February 21, 2009

Nick Faunce Blog

Nick Faunce’s Baseball Blog

Throughout the 2009 season, Kansas senior outfielder Nick Faunce will provide a journal of the happenings around the Kansas baseball team. The fifth-year captain, who was recently named a finalist for the Lowe’s Senior CLASS Award, will share his perspective on all things KU baseball related. Fans can vote for Faunce at www.seniorclassaward.com.

May 23, 2009

I realize my blog posts have been nonexistent for a spell and I apologize but finishing up my school year and time at KU have been of prime importance to me the last few weeks and limited my desire to write. I also find it difficult to top the banana pants but here goes:

Weather-

As I sat in centerfield at the BIG 12 Championship and watched the shadows of the lazy clouds pass while sweat poured down my face, arms, and hands I recalled the conditions we’ve played through this season and the frenzy that follows. Here at KU we play whether the weather is good or whether the weather is bad and it seems all sorts of weather has tried to impair our season. We’ve played through freezing temps, rainstorms, thunderstorms, hail, snow, and tornado sirens so finally to feel the renowned Midwest heat and humidity was a bit of a relief.

As I stated about the Wichita State home game it was one of the most bone chilling games I’ve ever played in but that was succeeded by the Baylor game where 30+ mph winds whipped at our ears while errant snowflakes dropped.

In the Midwest, rainstorms are a standard that you can count on in the spring and several have plagued our ability to play games. The most prominent recounts of those were at home as we closed out the Oklahoma State series in extra innings. The rain fell. The field mudded and puddles formed in the baselines causing concern about whether we would be able to continue the game after 10 innings of fighting but with Tony (Thompson’s) line drive off the wall all doubt was ended.

Moreover, the games at Oklahoma were as much of a scene as I have ever seen. Again questions were raised about the playability of the field as outfielders ankles were enveloped by the standing water. The saying “ducks on the pond” took on new meaning as outfielders waded in the treacherous waters of the outfielder. In fact, before our early wakeup at 7 a.m. I was woken in my hotel room at 4:03 a.m. by the crash of thunder. I arose and went to the window and looked out to see rain pounding the rock roof of an adjacent building without any rain hitting the parking lot directly below. I returned to bed, but moments later I was up again at the window due to a loud crash of thunder and this time water flooding the parking lot and spilling out of the adjacent gutter in a fierce fashion that I’ve never seen before (keep in mind I’m from Oregon).

The next day was capped by a fantastic slip-n-slide catch by Bruno (Jason Brunansky) who was sliding so fast he had to dig his spikes into the grass like a mountain climber plants his crap-ons it an icy slope.

Then, there were the tornado days. The first day began with a set of delayed flights which ended in a cancellation on our way to Lubbock. Everything seemed to be in disarray being delayed, delayed, delayed, and then cancelled we were at the Fort Worth airport waiting for hours. Then, Skip (Coach Price) had to deal with flight rearrangements and we left the airport for a hotel around 11:30 p.m., jumped into shuttles driven by crazed taxi drivers that sent us shifting and swaying as people stood grasping to poles in the confined buses. We got in around 12:30 a.m. and the first group left for the airport the next morning at 6:30 a.m. A debacle.

The next tornado excitement was on the alumni day when we played Nebraska. We were all set to start when the tornado sirens began wawa-ing and instructions over the PA called for people to seek cover. As sick as it sounds, I waited to watch the sky—and the possibility of seeing a tornado in the distance. The sky turned an eerie green and darkness, clouds blacker than I’ve ever seen, shifted to the north. I watched the winds and movement of the clouds projecting funnel formations. Needless to say the day’s game was cancelled.

The last tornado scare was on the way to K-State. It was actually fun to watch the progression of the storm as we passed through the Flint hills that gave us a vantage point from the bus to see distant rain clouds as they opened up and poured over the hillsides. It was enjoyable until the clouds enveloped our bus and the downpour of rain covered the view of the highway in front of our bus driver. Then, a few “storm-chasers” drive by our bus in modified tanks like the ones seen in Twister. Suddenly, the bus ride was tense and uneasy but we got out from under the cloud and played the game with a tremendous sun setting armageddonish rays onto the thunderheads rising high into the eastern sky.

It’s difficult to deal with such tumultuous conditions but playing in the Big 12 requires a toughness and drive to overcome the competition and fight through the deliberations, delays, and cancellations because here at KU we play whether the weather is good or whether the weather is bad.

