in high school and had them both projected to go somewhere near the 35th round. That's why it didn't surprise me to see several of my scouting counterparts watching them too. No doubt there would be some competition for their services in the coming draft.

Back at my hotel at the end of the day, I opened the old laptop. My routine is to update my reports on the players that I'm following for the upcoming draft and to submit new reports for kids that I'll be following for the draft in 2007. Each evening, these reports are automatically sent to Donald DeSear, our national scouting director and to our 35-year old GM, Logan Cooper. Occasionally, I would get an email back from them wanting additional information on particular players.

Checking my email for any such requests, I noticed one that didn't quite have the look of SPAM but I also didn't have a clue who sent it to me. As I opened it, I saw several scouting reports, or rather attempted scouting reports, for three position players. The trio were seniors at a small four-year college in Warner Robbins, Georgia. My territory. But what stood out the most was the amount of statistical data in the reports. Different types of statistics too. For example, there was one stat that measured the percentage of pitches outside the strike zone that the player swung at. There was also a heavy emphasis on walks, on-base percentage, and slugging percentage. Blah. Nonsense.

It just wasn't how I looked at baseball. To me, the foundation of baseball was and always will be embedded in the five tools: Hitting for average, hitting for power, fielding, arm strength, and speed. My job is to evaluate and project what a player can become based on his tools, not his statistics.

I looked over at the large three ring binder lying on my bed. It was the scouting reports for my part of Georgia and South Carolina that Manny had completed. Just for kicks, I walked over to it and flipped it open to Georgia. I thumbed my way over to Middle Georgia State College. He was scouting two outfielders. Neither of which were the three players mentioned in the email. That bothered me. Did he even give these guys a look? If so, what did he think of them?

The reports came from some company that I've never heard of before. The person who sent the email wrote at the bottom that if I was interested in getting more of these reports for prospects in my territory that I could call the number below. I was curious more than anything as to why they chose to look at three different players than what Manny was looking at. Did they not look at the two that Manny was tracking? Or perhaps they did take a look but didn't like what they saw? If so, why?

I can't believe I'm even considering calling that company tomorrow. I really don't need any help. Especially from some punk who probably graduated from Harvard with a math degree and never played a lick of ball in his entire life.

A Utility Player (Part II)

2005-10-30T23:08:00.000-05:00

As I sat down at his kitchen table yesterday, I heard the most annoying song coming from a stuffed pink dinosaur over on the coach. I didn’t know what was more scary, a pink dinosaur singing about one big family or the fact that his little girl hummed the song almost note for note. Dallas scrambled to find a video to pop in the VCR and before I knew it, the stuffed pink dinosaur actually came to life on the television screen. The little bugger had his own video. And his daughter was glued to it.

Dallas then poured some water into an Oakland A’s mug and took several gulps. “So what do you want to talk about?”

“I’ll be frank,” I said. “I’ve driven close to 50,000 miles this year and nobody has thrown a 91 mile an hour cutter with that kind of break at the end. All I could think of was Mariano Rivera. Of course, his is more like 95 miles an hour but let’s face it, he’s a closer.”

The compliment didn’t impress Dallas. His face was stone cold serious. I decided to see if I could loosen him up by talking about his high school years. “I stopped by to see your high school coach Friday afternoon. He said you had a decent fastball but not much else.”

“Figures. He over-pitched me. In the final game of districts he left me out to dry. The ninth inning came around and I was over 130 pitches. He signaled the catcher for me to throw another fastball. I threw it right down the middle and gave up a three run shot. We lost. Season over. Just two days prior the jerk kept me in to pitch a complete game!”

I jotted down a quick note about the DeBary coach abusing his pitchers. “You didn’t play your senior year, did you?”

“I couldn’t play,” he said, pointing to his daughter. “She was born just two weeks after I gave up that three run shot. I worked nonstop all summer and ended up dropping out midway through my senior year so both my wife and I could work full-time. We did that for about 18 months. Now my wife is a manager at Wal-Mart making enough money for me to go back to school and play ball. But when my daughter’s sick, daycare won’t take her and I have to stay home. That’s why I missed practice.”

