PLAYING BASEBALL AT GRASS ROOTS LEVEL 'This is the kids' first time away from home. They learn to wipe their nose here.'
by Bill Nichols
Baseball in the lowest minor leagues is equal parts hot dogs and pizza, bus trips, cement-hard infields, chuckholes in the outfield, cozy ballparks, small crowds, little sleep and enough tension to make strong young men tremble.
Those are the impressions gleaned after spending two weeks as a coach on special assignment with the Batavia Trojans, the Cleveland Indians' affiliate in the New York-Penn Class A rookie League. The experience was a revelation.
While Gabe Paul and Phil Seghi concern themselves with the daily goings-on of the Indians, farm director Bob Quinn nurtures his baby at Batavia, the first drops of the franchise's lifeblood.
Batavia is a city at peace with itself. Whatever anxieties there are exist beneath the surface of everyday life. The residents conduct their lives smoothly in the slow lane. Batavia is a city of 18,000 people, located about 45 miles east of Buffalo just off the New York Thruway. It's a workingman's city, not like Cleveland, politically slightly Democrat and clean almost to a fault. While the citizenry goes through its daily routines without apparent emotion, nerves are jangled and tempers short on the corner of Denio and Bank streets, site of Dwyer Stadium and home of the Trojans.
Dwyer Stadium, quaint and cozy, is a throwback to baseball's past. Ghosts
of Cy Young, Honus Wagner and even Abner Doubleday can be envisioned against
the backdrop of the dark green grandstand. Nostalgia fills the stadium
confines. This was a time of straw hats and button-down shoes, a time when
the world was less complicated, a time that still exists comfortably in
Batavia.
Dwyer Stadium today is truly the perfect minor league setting, the proving ground for young baseball players from across the United States and Latin America, too.
In the first two weeks of the season, nearly 40 players wore the Batavia uniform. More than a dozen were sent on loan to Auburn of the same league, and a few were released. For one week, new players appeared daily.
As the Indians' rookie team, the Trojans are made up almost exclusively of drafted players and some free agents. Among them is Kelly Gruber, an 18-year-old shortstop from Austin, Tex., who was the Indians' No. 1 draft pick last month. There were players from Florida to California and Panama to Canada, a true cross-section.
The ballplayers come from the upper class, middle class and the poor. there are whites, blacks and Latins; redheads, blonds and even one youngster who shaved his head.
But, every player at Dwyer Stadium has one thing in common: to play baseball. Each brings a fragile dream, immediately shattered if he is told he is no longer wanted.
Players in Class A are paid $600 per month for a 74-game schedule played over two-and-a half months. Players who received bonuses had spending money. The others borrowed it.
Guiding these young men is Rick Colzie, in his first assignment as a manager in professional baseball. He's the brother of Neil Colzie, the Ohio State, Oakland Raiders and now Miami Dolphins football star. His aides are pitching coach Luis Isaac, a 16-year veteran who could catch in the big leagues but couldn't hit at that level, and Jack Cassini, a 40-year baseball veteran who spent but eight games in the major leagues.
Quinn, however, is head man in absentia. Colzie talks with him daily. And when the season got under way at Jamestown, Dan Carneale, the Indians' superscout, spent two weeks intensely watching these first-year pros.
John Jakubowski is the Batavia general manager. A school teacher who doubles as a baseball executive, he runs what is basically a one-man show conducting the daily business.
Then there is Ed Dwyer, who owns a shoe store on Main Street. He has been president of the Genesee County Baseball Club since 1948. Someone said Dwyer has a shoe store so that he can have something to do in the winter.
The Batavia story, however, is about young men pursuing a dream, a career in a game they previously had played for fun.
"This is the first introduction to pro ball for young players," says Cassini, who acts as a roving coach. "This is the kids' first time away from home. They learn to wipe their nose here."
"A player is either shipped up or shipped out. You can't do down." Hours are dreadfully long. Work never seems to end and travel makes you weary of mind and body. The reward is survival.
"This league is where these kids lean their basics," Cassini continues. "What you lean here you never forget."
"Managers at this level have to hold a tight rein on the players. You have to be a priest, a father and a manager."
"Coaching at this level is the hardest of all," said Isaac. "The players come from high school or college and it takes time to get them into the right frame of mind."
Art Sullivan, a 21-year-old outfielder from a Seattle suburb, said what most of the other players think. "I don't want to wish anyone bad luck. I just want a fair shot at making it."
There are about 200 players in the New York-Penn League, once called the PONY League when its teams were located in Pennsylvania, Ontario and New York. Perhaps 20 of these hopefuls, or 10%, will one day wear a major league uniform. The odds are staggering. But none of the youngsters would bet against his own chances.
The NYPL, in existence since 1939, is the oldest Class A league in baseball. There are eight teams, seven affiliated with major league clubs. Auburn is the lone exception. It is a co-op club, meaning its players come from the other teams in the league.
The players look at Batavia as the land of opportunity. The folks there have welcomed their summertime guests with open arms and wished them well.
"We enjoy seeing the new kids every year," said Dwyer. "Then we follow their progress. "We're proud of our baseball team and its heritage. And, we're very proud of our city. Don't call it "Bushville."
This article originally appeared in the Cleveland Plain Dealer
July 13, 1980
Reproduced by permission.