April 14, 2009

Banana Pants

In recent developments, (Jimmy) Waters has been pushed to alternative rallying methods. The rigors and stress of a homecoming to Omaha and Rosenblatt Stadium caused Waters to become seemingly manic. In fact, the intensity of the situation, under the national spotlight of CBS College Sports, was reason enough for Waters to play the game with a banana in his pants. Literally. The rally banana was only good for one hit but it got him a clutch RBI early in the game.

In all actuality, Waters was a casualty of the carefully plotting prankster Buck Afenir. As the story goes, Waters picked up a bushel of browning bananas that had been trashed by the nutritionist and littered Buck’s locker and catchers bag with the bananas. After finding the bananas, Buck tossed all of the bananas but one which he put aside to use at a later date.

Buck has cultivated this tactic well where he uses one’s treachery against them. After a series of dueling shenanigans with Buck a few years ago I came to the locker room one day and picked up my bag to carry it out to the field when I noticed an awful stench. I emptied and clawed through my bag to find a sun fish placed in the depths of one of the pockets of my bag.

So as Buck put the banana aside it was bound to be used again. His moment came when Waters’ left his packed bag open as he went around the corner to use the restroom. Given this opportunity, Buck snatched the banana and stored it in Waters’ jock and waited to see when he’d find it.

We got to the field and players began randomly mentioning bananas. Waters’ changed and still had not discovered the banana. We got through BP and Waters’ still had not discovered the banana. All of this time people are telling Waters’ how they were craving a banana to Waters’ cluelessness. Finally, it was game time and Waters’ STILL had not discovered the banana. This may sound cruel to let a teammate play on national TV with a banana in his pants but honestly in the back of our heads we kept saying what if he goes 3 for 4 or has a game winning home run with a banana in his pants would he intentionally do it next game? So we held back from telling him. All the while Waters’ was awkwardly readjusting and squirming as he felt uncomfortable but was oblivious about the source of the discomfort.

The game went on and as Buck put it “I just wanted to see if someone could really play an entire 9 innings with a banana in their pants—because I thought it was impossible.” Well after our extra inning victory Waters’ had made it 10 innings and almost 7 hours with a banana in his jock. And as we joyously celebrated the great victory we headed to locker room where the night was capitalized by watching Waters’ obliviously remove a banana from his pants. The raucous laughter that erupted from that locker room was a moment to be remembered.

March 31, 2009

Gusting sighs:

Prior to our UNC (Northern Colorado not the hated North Carolina) games we had a violent battle as the tarp and gale winds of middle-America besieged our mini infantry. First, the facilities workers of Allen Fieldhouse and Hoglund Ballpark, maybe 8-10 of them, braved the fierce winds to pull off the tarp so “Peanut” could prep the infield for UNC’s batting practice (during early games we let the opposition take batting practice first so players can fulfill the “student” responsibility of their “student-athlete” moniker).

I watched the tail end of this units advance as they finished pulling the tarp into left field and then walked toward our dugout emitting a defeated look. They had successfully won the battle by pulling the water-weighted tarp off the field but had not won the war by folding it up.

Right on cue, as soon as workers left (assistant coach Kevin) Frady sent a rallying cry through the locker room that the tarp needed to be folded and stowed in order for UNC to begin their batting practice session; so the six of us in the locker room hustled out to the field to try and fold the tarp.

We first tried to do a hinge fold where you start about 15 feet from the front at the seams and pull it toward the front so that it overlaps (this technique makes it easiest to unfold for the next time the tarp has to be used because you can just grab the straps and pull it straight out). But it was apparent within seconds that this effort would be futile because of our lack of man power. Frady, at one end, hollered for everybody to “suck it up and pull” while (assistant coach John) Scefz griped, on the other end, about its impossibility. The wind was howling and as we tried to pull from the middle the front of the tarp folded over in disarray.

It was a comical event for UNC to watch, I’m sure, as eight men tried to organize and tame a whipping tarp with surface area of approximately 10,000 square feet.

At first, UNC coaches denied our requests for support and extra manpower but seeing our squabbles they finally came and stood tacking down the front and sides of tarp which controlled much of the disorder.

Then, after Szefc’s appealing, we decided to fold the tarp like a blanket, end-to-end. UNC players lined the perimeter of the tarp and a few helped us grab the far end of the tarp near the left field wall and pulled it to the front near the infield. Keep in mind the wind was blowing west-to-east and our pulling was in the direct face of the wind. We tried to keep the tarp low to limit the wind from entering the curl of the tarp but as you can imagine air and wind is ambient and the tarp quickly filled into a sail adding more resistance and uncertainty.

