Knowing What You Want

For those who read this conglomeration of words I call a blog, I want to apologize for my recent lack of posts. I hope both of you found equally captivating things to read in the past couple of weeks.

It has been a busier than usual summer for me. Mainly because I have a part-time job that involves closer-to-full-time hours. Though I only get paid for 24 hours per week, most weeks see me logging closer to 32 or so. It is the nature of the business. I couldn't get done all that they are assigning me if I only worked the 24. For the most part, I have enjoyed the internship. I have covered a wide range of stories that have given me a lot of confidence in my ability to write about just about everything. My superiors have lauded my writing quite a bit and have told me they really wish I had graduated this May so that they could offer me a full-time job.

It was a great thing to hear. That I am on the precipice of having a career as a journalist. It's hard to believe, that after all the schooling and all the writing, that I am just about a year away from really doing this. But for the excitement that has come along with the words from my editors also comes the knowledge that what I am doing as an intern now isn't what I want to do as a career.

I want to write about sports. That is what this decision to study in this field has always been all about. It's why I have read the sports page every day since I was about 8. Given the state of the economy and the current state of the newspaper business, taking the first job that comes along is going to seem enticing. I can imagine scenarios where I may get offered more to be a general news writer. But making fistfuls of dollars is not something I am aiming for ... at least not right now. Happiness in life comes from doing things that you enjoy. I can honestly say that writing about sports has never felt like work for me. So, while the wait may be tense at times when I do head into the job market, I am not going to settle.

Ready for my Marley

I want a dog. I have wanted one for quite some time now, but the timing or the living situation just hasn't allowed for it. Against my better judgement, I watched "Marley and Me" tonight. Wow. Luckily, it's not against man code to cry during a movie in which an animal gets hurt or dies, because cry I most certainly did. I am now more determined than ever to get my own Marley, though I'll be looking for an alternative name. Just being back home, with my parents' dogs always around, you just realize how nice it is to have that constant love that they so freely provide. Plus, I promised Abby we'd get one, and I think she'll make a pretty good mama! So hopefully I'll have an update on the K-9 front in the near future.

The job is still going well. Mostly because, to me, it doesn't feel a whole lot like a job. Yesterday I "worked" for about 11 hours, but a good chunk of that was covering a doubleheader baseball game. Tough way to make some coin. I also got my first published photograph for a story I wrote about a GED graduation. It's far from good. Anyone want to give me lessons?

I miss my girl a lot. But I bought my plane ticket to Boston a couple of days ago and I'll see her in 24 days!

Budgets, biology and a bit of baseball

If it is possible to cover a full gamut of areas in a week's time, then that is certainly what I have done this week.

It started last Saturday. I went up to Phoenix for a relaxing weekend with some friends, but agreed to cover a baseball game for the Arizona Republic while I was up there. So I did. Unfortunately, the story I sent in slipped through the cracks somehow and didn't get published until today, but I understand that at a newspaper that size, these things happen.

When I got back to Sierra Vista on Monday, I had to travel an hour south to Douglas for a Cochise College District Governing Board meeting. I know, you are getting excited just reading this. Before you click on this link for the story, be warned: It's far from the most exciting thing I've written. But I've learned, that while these are not the most entertaining stories to write, for people in these small towns concerned with where every dime of their tax dollars is going, these things are important. In the long run, though, I don't think I'll want to be the one to provide this specific kind of information.

Yesterday was a neat assignment. I went to a kid's science camp that was being held at the local community college, where the middle school-aged kids were introduced to experiments with greater detail and complexity than most would see during the school year. They are doing experiments this week on forensics, DNA, chemistry and making slime among other things. Tomorrow, those rascals get to dissect sharks and rats. I certainly don't regret that I spent my summers at that age playing baseball, but something like this would have been neat to try.

Tomorrow I am talking to National Weather Service gurus about storm chasing. I guess down here, during monsoon season, people drive around when the clouds start rolling in to get an idea of where the heaviest concentration of an incoming storm may hit, and provide an estimation of how much rain it may bring, where flooding may occur, etc. So that should actually be pretty neat, too. I'll include the link once it's published.

Saturday, I am pulling double duty, covering a GED commencement ceremony (yep, apparently they celebrate this accomplishment) and then heading to Bisbee to cover the semi-pro baseball team. Love that ballpark. 100 years old this summer ... pretty incredible.

So yeah, by week's end I will have come full circle. From baseball to budget meeting to biology to storms to GEDs and back to baseball. What a trip. I am certainly learning the craft.



