Before that game, I had hoped to pitch an inning, but decided against it when, during warmups, I realized I couldn't throw with any accuracy, or over about 30 miles per hour. Instead, I volunteered to strap on catcher's gear, asked the kids not to steal, and simply flipped the ball back to the pitcher, using no shoulder motion.
So, in preparation for the adult league -- and, because I'm going home at just the right time, the 2014 alumni game -- I started a throwing and weights program some weeks ago. It's not going as well as I'd hoped, but it's also going better than I should have expected.
The main problem is that my shoulder is barking during and after every throwing session. I'm not too concerned that I have little-to-no throwing strength -- I can barely make it 130 feet on the fly in long toss -- given that it's been so long since I've thrown like this, but what is concerning is that I think I'm having trouble distinguishing between the bad kind of throwing pain and simple soreness. In high school, I had real shoulder pain at the start of my senior season, but with enough rest and a little bit of grit, was able to pitch without real pain once I began, or so I remember it.
Now, however, any time I try to crank up the effort past 80 percent, or so, my shoulder doesn't like it. It's bad enough that I'm relearning how to throw, trying to teach myself to step toward my target instead of throwing across my body while at the same time trying not to drag my arm behind and put more stress on the anterior connections in the shoulder, but I'm also trying to relearn how to distinguish what might be damage and what is construction under way.
But that just brings me back to the point of the throwing program, and what I realized the other day.
Let's say that I go all "Rookie of the Year", get to the alumni game, and absolutely bring it, with a 92 mile-per-hour fastball with control, a passable curve, and a change that's a 30 on the scouting scale. Let's also say that, miracle of miracles, there's a Houston Astros scout in the stands watching the alumni game. This is The Best Case Scenario, The Dream Come True, The Confluence Of Events. Let's say all this comes to pass.
A professional baseball team would be CRAZY to sign me. CRAZYPANTS, even, considering that I'm 5-9, right-handed, and 31 YEARS OLD.
Keep in mind, I'm the same person who harbored vague delusions of getting in great shape, preparing for a year, and going to an MLB open tryout somewhere until I saw that Miguel Cabrera was younger than I am and playing in the 2003 World Series.
So, my epiphany was that my goal isn't to try and get back to high school pitching shape. My goal isn't even to get into shape to pitch in the adult baseball league, or the alumni game. My goal is to get into shape to play baseball without hurting myself, which is different. Because hurting myself would mean physical therapy, which, while I have health insurance, sucks.
That means that when I throw on flat ground at a catcher's target (thanks, Rick!), it's okay that I'm barely breaking 50 miles per hour, because I'm just trying to hit my spots with a two-seamer, and get comfortable enough with the curve to get it over. It means that I might not ever be able to whip the ball from behind third base all the way to first ever again, and that's okay. It means when I go to the alumni game, if I catch again, I'll ask the kids not to steal.
Because my goal is to not hurt myself. I want to be able to throw BP to my own kid, someday. At about 50 miles per hour.
(FWIW, I got in the batting cage for a few sessions over the past few weeks and had zero problems hitting liners from both sides of the plate on pitches coming at about 70 miles per hour. Total confidence, there.)