Once the tarp filled, we were at the winds whim. Everybody pulling the tarp kept low trying to prevent an ambush. The first few folds were difficult but the help from UNC made it manageable.

Suddenly though a rogue gust blew whisking the tarp from the feet and hands of the perimeter. Somehow (Brett) Bochy and I found ourselves consumed by the beast in different areas of the tarp. My reaction at first was to remain calm hoping that my weight would anchor the giant sail but as the wind continued I felt weightlessness and lift-off from the ground. This made me uneasy. Then, still airborne, the tarp folded over my head and darkness consumed me.

I became frantic. For me, I felt the undeniable sensation of being held under water and tried to scramble mid-air for safety. To be honest, in those short moments of liftoff, I envisioned the tarp sailing over the cages in left field and leaving me in oblivion. Frankly, I was terrified.

Bochy said he felt like an avalanche had gripped him. He admitted that in a panicked attempt he began breast-stroking as advised by specialists to free himself from the debauchle.

We were at the whims of the wind.

Finally, the gust subsided and with greater alertness we realigned the tarp and finished its folding.

Throughout my years here I have been curious of this event wondering if and when we would come to the field and notice the tarp missing only to find it tangled in the branches of the oaks or wrapped around the entrance of the rec center. In earlier tarping events I’ve found myself diving on it to weigh it down or momentarily losing the ground but by far this was the most chaotic experience because it was unintentional and we were at the winds whim.

March 24, 2009
Peculiar Rituals:

I’ve had a day to reflect and celebrate this weekend’s knock-off of No. 1 Texas and writing a detailed recount of the weekends events won’t exact the aura of the sweep.

Let me step back a minute, I’m not sure if it’s because of all the down time but the people in baseball (players, coaches, fans…for the most part, and announcers, Tom Hedrick) have struck me as some of the most unique and charismatic personalities and when these fruitful minds get together some amusing rituals develop.

Throughout this season other teams performed there own entertaining (maybe only to me) traditions as we stuck to our standard hat-shaking and finger-licking when the scoreboard reads the fabled 2 balls, 2 strikes, and 2 outs (generally when the batter or pitcher needs the extra energy of the dugout, or so we think). And earlier in the season, in an attempted response to Arkansas’ calling in Pig Souie during the seventh inning stretch we tried out the arm-locking pre-game sway as Mr. Padget’s granddaughter sang the alma-mater similar to Texas’ interaction with their fans during before the game with the Longhorn anthem (that mimics the melody of “I’ve been working on the railroad”).

Some of the more modern renditions of rituals by Northwestern and San Diego State were fairly memorable. For example, with the 2-2-2 situation Northwestern players would clap their hands on their knees twice and then murmur a hiss in tribute to Dodgeball. SDSU used a blitzkrieg attack where the whole dugout was silent and then erupted in a riotous scream when one of their players touched first base. It was enough to startle everyone on the field who looked up thinking a runner was stealing, a coach was tossed, or something game-changing occurred.

In the past I’ve been a part of a few nuanced rituals that were fairly fun and brought a light-hearted approach to serious games such as the “fear the stache” campaign when we nearly swept Texas at home in ’05 and the lasso tradition which seemed ludicrous for a Jayhawk, especially while playing the Cowboys of OSU.

Players in the dugout are always thinking of new ideas when old traditions tire and seeing some of the creative ideas other teams perfected this season started the wheels in some of our player’s heads, namely Wally (Marciel) and Andy (Marks). Although not publicly seen or heard our days were ignited by the blasting techno music in the locker room to satisfy our disco Canadian, Dave (not entirely new as Mike Fitch was known for his techno outbreak in the locker room at 6 am weights in ’04/’05 season).

***

Moving from pre-game to the top of the ninth in game two with 2 outs, runners on second and third after each getting themselves into 0-2 and seemingly surviving the at bat and continuing the game for the ‘Horns their next hitter Brandon Pelt came up.