Oh, and on Monday, the enterprise story I did for my cornerstone journalism class last semester about the origin of the large international presence on the ASU golf teams, got printed in this week's State Press summer edition. It was a pretty interesting story, and one that I worked on for quite a long time.

On a side note, the excersise is still going well. Six straight days and counting. 29 to go.

Photo: ASU men's golfer Jesper Kennegard, a native of Sweden. Credit: Damien Maloney | The State Press

Feel the burn

I have thrown down the guantlet ... for myself.
I am going to Boston in 34 days. Until then, I am going to work out in some capacity every day. Tomorrow it may just be going for a longboard ride when the sun comes up, but come on, that can be some pretty decent exercise, too.

Sometimes I just don't get myself. I always talk about how amazing my body feels after a good run or some other substantial workout and how it gives me energy throughout the week if I do it.

Yet, there I sit, not exercising every day. Does that make any sense? I've been really pleased with the work ethic I have developed in terms of staying on top of school and finding every opportunity to further my career. But my personal health and fitness? Um ... yeah.

Well, no mas! Viva la revolucion! Look, I'm not saying I'm "John Candy with a smoker's cough" out of shape, but you're boy needs to do work! And do work I will ... I hope. Tonight was a start. I did 10 minutes on this stair-climbing thingy my parents have, and I was sweating like an Everglades tour guide. Like I said, a start.


Working man

One day I'm opining about the NBA Finals, and the next day I am writing a story about local Democratic leaders' thoughts on the state budget ... and I'm beginning to enjoy it. I'm not going to lie, my editor hasn't really been the best at giving me stuff to do. Almost every story I've done I've come up with myself. Plus, I think his feedback is more positive than it probably should be. Everytime I turn a story in he acts like it's the best thing he's ever read. Trust me, it's not.

But alas, it's been fun ... I interviewed two high-ranking Cochise College administrators, one of which is the president, who are set to retire. The story was essentially about how they have spent the last decade working so closely and with the same vision, that they have developed a strong friendship outside the chaotic world they work in every day. They were genuinely some of the sweetest people I've met, and when they began crying when they talked about leaving soon, I had to remind myself that my objectivity could so much as allow my eyes to mist. Thankfully, they didn't. What can I say, I wear my heart on my sleeve. I'm probably in the wrong profession.

On Wednesday, I got to have some fun and write a column about the NBA Finals. The fact that I literally got paid to spend a few hours writing it is mind-boggling to me. If that's how I make a living, I'd be more than content.


A wide array of tunes

Summer is a time that I love, because invariably there are more free moments. Moments to read. Moments to walk. For me, there are been more moments to listen to a many moments of song. OK, I'm going to stop saying moments now. I just wanted to make sure you were all paying attention.

This particular song has been in constant rotation in my ears today. It reminds me of the source of my grand affection and reason for my upcoming trip to Massachooosets, Ms. Abby Marie Gilmore, because the great Bob Dylan sings about Kansas in the first verse. We have a bit of a joke about that state, and I'm sure I'll share it one day ... but that's for another time.




I've also been getting my read on. The current page turner I'm glued to: The Bleachers, by John Grisham. The same guy who authored The Client and a bunch of other books I've never read, writes this one about a group of guys who once played for a storied high school football team and have now all met back up because their legendary coach is about to die. Gripping to say the least.


It is very Friday Night Lights, which if you know me, you know is my favorite sports book. Actually, I guess it is possible to know me and not know that. In fact, I would venture to say that most people who know me actually DON'T know that Friday Night Lights is my favorite book. Wait, this is good. Now, if I ever get asked one of those goofy, "Tell us something most people don't know about you" questions, I'll have a sure-fire winner. See, blogging really offers some insight into some of life's most important quandries.

Anyway, this has been theraputic. I'm out. 34 days.

This girl...

Makes me happy!

A bit of this, a bit of that

I'm starting to find my groove down here in small-town America.

I've had three stories published in the last two days, and two of them made A1 (front page of the paper for all you non-journalism folk). The good thing is that this week I was able to do stories where I was sitting down with people face-to-face, an aspect that had been alluding me in the first week on the job.

I know doing phone interviews is a part of the job at times, but nothing can bring out a story like a solid, sit-down interview. One thing that has helped me further my craft a great deal, is being solo with the interviewee. Covering a beat like ASU football, there are dozens of other reporters out asking questions. At times, it is a collaborative effort, as a slew of reporters ask the necessary questions.

With the one-on-one interviews that I am doing, I have to be fully prepared. I have put in a lot of effort to do my background research before interviewing the subjects, because if there are things I don't ask, then nobody will.