And here I thought he was kicking back in a lazy chair watching SportsCenter. “What about your parents, or her parents?”

“What about them?”

“Can’t they help?”

“Let’s see. My pop’s in jail. Haven’t seen my momma since I was five. Her family’s disowned her ever since she got pregnant. Besides, they’re worse off than us. And that’s not sayin’ much. So to answer your question-- no.”

We talked some more about how he was able to stay in shape over the last two years. He pointed to a dirt mound out back with a home plate 60’6” away. Behind home was a net tied between several oak trees to catch balls. A weight bench was in a shed behind the swing set but from what I could see, the plates were all rusted and the barbell looked bent beyond use. I asked if he had somebody coaching him during his last two years off. He simply pointed at himself.

I had to see him pitch again. He let me know that he was scheduled to pitch during an intra-squad scrimmage later this week and that he would try to convince the coach to keep him in for at least five innings of work. I told him not to worry and that I would personally call the coach to make sure of it. Fortunately for me, I was able to leave as the annoying pink dinosaur began his grand finale, “ . . . I love you . . . you love me . . .” Slam went the front door.

A Utility Player (Part I)

2005-10-29T20:56:00.000-05:00

This Saturday morning I thought I would head over to Dallas Parker's house to see why he blew off practice yesterday. I tried the number that the coach gave me but it was disconnected. Worse scenario was that if he wasn't home, I would make my way over to several U18 games in Melbourne. Needless to say, I never made it Melbourne.

Dallas lived out in the sticks. I took State Road 46 out to a little town called Sorrento. Passed the railroad tracks and then made a right turn at the first intersection. Went north a couple miles until I passed a graveyard. A mailbox with the name "Parker" suddenly appeared from behind a big oak tree on the right side of the road. Going too fast as usual, I passed the driveway entrance. Putting the car into reverse on this deserted country road wasn't an issue.

As I turned into the entrance, I could see a single-wide trailer set back about 50 yards. No cars were parked out front. The property did have at least twenty mature oak trees which provided a nice thick canopy. The grass driveway was well worn and grooved by years of tire traffic. I parked next to the trailer and verified the house number the coach gave me with the numbers glued over the front door. Perfect match.

I jumped out of my car, hurried up the steps, and knocked on the trailer door. No answer. Gave it another knock. Again, no answer. However, I did start to hear a faint giggle from a little girl. I couldn't tell if it was coming from inside the trailer or perhaps behind it. All the blinds were pulled and I couldn't see inside. The giggle started to get a bit louder. It had to be coming from the back yard. I made my way down the steps and slowly walked around to the back.

About 25 yards behind the trailer was an old weathered swing set. A little girl with long blonde hair was swinging away from me in the other direction. She was giggling but in between swings she had this terrible cough. Really deep sounding.

Pushing her was Dallas. Even with his back to me I could spot him from a mile away. He was dressed in a white t-shirt, faded jeans, and flip-flops.

"Push me higher, Daddy," the little girl said.

Dallas obliged. And I was crushed. I too had a little girl once and I could swear that she said the same thing to me over and over at our neighborhood park. I used to push her for hours. She would laugh and I would reluctantly count the minutes until I had to go to practice. We would rush over to the ice cream parlor before meeting up with her mother at the stadium. Oh, did I hate practice. It took me away from spending time with my little girl. I didn't even know her and she was almost six. Before I knew it she was ten and her brother was three. Then thirteen and six. Sixteen and nine. And now thirty-one and twenty-four respectively.

Yeah, Dallas had some personal issues alright. And I was determined to help.

Blown Start

2005-10-28T17:34:00.000-05:00

I figured I would show up at the practice field a little early to see if I could watch Dallas throw. Diego, on the other hand, was taking infield practice and looked very crisp. Each time I come out and look at Diego I swear he knocks off a couple rounds in the next draft. I felt like a proud papa as I walked over to where the pitchers were doing a long toss drill. To my dismay, however, the project was nowhere in sight.