He too fell to two strikes and then battled, with the game on the line, fouling off pitch after pitch after pitch that (Paul) Smyth offered. At some point the count went to 2 balls, 2 strikes, and 2 outs. The Texas players tore off their backwards rally caps and shook them from side-to-side. Then as Smyth began to deliver I noticed the players in our dugout take off their pinwheel hats and wave them in a circular fashion towards the dugout seemingly tempting Smyth and the rest of into the dugout for the victory. Pelt must have seen 10 or 12 pitches during his at bat lolling us to sleep in the field and tiring the arms of the players in the dugout until finally he stroked a ball to the warning track. After racing backwards spinning wildly and scaring onlookers, the ball sank into the pocket of my glove (it was one of the greatest at bats I’ve seen, but the pitching was even better). The players in the dugout willed us to a victory.

Although the pinwheel-spin was my favorite, on Sunday new traditions continued with the “stanky leg,” a grotesque leg shimmy, during a 2 balls, 2 strikes, 2 outs situation. I believe the hitter was out, but the atmosphere in dugout was light-hearted and confident – not nervous or anxious that we were playing Texas, the current No. 1. Additionally on Sunday, savvy fans embraced a ritual I have seldom seen at KU as they came to the park with brooms to help us close out the sweep.

March 14-15, 2009

After stepping on the Royals/Rangers spring training facility we were left with many events that will forever be remembered. I am not a person who gets star struck. That said, I do believe in the undeniable mystique and atmosphere of history and as we stepped off of the bus in the players’ entrance and walked amidst the luxury cars labeled with historic and front office names I was reminded of the former feats of the Royals organization when they were an upper echelon team in major leagues.

My father, in fact, was a die hard Royals fan while growing up and always indicated George Brett as an icon. I’ve always had George Brett posters, held onto his MVP cards, and a few years ago for Christmas I was given a signed card by Brett. So as we walked by the labeled parking spots and past the batting cages a bell began ringing reminding me of my fathers’ passion for the Royals.

Strolling alongside the batting cages, as the warm sun beat down on us, a succession of murals of past greats began building the mystique that puts butterflies in my stomach and send chills down my arms (similar to the effects of the pre-game videos in Allen Fieldhouse that outline the past of Kansas basketball: Dr. Naismith, Phog Allen, Wilt Chamberlin, National Championships, All-Americans, and the inspirational effects those people have hand on fans for decades).The illustrations included the likes of John Mayberry, Brett Saberhagen, Brian McCrae, and climaxed at the end of several faces with George Brett.

Passing Brett’s visage made my hair stand on end as I realized the importance of my fathers’ icon to the Royals and to admirers across the nation. We ushered past the murals to Frank White practice field, a name I am ignorant of, but was foreshadowed by a guy in the airport who name-dropped him saying he was his lawyer and was supposed to be having an evening cocktail with him if he made it on the plane with his stand-by ticket.

After our warm-up on the practice field, we watched the end of the Rangers-Royals game and saw former Jayhawker Travis Metcalf playing third base for the Rangers right in front of us. I’ve met Travis a few times in Lawrence and whenever his name is brought up by our mutual teammates (he was a year before me) the players speak about his—still orbiting—bomb he hit off of Houston Street (University of Texas closer) an unstoppable pitcher at the time that was a defining moment where my older teammates knew he was destined to be special (besides his 18 home runs that season).

The sight of Metcalf on the field, surrounded by the big-league squad next to Omar Vizquel and Michael Young, suggested the real possibility, however small, that all of us have to become major league baseball players. Currently, only three players from KU are in the majors: Tom Gorzelanny, Mike Zagurski, and Metcalf. Though the chances are slim it was a reminder of the ultimate goal of everyone’s dream.

Next we stepped over the rail and into left field to let the Royals players clear out of the dugout. The players walked by, signing autographs and giving cordial hellos to the loyal fans who made the voyage to Arizona to watch the lackadaisical and outwardly unmotivated play of spring training. But as the players filtered out, the coaches, Kevin Seitzer, Trey Hillman, and Rusty Kuntz concluded their interviews and approached our team welcomingly shaking hands, giving words of encouragement, and adding slapstick comments to break the apparent awe of our players/coaches.

George Brett approached shaking hands, maybe ten or fifteen in a row, introducing himself (as if he needed introduction), and rambled happily as our team crowded around.

The next morning we went to the Royals Big-League workout and this happened again.

Brett was really the star of the show, performing for his audience much like his baseball career, as the team crowded around him we tried to get a read on what kind of a man he was and gather any kind of knowledge we could. The topic became more personal as he indicated his wife is a KU alum and he elaborated on his visits to the Wheel in Lawrence for post-game celebrations with his wife.