Last week, I interviewed the dean of the local UA campus, who is set to retire in September. He was a great guy to talk to, and we ended up chatting sports for half an hour, so that was fun.

The real rewarding experience I had last week came with an interview of 89-year-old Hank Kincaid. This guy was a hardened old-timer, who helped bring Buena High School (where I graduated) to Sierra Vista back in the 50s. He was sharp for someone about to enter his tenth decade of life on Earth.

Last night, I got to jump back into sports. I covered Opening Day for the Bisbee Copper Kings, a semi-pro team comprised mostly of small-college ballplayers trying to keep their game sharp over the summer.

I left the game with about a million story pitches in my head, which I am pretty sure the sports editor will be conducive to considering he has never shot down an idea I've come up with yet.


The Kings play their home games at Warren Ballpark, which was built in 1909 to provide a place of entertainment for the copper miners and their families. The grandstand, with its cracked wooden benches, hasn't changed for a century. By some accounts, it is the oldest, still-used stadium in the U.S. and precedes the construction of Wrigley Field by five years. I took a couple of pictures on my phone. They aren't the best, but they give an idea.

The place is just a baseball home that you picture in the World War II era films about the game. If you live in the area, you've got to check out a game. Hopefully, I'll be spending a good deal of time out there doing stories. This one wasn't my best, because with a combined 8 pitching changes, the game took a while, and I was on deadline to the max.

Watch your back, Tiger

The cool thing about my internship is that I work from Tuesday to Friday, so I have had some downtime to reconnect with some of my friends down here, and last night was vintage tomfoolery.

With little to do on a lazy Sunday afternoon, we (friends: Ryan and Kirsten, Michael and Alaina and their 18-month-old daughter Peyton) decided to make a quick jaunt to Tucson (not my favorite city in the world, but it does offer a few more entertainment options) to see what kind of action was afoot.

After filling our bellies full with Pei Wei deliciousness, it was off to the mall. We took a gander at the movie showtimes and decided the pickings were slim, so we just wandered around for a while. I found a pretty sweet T-shirt for a steal of $9, so the afternoon was going well.

After the mall closed, we decided that continuing our day at Golf n' Stuff would be the best choice for all involved. Ryan, Michael and I tend to be pretty competitive, so I made sure that I was focused. We played 36 holes and I made FIVE holes-in-one. It was pretty great, because Ryan was getting so upset and kept claiming that it was nothing but luck. Sorry man, but when the most aces that anyone else made was one, it's time to accept that I am simply a putt-putt master.

Only sad note to the story: As I was crouched down to look at a putt, my new shirt (yes, I'm a loser. I bought a shirt and immediately wore it) got caught on one of the holes' lamps and ripped. But a damaged uniform could not prevent me from cruising to a lopsided victory.

Del Taco gave us the nourishment we needed to make it back home. On the trip up, Ryan had poisoned my ears with a bunch of screaming coming out of the stereo that he tried to pass off as music. I made the claim that as mini-golf champion, I earned the right to control the tunes.

The ensuing result was an hour and a half of karaoke magic, the likes of which will not likely be rivaled anytime soon.

Good friends. Good fun. Good night.

The only thing that would have made the adventure better is if a certain someone had been there. I can't wait to see her.

"Nation, I'm no fan of regulation"

This video is hilarious for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which being that I grew up about half an hour away from Tombstone and will be covering stories there this summer.

What's even better is that the Tombstone Marshall in the video, who Colbert calls "Chief Buzzkill," is a guy my dad knows because he once tried to get on with the Sierra Vista Police Department but was turned away. Supposedly, he got turned away from other law enforcement agencies, too, before he was given a badge in Tombstone.

Anyway, without further adieu, enjoy.

Small-town livin'

Sadly, I was not a witness last night. I didn't see LeBron make the shot of the year. I've had to settle for watching the replay about 100 times. Dude will be considered the greatest player to play the game by the time he's done.

Anyway, I missed King James doing work, because I was posted up in a tiny newsroom in historic Old Town Bisbee writing a story on deadline about a high school graduation. It was kind of neat, though. Bisbee is this old, old town that is famous for being a booming copper-mining hotspot during the early history of Arizona. Some of the buildings in the old-town district are cose to 100 years old. I had a key to this newsroom, and I was the only one in the old, dark buliding and the street outside was blanketed with silence. It was pretty cool, because I felt like I was in a different era.

I also got to write a story about a former Buena cross-country runner who signed a letter of intent with Oklahoma.