"He no-showed practice," the Wekiva coach announced as he jogged over from across the field.

Who did this kid think he was? He's just a freaking walk-on. Never played one single game of college yet. Plus he knew ahead of time that I was coming to talk to him. Ordinarily that's strike one, two, and three.

"I can give you his address and phone number if you're still interested. He's got your cell phone just in case something came up today."

"Has he blown off much practice this fall?" I asked.

The coach nodded. "Botton line, the boy can pitch. I'm gonna give him every shot to play. He's just got some personal issues. And like you said yesterday, he's a project."

Yeah, but that was when I didn't have three states to cover. Project's take time and a whole lot of effort. But then again, not too many kids on my radar screen hit 95 MPH. Two kids to be exact. Dallas would make it three. With that thought, my cell phone rang.

"See, that's probably him," the coach said.

I looked down at the caller ID but didn't recognize the number. It wasn't local either. I answered in a tone that voiced my displeasure for being inconvenienced.

"Ah, Mr. Jones?"

"Who's this?"

"Seth Goldbaum, sir," answered a young man probably in his mid-twenties.

Where have I heard that name before? He wasn't a prospect. Not a parent. Not an agent. Then it hit me. This was the same person that's been emailing the crap out of me. And now he's got my cell phone number. It was easy to just to ignore his emails but now he's taken it to another level!

"Listen Goldie, I don't need any help. Stop bothering--"

"That's not what Mr. Bradford told me," he interrupted. "You have three states now. I'll do anything to get my foot in the door sir. I'll get you Starbucks every morning. I'll type your reports. I'll . . ."

"Forget it," I said as I folded my flip phone. I work alone. Period. I don't even drink coffee. It was disappointing enough that Dallas was nowhere to be found. I took the coach up on his offer to give me Dallas' address and phone number. Much to my surprise, Dallas had pitched at DeBary High School during his junior year but sat out his senior year for, you guessed it, personal reasons. I had just enough time to stop by DeBary High this afternoon to talk with their head coach. A nice fellow but relucatant to give me much information. He remembers Dallas as a 6'3" kid weighing around 180 pounds. A decent fastball around 87 MPH but no movement whatsoever on any of his other pitches. No control either. And I seemed to get the hint that he wasn't just talking about the kid's pitching. I don't know about you but I'm starting not to like this kid. He's probably at home sitting back in his lazy chair trying to steal some ideas for his next act while watching Sports Center.

Anyhow, Dallas would have to wait until tomorrow. I have to catch a conference call this evening with the GM of the club. Wants to talk about my part in recommending the still unsigned Russell Reed. Apparently they're looking to blame someone for this fiasco. I'm sure Mr. DeSear promptly lied his butt off when the heat came his way. I wonder if he has pictures of somebody? I mean that's the only way he's still employed. What a jerk. Oh, that felt good.

Brushback

2005-10-27T21:09:00.000-05:00

I slam down the phone in utter frustration. Some would say my job is simple. Find the players, evaluate them, and sign them. Hardly. Tell that to the parents of a kid that we drafted out of high school four years ago in the 14th round. Mommie and Daddy just called me to say he's not making it. Bounced between A and AA. And to top it off, he's got a bad case of what I call "minor leagueitus." A debilitating disease that strikes the heart with an attitude that says, "I should be up at the Big Show by now-- maybe I've made a mistake."

Then comes the finger pointing. His parents claim that I said their son would have a better shot at playing pro baseball rather than pro football. Not true. Never said such a thing. Funny how people make up things that were never said in order to support what they themselves were thinking and believing four years ago. They went on to claim that but for my representations, little Johnny would've played football for Clemson on a full-ride. Now that's why scouts, in general, don't like dual sport athletes. I thought little Johnny would be the exception to the rule but unfortunately he forgot how to find the strike zone. That's the type of crap I have to deal with.

