A Truly Fictional Baseball Story

Some 32 years ago a very prominent California family, known simply as The Johnson’s, took their young son to a minor-league baseball game. And, for him and his family, it proved to be a life changing event.

The young one had never been to any sporting event of any kind, much less a baseball game. But when the Walnut Creek Mashers, the local team, held Fan Appreciation Day, the Johnson’s decided to take their son to the game.

The father always wanted his son to be “into” sports, but it never took for some reason. He showed a brief interest in baseball, but around Walnut Creek there weren’t many opportunities to play, and watching baseball can prove to be boring for even the most ardent player – especially if they’re young.

But the son was excited and he put on a cheap baseball jersey and a cheap hat, which had a logo that represented a local steel company. He didn’t have a glove, and the father thought that was ludicrous, so he went to the store and surprised him with buying a brand new one.The mother had some business to take care of at work, and unfortunately she was unable to attend the game. Later on, though, she would tell anybody who would listen that she was indeed in attendance.

Once the father and his son arrived at the game they walked to the bullpen, where that day’s starting pitcher was warming up (in those days they still warmed up on the side of the field). The pitching coach was off to the side observing him.

“There ya go,” he’d tell the pitcher, who was young and just learning how to get a feel for minor-league stuff. “Way to be, kid. I see the busher comin’ out of you already. Keep it up.”

The pitching coach spit out a wad of tobacco and turned around to see the father and his son standing there watching. The coach grinned and walked over to the kid.

“I see you got a brand new glove, there,” he said.

The son smiled. “Yes, sir. My pops just got it for me today.”

The coach looks at the father and nods. “That’s good. Way to be dad, keep it up.” The father responded by saying that this was his son’s first live baseball game.

“Is that right?” The coach spit out more tobacco. “Well, you need to break in that glove kid. How about you pitch today?”

“Sure,” said the son, not understanding it was a merely a joke.

“We could use six or seven solid innings out of ya, if you can give it,” said the coach.

“Coach, I got the youngest arm around.”

The coach laughed. “That you do, son.”

Just then, the public address announcer announced the starting lineups and the pitcher had to go take the field to start the game. The coach turned to the son one last time. “I’ll call you if I need you. What’s your name?” The son told him his name and then he walked away.

For the rest of the pre-game introductions the son was as happy as anybody. He kept telling his father that he was ready to pitch and he didn’t even need to warm up. The father smiled, not wanting to spoil the moment for his young, impressionable son.

Just as the father and son were sitting down they announced the day’s starting pitcher, and as he was running out of the bullpen he slipped on a water cooler and broke his throwing arm.

The coach: “What happened?”

“I slipped up, coach.”

“Good God.” The coach looked around, disgusted.

The coach left and talked to the manager, but they came to the agreement that nobody else from the team could pitch, because the previous game went 17 innings and depleted their entire pitching staff.

The coach ran up to the public address announcer and told them to introduce the young son as the pitcher for the day, and when the father and son heard his name called they jumped for joy.

The son ran down onto the field and the team gave him a uniform. He went out to the mound and pitched a no-hitter, the only blemish against him was one walk, which he surrendered to the first batter.

And that’s the story of Randy Johnson.