The 33-Year-Old Rookie

Book by Coste Chris

Chapter 1

Spring Training 2006

SPRING training did not get off to a promising start. And this was even before I so much as strapped on my shin guards.

I arrived in Clearwater, Florida, in February 2006 with the rest of the pitchers and catchers for my second spring with the Phillies. My only hope to put myself on the club’s radar, as in each of the other four spring camps I’d attended, was to prove that I could catch at the major-league level. Going in, I knew that Philadelphia had its two catchers in Mike Lieberthal and Sal Fasano, and there was nothing I could do to take either one’s spot on the twenty-five-man roster for opening day. The most that a player in my position could hope for was to make enough of a positive impression that if someone went down during the season, I might get called up.

After pulling into the parking lot of the Hampton Inn in our rental car, Marcia, Casey, and I got out and began unpacking the car. I went straight to the trunk for the heavy bags and was dubiously greeted by one of the small Florida birds. I felt something soft and wet hit my head and couldn’t believe what had just happened.

“Mommy!” yelled Casey with exhilarating laughter in her voice. “Did you see that? A birdie just flew by and pooped on Daddy’s head!” My sixyear-old daughter could barely contain her laughter at seeing her big and strong daddy getting pooped on the head by a tiny bird. Marcia didn’t know whether to laugh or not because she was unsure how I would react. I normally have a good sense of humor, but to have a bird poop on your head certainly is not a pleasant experience. Fortunately, seeing the joy and laughter on Casey’s face made me instantly realize that it was funny.
You have got to be kidding me, I thought to myself. My first instinct was that a bird pooping on my head was not a good way to begin spring training.

No sooner had we settled into our hotel room than I received a phone call from Steve Noworyta, the Phillies’ director of minor-league operations. Simply put, he’s like the general manager of the organization’s minor-league teams and oversees all of its minor-league players.

“Hi, Chris,” he said in a concerned tone. “Are you in Clearwater already?”

“Yes.” Why wouldn’t I be? I thought.

“Oh . . .” He sighed an ominous sigh. “Well, I guess we had a bit of a miscommunication. We didn’t want you to show up with the pitchers and catchers, we wanted you to show up next week with the position players. As of right now, it looks like you will play mostly first or third base in triple-A. But since you are already here, I guess you can show up tomorrow and help catch some bullpens and stuff like that.”

To put it mildly, I was pissed off. I had hoped to prove to anyone who would pay attention that I was a good catcher. I knew it, my teammates knew it, and virtually every pitcher who’d ever thrown to me always had great comments regarding my catching ability. By no means was I another Johnny Bench, but they always praised my game calling, my soft hands, my ability to catch the low pitch for a strike, and how I always gave a great target. Over the years, many pitchers had remarked, “Chris, I stare in at your glove, and it’s like I can’t help but throw a perfect strike into it!”
In fact, many of my batterymates had gone to the manager and requested that I catch them in their next start. All catching instructors preach the importance of earning the pitchers’ confidence. “A catcher may be able to hit great, block every ball, and throw every guy out trying to steal, but the only thing that matters is if the pitching staff likes throwing to him,” they’ll stress. “If a pitcher insists that you catch him, that is the best compliment you can receive. And it is that kind of catcher that will not only get to the big leagues but stay there.”

Well, I was that kind of catcher. So why hadn’t I made it?

One reason, I’m pretty sure, was that my ability to play other positions actually undermined my career, in a way. What was my best position? Catcher? First base? Third base? It was always a mystery to them. I always considered myself a catcher who could play elsewhere if needed. However, the decision makers inevitably mistook me for a utility man who could play multiple positions–with catching being just one of them. It seems similar, right? But in the world of professional baseball, there’s a huge difference between the two perceptions. The term utility player tends to refer to guys who play shortstop and second base, maybe third base, too. No team will put its trust in a catcher who is not primarily a catcher.

So to hear that the Phillies had no plans for me to catch during spring training made no sense to me. And they wanted me at first base, of all positions? They had to be kidding. Ryan Howard, the reigning NL Rookie of the Year, played there. All he did in 2005 was hit .288 with 22 homers and 63 RBIs in just half a season.

I hung up the phone in disgust.

“What did you expect?” my wife asked. “Did you really think things were ever going to be easy for you? This is totally par for the course.”

“I really hoped the Phillies would be different,” I replied. “And I’m thirty-three, Marcia. Time is more than running out. If they won’t give me the chance to prove I can catch, I will never make it. Catching is my only hope. They will never call me up as an infielder, especially not at first base.”

No one understood what I had gone through more than Marcia. As many times as I had received great comments from pitchers over the years, oddly enough, she also received the same kind of comments from pitchers’ wives. “Is your husband catching tomorrow?” a wife would ask. “My husband is pitching tomorrow and he loves it when Chris catches.” She heard things like that on a regular basis.

Her response was usually the same as my response to the pitcher. “He loves to catch, but your husband needs to tell that to the manager or the pitching coach–they are the only ones who will listen,” Marcia would say. I had almost taught her word for word what to say when a wife would say these things to her. The typical response from the wife was that her husband had gone into the manager’s office on several occasions and told him that I should be catching.

HERE’S how you know you’re a long shot to crack the opening day roster: When I reported to training camp, I was handed a uniform with a big red 67 on the back. Generally, the higher your number, the lower your status. I also took note that my locker was on the “hopeless” side of the locker room with all the other players destined for the minors. Or oblivion.

I decided to use my frustration as motivation. It may have been only spring training, but I approached every catching drill as though I were preparing for the World Series. Just as important, each and every day I was in Charlie Manuel’s ear, reminding him that catching was my best position. He knew I could hit: In 2002, when he was managing the Indians, I batted .318, 8 HR, 67 RBI for the triple-A Buffalo Bisons and was named team MVP; the previous spring, Charlie’s first as Phillies skipper, I hit at a .313 clip. Now I had to prove to him that I was good defensively. “Just keep your eyes open,” I’d say before morning workouts. “I promise I will surprise you.” He wouldn’t reply, just smile and nod, as if to say, “Okay, go prove it.”

One other factor would make this spring training difficult: It was the first spring that I would be mostly on my own, as Marcia and Casey had to leave the following week. In previous years, they had accompanied me throughout the entire baseball season. But with Casey now in first grade, she could no longer miss so much school. We would all have to try to get used to seeing each other for short stints up until school let out in June.

Through the first weeks of spring training, I knew I was making a bit of a statement. Three days before our first official spring training game, against the New York Yankees, the team’s main catching instructor, Mick Billmeyer, approached me with some positive words. “Coastey,” he said, “after watching you catch bullpens, seeing you in our catching drills, and going by what the pitchers are saying about you, I have been telling Charlie every day that I think you can catch in the big leagues. He also asks about you every day and tells me to keep an eye on you because he wants to know how good of a catcher you really are. He knows you can hit, and he definitely wants to give you a shot at catching in some spring training games. So be ready, you might actually get a chance to impress him.” Mick, a former catcher, seemed empathetic, perhaps because he’d languished in the minors for eight seasons before turning to coaching in the 1990s.

“Also,” he continued, “Carlos Ruiz will be gone for a while to catch for Panama in the World Baseball Classic, so that should also allow you to slip in and catch some innings.” Ruiz had a lock on the starting catcher’s job at Scranton/Wilkes-Barre and figured to put in a lot of time behind the plate during the spring. With him away to participate in the first-ever international baseball tournament, I’d get a few extra innings to show what I could do.

That brief exchange with Mick Billmeyer improved my outlook dramatically. Whether it was a coincidence or not, later that day I really put myself on the map as far as the Phillies were concer...