And it always seems to be worse when I'm trying to get some work done in my home office. Take for example my ex-boss, Toby Bradford. If you remember, both he and I are now area scouts in charge of Florida, Alabama, Mississippi, Georgia, and South Carolina. At first, it started with a harmless email volley about how we were going to divide the territory. Then it suddenly elevated into a string of thirty minute telephone calls. Much of it had to do with a stack of three ring binders on top of my desk. Each contained hundreds of scouting reports from Alabama, Mississippi, Georgia, and South Carolina. Manny had Georgia and South Carolina while Rhett had Alabama and Mississippi.

Manny had been at it much longer than Rhett and it showed. Not only did Manny have twice as many prospects, but his reports were much more detailed and polished than Rhett's. It was no surprise that Toby wanted Georgia and South Carolina but because he lives in Birmingham, he pretty much had no choice but to take Mississippi and Alabama. Knowing that I couldn't take all of Georgia, South Carolina, and Florida, Toby decided he would take everything north of I-20 in both Georgia and South Carolina. Since Atlanta and Columbia were for the most part divided by I-20, Toby would take Atlanta and I would take Columbia. So I got screwed. What else was new?

Lord only knows how I'm going to scout three states. My nice little list of at least 70 area players that would be sure draft picks was now destined to balloon near 130 with three states. I can't even begin to tell you the amount of work involved.

But the good news of the day was my phone call with the Wekiva coach. He'd already set a time for me to meet with Dallas Parker after practice tomorrow. This ought a be interesting.

Fielder's Choice (Part II)

2005-10-26T19:08:00.000-05:00

Having left my radar gun in the car, I scrambled out to the parking lot as the two teams took the field. The sound of the catcher's mitt popping with each warm-up pitch followed me to the car and back. I settled behind home plate as the leadoff batter, a pint-sized lefty, stepped into the box.

Dallas, on the other hand, looked like a beast when he took his rightful place on the mound. He had to be at least 6'5" and 230 pounds. His neck was thick and his shoulders were broad. His thighs wreaked of power and bulged out like the shape of elbow macaroni. His calf muscles looked as big as grapefruit. He could do without the tattoos though. A barbed wire tattoo rounded his left bicep and his right forearm was covered with some sort of a spider web image. I must admit though that it did add to the mystique.

His beard resembled that of Abraham Lincoln. I guess the whole beard without a mustache is popular these days. Draped down the back of his neck from underneath his ball cap were dozens of curly black locks. If I had to pick a starting pitcher that his body most resembled, I would have to choose Josh Beckett.

Dallas took a deep breath, stepped up to the rubber, and peered over top of his glove. The catcher shot him a quick signal and positioned himself right down the middle of the plate. I readied my radar gun as Dallas began his wind-up. The catcher shifted ever so slightly to the inside as Dallas was about to deliver.

As the ball shot out of his hand, I immediately thought fastball. It was headed dead center into the zone. The batter, who must have been reading my mind, recoiled but instantly found himself jammed beyond comprehension as the ball cut down and in. His bat went limp as it grudgingly crossed the plate for strike one.

A cut fastball. Just like old times. A quick glance at my radar gun confirmed the devastation. 91 MPH. I had one of those moments, like, "Is this heaven?" Unfortunately, a little voice in my head answered, "No. It's Iowa." I immediately became suspicious. Where did this kid come from? What was his story? I began to look all around for other scouts. None. Agents? None.

Before I could continue with my paranoia, Dallas delivered a nearly identical pitch. Miraculously, the hitter caught it about 4 inches above his left hand and dribbled it down the third base line. No doubt there would have been splinters all over the infield had he used a wooden bat.

Diego began to rush in from third but hesitated as he saw the catcher throw off his mask and charge down the line. The ball was in no-mans-land. After a brief hesitation of his own, the catcher called off Diego, pounced on the ball, and made an off-balance throw that took the first baseman off the bag.