My re-education

Lesson of the day: I have been spoiled.

As I have covered ASU sports for the past year or so, I have had the aid of a solid media relations Web site to turn to for background information. Whether I was doing a story on an athlete or an athletic event, there is usually a place to go for reference information to give me a start on a possible direction I wanted to head in my piece.

Down here in humble Cochise County, though, this whole Internet thing hasn't fully caught on yet. Today was my second day on the job, and I already have five stories in the works. What I have quickly realized is that doing the leg work for an article down here is a bit more taxing.

For example, I am working on a piece about a program called the Cochise County Association for the Handicapped. Recently the State of Arizona has cut funding for this organization, which provides numerous services for disabled in the county. The Web site I found for CCAH gives a rather convoluded history of the organization, and I began to realize that with a lot of these stories, talking to a LOT of people is going to be the only real way to get all the pertinent information needed. It's good practice though. I am being forced to become a fast expert on every story I write.

To compare, I also got assigned a story about a former Buena High School cross-country runner who recently signed a letter of intent with Oklahama after two seasons at Paradise Valley Community College. In no time I was able find his top performances over the past two seasons (3:49 in the 1,500. The kid flies). I was able to find a Q&A that he's done as well as his profile on the Paradise Valley media relations site.

I think as a sports journalist I may have been guilty in the past on relying a bit too much on outside information to get me started. Obviously stats, numbers and records are going to be chronicled and the best place to find them is online, but talking to people is generally the best way to get on top of a story.

I will post some links to the articles as they get published.

Back in the Saddle, Literally

Well, it happened. I fell far, far away from the blogosphere. I guess my duties as an editor, writer, student kept from updating this heavily trafficked blog. So for the many (or none) of you who have greatly missed my pointless banter, I apologize. But alas, summer has arrived and I once again have time to waste. For the most part, anyway.

Today I started my summer internship at the Sierra Vista Herald, the esteemed community publication of my hometown. While I will get plenty of opportunity to work on engaging small-town sports feature stories, my services are going to be utilized elsewhere in the newsroom. Take Friday night, for example, when I will travel 30 minutes to the quaint town of Bisbee to cover its small high school's graduation ceremony. I am excited about the job. I think it will provide a good opportunity for me to stretch myself a little bit and work on the reporting aspect of my craft, which I think can only benefit my sportswriting going forward.

I have already been assigned a profile story to do on a dude ranch outside of Tombstone. Apparently it used to be a huge cattle ranch, but now it is just a place where visitors can lay their heads down while they are traveling and be able to take their horses, or the ranch's horses, for a ride on a wide array of trails that they have.

I was kind of taken aback when my editor told me to have it done in two weeks. The reasoning he gave was that they will be giving me other daily stuff to do over the next couple weeks, but I was still kind of surprised that he gave me that long. Hopefully, I will be able to use the time to turn it into something entertaining to read. I am a big fan of the sort of western culture that Tombstone is known for, so I hope to be able to capture that attitude when I cover the story. Who knows, maybe I'll even get to ride a horse.

Beasts of the East

I must say, I am very excited to watch game one of the Eastern Conference Finals tonight. While I do think that the Nuggets vs. Lakers series in the West will be a good one, for some reason it just doesn't intrigue me. I would much rather watch freak athletes LeBron James and Dwight Howard do work. I feel as though I have been somewhat cheated thus far this postseason. LeBron has only played eight games, and in each his squad made quick work of its opponents. As brilliant as "The King" has been, I want to watch him with the game on the line, and I think Orlando will push Cleveland at least some of the time. I still expect the Cavs to prevail in six, though.

The Other Veal

Ignoring my disdain for the University of Arizona and their whiny football coach, there is one player on that team I cheer for. I posted a few weeks ago about Tennessee Smokie and former Buena Colt pitcher Donald Veal and what he has gone through in his attempted climb to the Major Leagues, but he is not the only brother impressing athletically.

Younger brother Devin is catching headlines of his own as a receiver for the Wildcat football team. Right now, he is home as UofA is conducting part of their training camp on Fort Huachuca. The Tucson Citizen posted a nice article on Devin and his thoughts on training at home.

It is great to see him doing so well. I don't know what I would do if I lost both of my parents, but Devin and Donald continue to make them and everyone from the Sierra Vista community proud.

I also think it is awesome that the Mildcats are having a training camp at Fort Huachuca. It is cool for the kids down there to see that and know what to aspire to.