Brett left us with three clear messages: First, always marry a Kansas woman; second, in pressure situations softer is always better than harder; third, always, always remember when you have a microphone on (reference youtube: George Brett mic’ed up).

Several other memorable experiences I’d like to speak of but not in depth were: John Buck hitting batting practice with the KU pinwheel hat, Kuntz telling Frady to coach the base-running drills, and reminding Alex Gordon about hitting the longest home run ever seen at Hoglund Ballpark.

To sum up the experience, we would really like to thank the Royals organization and staff for being so cordial and welcoming. For a few moments we felt the gap between college and major leagues closed. The generally egotistic perception of big-leaguers was nowhere to be seen as we were able to see them as people with personality and affection. I look forward to our next KU/Royals co-op experience when we play Mizzou at Kauffman ballpark.

Thanks to Andy Marks for knowing first and last names of current and past Royals. It’s probably why he is undefeated in the baseball name game… and he gladly accepts challengers.

March 31, 2009

Gusting sighs:

It was a comical event for UNC to watch, I’m sure, as eight men tried to organize and tame a whipping tarp with surface area of approximately 10,000 square feet.

Once the tarp filled, we were at the winds whim. Everybody pulling the tarp kept low trying to prevent an ambush. The first few folds were difficult but the help from UNC made it manageable.

Bochy said he felt like an avalanche had gripped him. He admitted that in a panicked attempt he began breast-stroking as advised by specialists to free himself from the debauchle.

We were at the whims of the wind.

Finally, the gust subsided and with greater alertness we realigned the tarp and finished its folding.

March 24, 2009
Peculiar Rituals:

I’ve had a day to reflect and celebrate this weekend’s knock-off of No. 1 Texas and writing a detailed recount of the weekends events won’t exact the aura of the sweep.

***

March 14-15, 2009

George Brett approached shaking hands, maybe ten or fifteen in a row, introducing himself (as if he needed introduction), and rambled happily as our team crowded around.

The next morning we went to the Royals Big-League workout and this happened again.

Thanks to Andy Marks for knowing first and last names of current and past Royals. It’s probably why he is undefeated in the baseball name game… and he gladly accepts challengers.

March 12, 2009

Sitting in my window seat looking out over the New Mexico desert I can’t help but feel the teeming excitement of last nights victory and the approach of difficult two-weeks ahead.

Last night we saw Lee (Ridenhour) take the reins and deliver a dominating performance to the Shockers. He pitched eight scoreless innings with the Shockers showing little fight in the bitterly cold game. Lee’s post-game comments listed in The Wichita Eagle echoed his enthusiasm to battle through the elements and attack the Wichita State lineup.

The game started slow offensively with Wichita State starter Brian Flynn fooling most of the order, that is, until his inside fastball met the cold barrel of Robs’ bat, who took the starter out of the park. I called for the wind, reading trajectory and hearing the screaming ping of his bat, and the Gods exhaled as a noticeable draft lifted the limp flag carrying the ball out of the park. From that point on the balance of the game was in our favor. The initial barking and raucous Wichita State dugout was quieted as they threw a slew of arms, cold from idleness on the bench, at us to no avail.

To comment on the cold of the game: it was a bone-rattling chill. I remember thinking that I could not imagine how it would feel to wear shorts and a t-shirt and be comfortable at any temperature whether it be 70, 80, or 90 degrees. Lee told me that the seams of the ball felt like a rat gnawing on the tips of his fingers. And on the surface, I could feel the affects of the cold as my shoes felt like flat steel plates under my feet. When a fly ball was hit to the outfield, I recall feeling my legs creak like a brittle oak fighting a gusty winter breeze. As the sun dropped the change in temperature was noticeable. Bruno and I chattered in the outfield about how the soggy outfield was crystallizing into small ice cubes.

It’s interesting though, as cold as it was on the surface you are able to maintain an inner warmth by determination and competitive fervor only describable as a mania or dementia. People think you’re crazy. People think you’re stupid. But the frigid chill was thawed and forgotten by the fiery enthusiasm of beating a Shocker.

March 3, 2009

Game day:

After a weekend off, the schedule was set for a weekday series against North Dakota in Lawrence. But snowfall in the wee hours of Saturday morning put into question the possibility of getting in the series. However, a devoted effort by the team and especially the field crew cleared the field in time for the projected start.

