10 truths about the D3 life

Being a division 3 college baseball player is a culture unknown to all of those but the men who participate in it.  And I use the word "men" very loosely.  I should refer to them as boys in adult bodies who drink alcohol like its 1933 and talk in a manner only suitable for Manhattan construction workers.  Now being a bullpen pitcher on a division 3 baseball team takes that group, separates the worst of the worst, and puts them all together, confined and isolated to revel in each others sex and drinking (usually one in the same) stories for the better part of two to three hours of every day.  Being immersed in this culture has led me to come to a few realizations and truths about the NCAA's runt of the litter.

1.  Your team gets no money, and you're left to resort to participating in on-campus fundraising and phone-a-thons.

This is a fun one... in absolutely no way whatsoever.  The real money of the school is delegated to the programs that actually generate some form of income for the school, so the baseball team is left to work concessions, sporting events, and participate in phone-a-thons that entail contacting former alum, most of which are too big of penny pinchers to donate any more than $10.

2.  The closest bathroom to the field is at least 150 yards away

that is, unless your team is lucky enough to have the school spring for a porta-potty that will get cleaned out once all season and becomes too vulgar for even the bravest of souls to venture inside.  If not, and you are one of the rare schools that has a bathroom connected to the press box, your only feasible option is to piss on the back wall of the dugout, or in a bottle in the corner of the dugout (do at your own risk).

3.  Playing in the northern half of the country means a team trip to Florida, which will be the only dry games of the year.

After the Florida trip, you're lucky to get 5 games in over the following three weeks.  Don't fall in love with those clean and crisp looking spikes either, because the second you step on the field, you're sinking into three inches of muck.  And we can't forget about the Jackson Pollack style that the back of your pants develop before the jacked up loudspeaker plays some obscure version of the National Anthem.

4. You have an order for which pitcher gets foul balls during which inning.

Yes, its always the pitchers that have to track down every ball that goes out of play.  The freshmen fill up the bulk of the list, and a towel is kept in the corner to dry off the balls that inevitably got soaked after rolling through the grass, and scuffed from hitting the concrete so many times.  These balls are like gold to your coach, and losing one is simply unacceptable, so don't bother coming back until you find it. 

5. Going on road trips means staying in the cheapest, sketchiest hotel your coach can find within 50 miles of the field.

Don't be surprised to see the random meth head or prostitute lurking around the outside of your hotel.  Calling a place like this a hotel is a crime.  They are run down Days Inn's that are no longer part of the franchise.  Most of the time, the place is a motel with no insides, each room simply connecting to the walkway outside.  Don't expect any flat screen TV's either, its old school tubes all the way.  Every room has a faint smell of cigarettes despite the no smoking signs posted all around the premises.  Also, have a great time on the hour ride to the field, passing hotel after hotel that are much nicer, and closer to the field.  But you play D3, don't get too carried away.

6. If you play in the north, baseball is a brutally cold weather sport.

You will be best friends with your beanie, gloves, and team coat (the only thing that you didn't have to pay for, but its only yours until you have to give it back at seasons end).  Hand warmers and leggings are a must, and you quickly learn the best ways to prevent frostbite from setting in before the end of the game.  The bullpen has mastered this one, sitting far enough away from the coaches to play games, keeping our minds focused on anything but the arctic tundra surrounding you.

7. At least one of your coaches is a professor at the school who doubles as the coaches informant to all the happenings about your grades.

Nothing seems to slip past your head coach unless he is a bumbling idiot.  This is because he has connections with the assistant coach that is conveniently a professor at the school.  It also doesn't help that there are no more than 2,000 students and every professor feels that he is morally obliged (especially if its a catholic school) to tell the coaches about any test grade lower than a C, and they cry that the sky is falling if you miss one class.  There is no way around this one, you just have to suck it up and push on.

8.  Want to party? Go the the baseball house.

Everyone at a small school knows that the baseball players party the hardest and throw the biggest ragers around.  Its because we put up with the monotony and chaos our coaches pile on us until we are backed into a corner and the only way out is the alcohol route.  Not to mention, the 5 decently attractive girls that go to your school are dating baseball players and if you want to catch a glimpse of them with their guards down, the baseball house ragers are the place to be.  

