The last week of the AWL was a blur. Finally beginning to hit the
ball like I was able, I squared up pitches and did my best. It just wasn’t my
month, and no matter what happened, I couldn’t seem to find a hole. My coach
had gone from loving me the first week to not even remembering my name the
last. He had stopped talking to me. When I approached him about my feelings and
how I have been playing, I hoped he would understand and offer some
encouragement. Unfortunately that wasn’t the case. I know I have the talent,
and anyone with real baseball knowledge can see that. I was hoping that by the
end of the league, my coach would see that I work hard, and he would help me
find a place to play for the summer. That didn’t happen.
My team’s center fielder and I had grown close, and he told me
about the Alpine Cowboys, a team in the Pecos League in Texas. He had played with them two years before. He
thinks I’m a good player, and he thought the coach of the team might be
interested. I agreed, of course. He contacted his coach inquiring about a
workout for me since I was going to drive through Texas to go back to Georgia.
When the night of the draft
announcements came, neither my roommate nor me were picked. I was more
surprised that my roommate didn’t get picked, because he was the fastest player
in the entire league and a very good hitter. I knew why I didn’t get chosen; I
simply underperformed. I have no one to blame by myself. I put too much
pressure on the situation and didn’t play like I should have played. When we
both got back to the hotel room, we sat in silence for a long time. It’s hard
to understand how professional coaches couldn’t see how well we can play. I was
going over a million different scenarios in my head about the entire month and
how I let so many people down in the process. The next day, my roommate and I
couldn’t get out of Yuma fast enough…