Though snow chunks still lined the outfield fence, the field was deemed playable by both coaches and the officiating crew. The ground rules set to play anything, whether the ball slopped through the mud in the warning track, caked with snow from the sludge chunks, or plugged into the soggy ground. Rules were set for a free-for-all.

The game began with Lee Ridenhour pitching his first official home start (second overall start) to Matt (Buck) Afenir who has recorded 125 starts for the Jayhawks. Lee put the Fighting Sioux away three-up three-down in the first inning and never looked back.

Some defensive highlights were a series of plays by Tony Thompson on slow dribblers and Zach Elgie fielding reaching up high to nab a ball taking an errant bounce. Kevin Burk entered the game in relief, pitching with tempo and attacking the strike zone. Our offense was in full stride in the first few innings and began to lag but Burk’s tempo prompted another attack. Brett Bochy entered next on the mound limiting the excitement of North Dakota and preventing a comeback.

Paul Smyth entered for the last inning getting two quick outs to David Narodowski and striking out the last hitter. This game was exciting from an offensive standpoint as players moved runners over, stole bases, and had back-to-back-to-back two out hits further improving our clutch and fundamental hitting.

Feb. 28, 2009

Delayed Response:

As promised, I’d like to comment on the cajoling Razorback fans during our two-game stand from a “Blue chicken’s” perspective. In particular, I’d like to discuss the raucous fans located in the left field picnic area who were amusingly energetic with their heckling of Jake Marasco, Jason Brunansky, and I. We would all like to sincerely thank you for the leg-stomping, rip-roaring, entertainment.

I was especially honored by the scripted orations of my previous blog posts. It’s always nice to hear your work read aloud from a third person’s perspective, seeing what sentences they emphasize, and how they interpret jokes, and I was treated to a multi-inning reading of my blog.

Although during the games I only communicated in simple miming gestures I would like to respond to some of the fans questions or comments:

1) The audience of this blog is the friends, family, and fans of KU athletics. Contrary to belief, this blog is not intended to detail specifics that will “psyche” us out, but if that’s your angle go for it.

2) The Jayhawk is derived from the blue jay and sparrow hawk not a “blue chicken” and stems from its civil war roots where the jayhawkers were abolitionist fighting for freedom. John Brown was a particularly important jayhawker in Kansas history as he defended Lawrence during Quantrill’s raids. Quantrill hailed from Missouri, thus, forming the original border showdown.

3) I am and forever will be grateful of my Kansas education. Kansas ranked at No. 89 in education in ’09 according to US News and World Report, whereas, Arkansas ranked at No. 125 and bashing my writing and choice of majors (Chemisry and Biochemistry) lacked wit and the art of creative heckling. Some advice: stat sheets and player bios are simply starting points for creative interpretation because being the best fan implies putting in effort to be original and innovative…

In conclusion, I apologize for the off topic discussion but the Arkansas fans were relentless and I hope this discussion adequately demonstrates it. The enjoyment and loyalty of such a fan base is an exhilarating rush. The fans expect excellence and in return give enthusiastic approval to their teams. Allen Fieldhouse is renowned for housing this interaction and as the season continues hopefully our own Hoglund Ballpark can see fans rewarded for their loyalty to KU baseball.

Feb. 20, 2009

Game day.

We opened the season with Shaeffer Hall working as a trickster, moving the ball in and out, and effectively keeping the Air Force hitters off balance to culminate in a no-hitter. As always, incredible plays must be made behind the pitcher to keep a no-hitter intact and both David Narodowski and Robbie Price deserve credit for spectacular plays that held the Falcons hit-less.

I first noticed the no-no around the fourth inning and had said “good inning Shaeff” the previous innings so I kept telling him that so as not to jinx it. I was reluctant though because you don’t want to break the pitchers focus, but then again, you don’t want to isolate him either.

The innings kept adding on and I started to note the magnitude and told the outfielders to make sure and dive for anything close. Given that the wind was blowing we crept up closer and tried to take away any of the bloopers that, inevitably, fall and discount the whole effort. Then came the ninth which reminded me of my summer in Watertown, New York, where I played with Brian Heere and former KU baller Steve Cochran, and our pitcher threw a no-hitter for eight and two-thirds. Then a player for Little Falls dropped a soft-liner into the outfield in front of me breaking up the no-hitter.

It was terrible because the pitcher had thrown so magnificently, and it was still a great performance, but it all seemed for naught as he had gone 26 outs without a hit, but couldn’t get the 27^th. So I knew we had to take away the bleeding blooper to save the no-hitter, preventing it from being labeled not as a magnificent performance but a performance of near perfection. The blooper never came. No hits were given up.

