Thirty-two years ago, I called in sick to my job so I could live out a dream of mine to try out for the Minnesota Twins. 

 

 

I’ve always loved the game of baseball, from the first time I picked up a bat and swang at a ball on a tee at Shingle Creek Park in North Minneapolis, to the years before and after our beloved boys of summer brought home two world titles in four years. 

 

Here I was, two years prior to that first world series title, running down the same first base line towards where Kent Hrbek would lift Ron Gant’s leg off the base in Game 2 of the World Series with Atlanta. I was fielding ground balls at the exact spot where Gary Gaetti swallowed up grounders with ease and earned the nickname “rat”. And here I was taking swings in the same batter’s box where Kirby Puckett would hit the game-winning home run off Charlie Leibrandt in Game 6 of that 1991 series.

 

The Twins tryout consisted of we “prospects” running a 40-yard dash, side-by-side with another hopeful. We would then go sit in the stands and wait for our number to get called to return to the playing field.

 

Next, we would line up behind other players (I was a third basemen) and when it was our turn, we received a ground ball from a Twins coach who would yell out where we were to throw the ball with all our might. We’d then return to our bag to receive a throw back, then chuck the ball to the catcher before returning to the back of the line.

 

All-in-all, we took about six grounders apiece, then found our seats in the stands to wait out the next turn. My friend, Al, was a second baseman and from what I could see, he was flawless in the field.

 

The final undertaking of the day was showing the coaches our hitting prowess. The difficult thing was when you got in the cage, you were allowed three pitches — three pitches, not three strikes — to show your best.

 

My first pitch I hit in the air and the ball struck the farthest point of the cage hanging over home plate.

 

A pop up basically.

 

The next pitch, I smashed a line drive into the pitcher’s net on the mound. The third pitch saw me hitting another pop up off the tip of the batting cage.

 

Al had a one-hop drive off the left-centerfield wall on his first pitch, then two grounders.

 

Not too shabby, we thought of our performance. We had seen many youngsters struggle fielding grounders and many, upon many had the difficult task of tracking down fly balls against that creme-colored dome. Several of the prospects swung and missed on all three attempts, so Al and I were feeling pretty good about ourselves.

 

The goal was to get a call-back to return to the stadium the next day and play a full, nine-inning game against the other call-backs. If the coaches saw something promising, they’d have the option of signing them to a minor league contract.

 

We didn’t get called back (sniff, sniff).

 

The most amazing thing about the day was when a photographer with the Minneapolis Star and Tribune approached us and told us he took our photo and he might use it in the paper. We gave our consent, but had no idea what was about to happen.

 

Remember when I said I called in sick to get the day off?

 

Well, the next day, when I went into work, as soon as I walked in the door, everybody was smiling and laughing. I had no idea what was going on, but was curious when just about everyone in the office followed me to my cubicle.

 

My face went flush as I saw copies upon copies of the front page of the sports section showing a photo of Al and me at the Twins tryout camp the day prior. I thought I was in big trouble.

 

Thankfully, my bosses saw the humor in the whole thing, and dismissed my little white lie.

 

It was an experience I’ll never forget. I chased a dream and for a few moments, felt like I might not wake up.