It was just like they said it would be.
We've all heard the tales — the tales of promising prospects getting a chance to show what they can do at the highest level. They all have their respective stories, and now I have my own to share.
A little over a month ago, I got the first big break of my so-called career. I want to be a sportswriter for a big-league newspaper, and The Sacramento Bee gave me that opportunity. I told them I'd do anything they want me to do — I was just happy that they were letting me in the building.
My job wasn't too impressive — just weekly minor league statistical reporting with some commentary along the way — but apparently, that was enough for me to make a good impression.
After submitting a chunk of these reports, and coming up with a couple new online features along the way, I got the call that so many young players dream about getting everyday: I was going to The Show.
With the paper's regular River Cats beat writer out of commission for the weekend, I was given a two-game stint covering the city's professional baseball team. Saying I was excited would be a rather enormous understatement.
And because of these two games, I'll never watch the minor leagues the same way again.
Like all minor leaguers that get the call, I now had a statement to make. I had to act like I had covered a pro team for a 300,000-plus-circulation newpaper before — yeah, I'd say I was feeling some pressure.
I left for the ballpark a full three hours before the game was set to start — and it wasn't like I needed to take batting practice or anything, I just felt like I had to get there. I read game notes like I had never read game notes before in preparation, and then covered the next nine innings of River Cats baseball. When the game ended, I frantically ran down to the clubhouse, did a few quick interviews, and ran back to the press box so I could get my story in before deadline. Mission accomplished.
By the time my first game was over and I was heading home, I was just 12 hours away from arriving for the next afternoon's game. I had learned a lot in my debut — I did a lot of things well, and I knew there were a lot of things I could do better, too. I was happy with the story I produced, but far happier with the experiences I could take away from that night than the story itself.
That's why the second game went so well.
I wasn't anxious my second time out — after surviving my first game, I realized that I had no reason to be. I was so much more comfortable in my second game that I realized that it was just that — a game. It's so easy to get caught up in your surroundings the first time you do something, but by the second time, I was remembering to have fun with my job.
The second game was a great one to watch, I got some great quotes from the team afterwards, and wrote a story that was worthy of telling the tale. As I left the press box and got in the elevator, my spirits were at an all-time high.
That's when my ship was sunk.
As the elevator started heading back to the stadium's ground floor, my mindset started dropping right along with it. It was a great game, a great story — why was I feeling like this?
Simple. My two-game stint was over, and I had already been sent back down to the minors.
The ride back home felt far longer than it had the night before. I wasn't thinking about the game anymore, I was just thinking about it being over. It was time to go back to the minors, and get back rolling on the life I had neglected while I was enjoying my two-day stint away from it all.
And that's why I can't watch the minor leagues the same way anymore.
I don't want to be back in the minors — I did a good job in the majors, and that's where I want to be. That's where all the players that I talked to when I was covering the River Cats wanted to be, too. The next time I head inside the River Cats' clubhouse, I won't look at Kirk Saarloos the same way. I won't look at Todd Linden the same way. They've been to The Show, too, but they weren't starring in it any longer. I can't look at the guys that haven't been there the same way, either, because I know how much they want to get somewhere they haven't been yet.
I had a hard time falling asleep that night. I didn't want to wakeup and be back where I was two days prior. I stayed up till my story was posted online, where I saw that my clever headline had been changed — great, the perfect conclusion to my realization that those two games were in the books. Might as well just go to sleep.
Fortunately, I decided to get out of bed the next morning.
It turns out my headline hadn't been cut after all — it had jumped to the front page as a teaser for the story to come inside. My short stint was in the books, but I could now actually reflect on it. I was able to see that I had done a good job, and was able to recognize how big of an accomplishment it was to get to that level in the first place.
I also realized that I was back in the minors — but this time I had two games of big league experience under my belt. It was a short stint, but it showed me everything I needed to see. No matter what it takes, I'm going to find my way back.
Adam Loberstein is waiting for the call once again, and can be reached at aloberstein@projectprospect.com.