Moreover, the no-hitter superstition was preserved as nobody in the dugout spoke of the impressive display but watched pitch-by-pitch in hope of the unspeakable.

In fact, several players (not to be named) were astounded to look up at the scoreboard at the end of the game celebrations to see that Shaeffer had indeed thrown a no-hitter. It was an incredible, near perfect, performance made not by an overpowering arm but by a finesse arm trusting his team to make the plays behind him.

The second game was a heartbreaking loss. Not much is to be said about this game except for the determined and inspired comeback posted by the offense in the later innings.

Feb. 19, 2009

Travel day was marked by a flurry of freshmen nerves and anxiety about the upcoming games, and the step into the unknown of KU baseball. The barrage of questions about what to pack? Will we have lunches? Will I need a jock–of course, of course–they were relentless but soon caught on.

The arrival of JB (our renowned bus driver) was a pleasant site, easing some nerves and building others as we understood that the season was upon us. The bus was a pleasant site, as I said, because we were issued the plush black Heartland Stagecoach which has added amenities and, more importantly, an assured working DVD player and satellite TV to occupy us during our 10+ hour bus drive. We rounded up, loaded our bags onto the bus, and buddied up in the seats (we carried an extended travel roster for this trip) and pushed off for the adventure and games ahead.

For the first leg of the drive we taxied easterly on I-70 with trusty JB at the helm. By the end of the turnpike Brett Bochy had planted The Dark Knight into the DVD player and we entered the fantasy world of Gotham.

Most of the team watched intensely, while others pulled out books and studied and tried to write notes to the constant toss and turn of the swaying suspension and others leaned their heads forward or to the side and drifted off into dream-world. At the climatic conclusion of Dark Knight a switch of DVD’s was in order and (freshman) James Stanfield ill-advisedly prompted Strange Brew in homage of our Canadian native (junior) David Narodowski.

The nonsense and incredibly eccentric movie was enough to wake or call attention to everyone in the bus who gave it a uniformed thumbs down, thanks James.

The movie finally concluded after an excruciating hour and a half of viewing just into time for us to unfortunately hit the St. Louis rush hour traffic.

For the second leg JB steered us on 270 south, just minutes away from former KU baseball player Eric Snowden’s house, and we moved southerly. This leg was surely the most grueling, finding ourselves in the middle of Missouri with minimal cell phone coverage and lacking exit signs to identify our position. The one high point was the playing of Tin Cup over the TV’s delivering us with themes of staying true to ourselves, true to our friends, and loving the sport we play with undying enthusiasm.

However, as the sun began to fade so did the team’s interest in the movie. Bodies began to sprawl. Legs crossed the aisles to opposing chair’s armrests and people made a movement to the aisles to lay down without restrictions. During this period silhouettes could be seen maneuvering the aisles like an army obstacle course, crawling under legs and suspending themselves over bodies lain out in the trenches as they shuffled their way to get a Gatorade or use the aft-ward latrine.

Before heading east again we stopped in rural Missouri for a meal at the delightfully antagonizing restaurant, Lamberts, where they are known for throwing freshly cooked bread at those with upraised arms. People quickly learned not to mistakenly raise their arms for they would more than likely be surprised with a bread roll to the forehead. The server had astounding accuracy and rumors spread about the possibility of bringing him in as relief for Coach (Kevin) Frady’s sometimes “inconsistent” batting practice.

This peculiar restaurant also gave players the chance to try some unconventional southern delicacies–Schaffer Hall went on a limb trying chicken livers, Paul Smyth nibbled on frog legs, and all of us indulged in the flavor of fried okra.

We headed back on the road for the last leg which felt like a breath away, at two hours, after the long day’s journey. The TV was locked in on the ESPNEWS and people snoozed or watched videos on their own systems. Tony Thompson and I, having a mutual appreciation for the difficulty of heavy metal music, listened to his iPod and traded comments about the technical sounds heard in the music. After listening to music, reading, and memorizing the entire half-hour telecast of ESPNEWS, the conclusion of trip was signaled by street lamps, high-rises, and a sign labeling Memphis as “Home of the Original House of Blues and Rock and Roll.” We drove through the city, into Millington, and to our hotel where we checked in and went to our rooms. We shut off the lights and went to bed ending our days travel.

Over and Out,

Nick Faunce