9. Tarp duty sucks.  Like really sucks.

There is no worse feeling than getting a text from coach telling you to be at the field at 7:30 in the morning to but the tarp on/take it off.  It is for this reason that you keep a pare of junk shoes around your place.  Your shoes will be drenched to the point they turn into cinder blocks tied to your feet.  Your team has some dumb method of doing the tarp and everyone thinks their way is the best.  Its all up to that years senior class to figure out which way will be best.  Not to mention, your school hasn't gotten a new tarp in the past decade and its now just a big piece of duct tape that you roll on and off the field.  Add to that, after sitting out in the sun all rolled up and wet, that sucker turns into a big sheet of the worst smell that has hit your nose since that cafeteria food tore your lower intestine up a week ago.  This is bad news.

10. You play D3 not D1.  Don't be that guy.

Inevitably, every team has "that guy" who thinks he is Babe Ruth reincarnate.  While his skills may be above par, there is a reason he is toiling away in division III instead of tearing it up with the boys in division I.  they are almost always the coaches pet, and dress with enough baseball swag to outfit the whole team.  While nearly every guy on the team has a story about getting recruited from one place or another, this guy feels his story is the greatest, and he needs a roladex to remember all of the D1 players he knows, got a hit off of, or struck out once in high school.  Don't be that guy.  Just don't do it, it's not worth it.

I bit off more iPhone than I can chew

     This all takes place when my girlfriend of 10 months decided she was going to shatter yet another iPhone screen. It's the second time she's done so in the last 6 months. To set a little background, I recently resurrected an iPhone 4s from the dead. My youngest brother ran over it with his car (how he managed such a feat is beyond me), shattering the screen into a million pieces and rendering the phone completely unusable. He got a new phone and I took it upon myself to make the broken iPhone my own project. I bought a new screen and digitizer (what senses the finger on the screen) for around $20 on eBay. After waiting around for the part for a week (a long antagonizing week) I was able to commence my operation and 3 hours later, out popped the phone I am currently using. 

     That story being told, let's speed up to present day (about two months after my iphone operation). My girlfriend shatters her phone and I, being the idiot that I am reassured her that I, the now wonderful iphone doctor could fix her iphone. One thing, she has the 5. I didn't see this as an obstacle until her screen ($60, that's triple what I paid and it's not my money) arrived and I got to work.  The iPhone 5 is a whole different beast. If I worked on a mustang for my phone, this bad boy is like working on a Lamborghini. It took me the better part of an hour to get the screen off the body, and that's just the beginning.

    I finally got inside the phone and I'm taking some cables out when "snap" my heart sank as a cable ripped. It was just a tiny piece but I had no clue what I had done. The look on my face instantly gave my overlooking girlfriend an indication that I screwed up. Her presence wasn't making matters any better by the way. I pressed onward.

     To make matters worse, this is all taking place in my dorm, where there is a strict policy that all visitors have to be signed out by midnight (it's a catholic school). It's currently 11:50 and her phone is in pieces. We decide to pack all of the stuff into plastic bags and head over to her apartment (she goes to a public university), where I can work on it until it's finished and she can go to bed instead of hawking over me.  I toil away with the phone for the next couple of hours, all said and done I got everything put together, but the cord I ripped won't allow any noise I be heard in the ear speaker basically she can't talk on the phkne unless it's on speaker). Adding to the disaster, the home button isn't responding. I wanted to throw that stupid phone through the wall.  I gave up for the night and went to bed. My girlfriend could text and that was all that really mattered. 

     The following morning, my girlfriend wants me to secure the screen back to the body. I give it a little push and "crack". The new screen cracked right over the front camera. I put the phone down and walked away pissed and disappointed. Then she tries to give it a go and "CRACK" right along the top left corner of the screen. The replacement part was a total piece of junk. 

    To bring the story to a close, my girlfriend gets on the phone with her grandma, who spoils her rotten, and the two of them are currently working to resolve to issue. It is out of my hands and above my pay grade.

     

The first post (DUN DUN DUN)

The first post of my blog. Maybe you should get to know a little bit about me. I'm a published author, college baseball player (I chill on the bench and in the bullpen most of the time), a bit weird at times... More like all the time, and I'm a Sports and Entertainment Marketing major (my mother would be so disappointed for not sharing other values she would deem to be important). For those of you who don't know, my major (SEM for short) is a  marketing degree with a cool twist, focusing on sports and entertainment fields. I have aspirations of going to law school after graduation, but that's a ways off, I'll keep you updated. My plan for this blog is to be as relatable and enjoyable as possible. I promise I won't bite, so buckle up and enjoy the ride.