Half-way through the second inning of what would turn out to be a wholly unexceptional game for the big league club a few days ago, I came to a realization. Not a completely unsurprising realization, but a defining one nevertheless.
My name is Kate Morrison, and I'm a minor league addict.
I can't get enough of possibility, of silly promotions, of the ability to analyze and overanalyze, and of hot dogs cheaper than $5 each. I love dimly lit fields, strangely set bullpens, and opposing teams' players getting dragged into between-innings tomfoolery. The extra work, the thin defining line between prospect and not, and the occasional heartbreaking meltdown pull me back in every time, like a good book that's not quite finished yet or that bottle of great wine that's just almost empty.
It began as simply finding some dudes I liked and following them through the minors thread on Lone Star Ball. Of course, just starting out, these dudes were people like Jurickson Profar and Mike Olt, who were at the time about as guaranteed a success as one can get in the minor leagues, with the oddity that is Ben Rowen thrown in for good measure. Then, somehow, I got sucked into finding out more about Frisco, then Round Rock, then the lower levels, then the draft...and so the downward spiral began.
This spiral had already started by the time of the 2012 Draft. Despite never caring about any sport's draft before in my life, I somehow ended up listening to most of the three days, and I only partially did it to hear "Baylor" called six times. Then began the days of obsessively following the Arizona Rookie League, and giggling slightly hysterically every time my "chosen" draft guy, Joey Gallo, hit a home run. Even when I was in Italy, minor league box scores were the first thing I checked in the morning (though I never once woke up at 2:00 AM to listen to their games the way I did for the Rangers.) That was the summer of fun.
In the way that things naturally progress, this summer has become the summer of learning. I've gone from casual fan to addicted fan to...well, I'd like to think of myself as a somewhat knowledgable fan, and a somewhat knowledgable photographer. I still enjoy the pageantry, but the game is what I'm there for. I sit with people both smarter and more learned than myself, and I try to simply absorb by osmosis everything being tossed about around me. In minor league parks, I get to sit behind home plate, shoot [shaky] video through the screen, and attempt to guess pitch types using my recently acquired information.
In some weird, self-preservationist, slightly cynical way, the minor leagues never stress me out. I like when Rangers' affiliates win games, don't get me wrong, but in the end, it's about development. Did Frisco lose 8-0? Possibly, but Justin Miller had a clean inning, so I'm good. Did Hickory somehow not hit a single home run, but Jorge Alfaro (#TheLegend) had 2 walks? Brilliant! The only time I get even the slightest bit hand-flaily is if a favorite prospect has a bad outing. Real concern only comes in for injury, or failure, and then it's not anger, but only a sadness.
I'm still too much of a fan of the big league team to be able to separate myself completely from anger and annoyance. In the minor leagues, I'm never rooting for laundry. I'm only cheering for perseverance, development, and the umpire gamely dancing with the mascot between innings.
Thanks to @tepidp, @stoltz_baseball, @LoneStarDugout, and many others for putting up with my sometimes inane questions about scouting, minor league baseball, and sidearming/submarining pitchers. Thanks also to Erick Martin for beta-reading this.
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