The hitter was safe and Dallas wasted no time in displaying his agitation. He snapped his glove at the ball when the first baseman threw it back to the mound. Under his breath I could hear a variety of four letter words. Dallas stomped his way back up the mound and waited for the next batter to enter the box. He shook his head in frustration as the catcher made several attempts to call the pitch. Without warning, Dallas entered his wind-up, cocked back his right arm, and delivered a ferocious four seam heater. My JUGS radar gun registered an eye popping 95 MPH. Only one problem. He drilled the batter in the ribs and then blew him a kiss. Both benches emptied. The cops were there in less than five minutes to clear both the field and the parking lot. So much for the friendly exhibition. I barely had time to tell the Wekiva coach that I would call him tomorrow to discuss my new "project" a.k.a. Dallas Parker.

Fielder's Choice (Part I)

2005-10-25T20:49:00.000-05:00

Just when I think I’ve seen it all in my 31 years of baseball, something like today happens. After I arrived at the field in Lake Brantley, I made my way over to the head coach for Wekiva Community College who was standing along the third base line. We had a good relationship, at least in my mind. Last year I recommended several players from the Longwood area to go play for him. Both players weren’t quite ready to play pro ball, but I knew they would make an immediate impact for Wekiva. And they did.

One of those players, Diego Gutierrez, improved his play so much at third base that we took him in the 34th round of June’s draft. We all knew that when we drafted him that he wouldn’t forego his sophomore year which is why he is dubbed a "draft and follow" prospect. We basically own the right to negotiate and sign him up to a week before next year’s draft. Of course, if he does really well in his sophomore season, he might be projected as a 10th rounder in the upcoming draft. I would then make him an offer comparable to a 10th round pick hoping that he would accept in lieu of re-entering the draft. If on the other hand he bombs his sophomore season, we would pass on giving him an offer and let him re-enter draft for anyone’s choosing. But that would not be a good thing for me. My job is to know that this guy won’t bomb.

And after looking at Gutierrez during infield practice, I could see that his arm strength had indeed improved over the summer. Not only did his ball seem to carry through first base on a line, but his feet were quicker and his hands were softer. Prior to summer, his throw to first had a bit of an arc from the normal third base position. His arm was average to below average which meant that at best he could throw out only average to below average runners. Although I've compared his power hitting mechanics to that of Hank Blalock or David Wright, his fielding tool has always been suspect. But not anymore.

As I started to speculate where the much improved Gutierrez would fit into next year’s draft, I was distracted by the deafening pop of a catcher’s mitt coming from a makeshift bullpen further down third base line. What did we have here? Hadn’t I seen all their pitchers? None of their freshmen pitchers had been drafted. How pleasantly odd.

I stood in disbelief as I watched this hulk of a right-hander throw one heater after another. Every third pitch he mixed in something that looked like a nasty forkball.

“Who’s he?” I asked the Wekiva coach, pointing to the pen.

“Oh, him? I was wondering when you were going to notice. His name is Dallas Parker. A walk-on freshman,” the coach replied with a wink.

Shallow Center

2005-10-24T11:01:00.000-05:00

I must confess that the wind and rain from Wilma spooked me last night. I couldn't wait to pick those guys up, drop them off and get back to my hotel room. As it was, I was nearly 20 minutes late thanks to a rubber necking t raffic jam on the Beeline Expressway. As I pulled up to "Arrivals," I spotted my boss, Toby Bradford in the distance, shrugging like he was being reprimanded without cause. That's when his boss, Donald DeSear, came into plain view. DeSear looked as sour as a man going through an IRS audit. Not that I would know what that looks like, of course. After a few niceties and helping them with their luggage, we were off to their hotel.

"I guess now's as good a time as any," DeSear announced as he looked back towards Bradford in the back seat.

"Fine with me," Bradford replied.

I cringed at what might be coming. 31 years in baseball had to count for something.

"The front-office," DeSear said, "has decided to drastically cut the player development staff."

"How drastically?" I asked.

"By about half," he answered.

The big glob in my throat thickened making it difficult to breath. I tried to swallow but to no avail.

DeSear continued, "We had to make some difficult decisions. I've been trying to meet face-to-face with those who will be affected."

I shook my head. I've never been fired before. Never. "So do I at least get some sort of--"

"Relax," interrupted DeSear. "The club decided to eliminate the area supervisor role. Instead of firing Bradford, we let Manny and Rhett go this morning. You and Bradford will be working Florida, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, and South Carolina. But quite frankly, this wasn't my decision. If it were up to me, I would've given Rhett some more time."

How's that for a nice vote of confidence from your new boss? Gone are the days where I could simply hang my hat on the household names I brought to the Big Show during the late 80's, early 90's. Luckily for me I must still have some friends up in the front office.

"To be honest Cutter, you're track record here lately isn't too pretty. Out of our fifty draft picks last year, eight came from your area. Three are draft and follow, three decided to enroll in a four-year college, and two are unsigned. Let's face it, the signability of your kids stink. That brings me to Russell Reed. "

Ah, Russell Reed. The silver spoon, five tooler from Isleworth. I convinced our national cross checker that the only way we could sign him was if we picked him in the second round. I can still remember DeSear calling me just seconds before he had to announce his pick. What could I tell him in less than 10 seconds that he didn't already know? We needed a blue chip prospect in center field. He was the best available at that given moment. DeSear pulled the trigger. Reed's father then befriended a pain-in-the-butt agent (or maybe it was the other way around) who's been nothing but trouble. Countless deals have fallen through. All involving the signing bonus, of course. What a shame. Now the kid's just sitting around in his father's mansion playing MVP Baseball 2005 instead of playing pro ball.

Anyhow, DeSear continued to rant about Reed and his agent. He went on to explain that both he and Bradford are meeting with Reed, his father, and the agent at their home tonight. The plan would be to sign him and get him into winter ball down in Puerto Rico. But unfortunately they are still miles apart in their negotiations.

As for me, he wants me to go see Diego Gutierrez, one of our draft and follow prospects just up the road at Wekiva Community College. He's playing a practice game tomorrow at a field in Lake Brantley against a local AAU team. Fortunately for me I have a couple kids on the AAU team that I wanted to get a good look at. This will give me an opportunity to do both.

Opening Day

2005-10-23T13:58:00.000-05:00

My life is a freaking disaster. I wake up not knowing what city I’m in. The hotel rooms all look alike. One fast food joint after another. Crumpled up drive-thru bags litter the floor of my car. The same car that’s been without a/c since the beginning of time. My wife left me years ago. My kids won’t speak to me. And I have no relatives worth mentioning.

I get endless letters, calls, faxes and emails from parents, grandparents, wives, girlfriends, ex-girlfriends, coaches, agents, advisors, friends, acquaintances, twice removed cousins, and sometimes even the players themselves. Not to mention enough videotapes and DVDs to keep both FedEx and UPS in business for yet another year. I’ve even had to hire a recycling company to pick up the reams and reams of paper from alleged scouting agencies who’ve basically ripped off thousands of parents by promising that their special report will get little Johnny to the top of my prospect list.

And did I mention that I get calls from parents? One called me just yesterday to ask if I could go watch his son pitch that evening. The ball park was only 125 miles away. When I started to ask some basic questions about the type of ball movement the kid generates, his father responded with a very proud, “62 mile per hour fastball.”

I never even asked about velocity. The man just blurted it out like I would be instantly impressed. What was I missing here? I simply let his statement linger in silence until the arrogance wore off. Come to find out, the kid was only 12. How the man ever got my cell number, I’ll never know.

And to make matters slightly worse, I need to pick up my area supervisor and the club's national scouting director at 7:50 p.m. from Orlando International Airport. Unfortunately, my prayers for Hurricane Wilma to cancel their flight haven't worked out.

I was told that they had to discuss something with me in person. I have a couple ideas of what it might be, but no matter how you slice it—this ain’t good.