Unfaithful lover of the links

I have been trying for quite some time to come up with a good explanation about how I feel about the game of golf. This weekend the words may have come to me. I am going to attempt to explain it like this.

Golf is a beautiful girl. You met her and you guys just hit it off so well. You went on a date and got ice cream and laughed into the moonlight and you realized that you want to hang out with her all the time. Things are going well.

It's a lot like that with golf. You can go out on a beautiful day and hit a round that you talk about well into the week. Every shot feels good and you stand in awe as your drives soar down the middle of the fairway and your putts fall into the hole with satisfying ease! You want to see these links everyday.

Then tragedy strikes. Just when you think you have the girl of your dreams in your arms you come around the corner at school and see her making out with your best friend. Betrayed. That is how she makes you feel. What hurts most is all that you can think about is the laughter you shared and the fond memories you can created.

That is golf. You had a great round and hit the ball like a pro. You visit the course the next weekend with a renewed vigor and an appreciation. Then you pound your first drive a mile right of the fairway into the Amazon rain forrest and that's when you realize: golf is cheating on you with your best friend.

Leaving home

The time has flown by and my stay at home has come to an end. Time to get back to school and work. This has been one of the best months I have ever had. I have learned so much about myself and what I want to do. I got so involved with a community the short time I was here covering Little League, that it made me realize that this is what it is all about.

Most aren't going to be professional but every kid has the chance to play the same games and dream like they will be one day, and that is the most rewarding thing I think a job at a community newspaper can bring.

I can't wait to start there. Eventually I will want to cover big sports and that excitement that comes with being in sold-out stadiums with screaming fans, but there is so much to be said for watching parents cheer on their kids, foul ball or home run.

I am going to miss you Sierra Vista. Monsoons, cool evenings, and summer ball games with the family. Life doesn't get a whole lot better than that.

Going downhill

I just came across one of the most ludicrous articles I have ever read.

http://www.myfoxcleveland.com/myfox/pages/Home/Detail;jsessionid=D2D5C20A057CD2FE8AB0564737F27F6D?contentId=6856475&version=8&locale=EN-US&layoutCode=TSTY&pageId=1.1.1&sflg=1

Apparently a Little League organization in Ohio cancelled an All-Star team because of a letter written stating that it was humiliating to the kids who weren't good enough to be selected to the All-Star team. What?

So kids shouldn't be rewarded for being skilled at the sport because it might make the fat kid jealous? I am sorry, but this is where we are becoming so soft it's disgusting. What is more disappointing, a kid who has fun all season but quite honestly isn't very good so he doesn't make the All-Star team, or a talented young ballplayer who has worked hard every day and loves to play the game but can't have a postseason because the kids who aren't really good, probably because they are too lazy to try, will be hurt? I am going with the latter.

I spent the last week covering Little League for a small community team and it was the time of these kids' lives. They got better and had a ton of fun along the way. They deserved it! They played hard and they wanted to get better. What are we coming to where you would take that away from a kid. Ridiculous!

Why do I even play?

Throughout the course of a blazingly hot Sunday afternoon in Mesa, Arizona I became convinced of one thing.

Satan invented golf.

There are probably several factors for this heavy realization, the least of which not being the fact that walking outside attempting to play a game in 115 degree heat is not something anyone should subject themselves to. What makes me truly believe that this so-called majestic game is the handy work of El Diablo is the absolute rage the game produces within me.

I hit very few good drives. Usually I get to experience a vast landscape of nature and wildlife as I search the outermost boundaries of the golf course for anything resembling my poorly hit golf ball. The frustration of mass destruction, however, does not come from the shanks off the tee, but rather following a perfect middle-of-the-fairway drive.

Several times during our outing on Sunday (several being a fairly loose term), I hit a couple of perfect (by my less than stellar standards) drives into the fairway that gave me confidence that perhaps my subpar game was heading to at least somewhere towards bogey respectability. But every time I would walk to my ball in the fairway looking to reach a green in regulation the result would always be the same. A horrendous golf shot.

There are fewer things in sport that I have experienced more frustrating than following a glorious, sexy drive with a 50 yard, laughable ground ball. Never do I long for the use of a time machine more than when I am out on the links. This would allow me to travel to 12th Century Scotland and discourage the locals there from creating such a ludicrous game.

The problem with golf, though, is that like Satan does with all his evils, he tempts you to enjoy its temporary pleasures even when you know they are just that. Has anyone ever had true sustained happiness during the course of a golf round? You tell me their name and I will call them a liar.

And then there is the laughter. The darn laughter. Get four buddies who make a lot of pretty funny shots on the course and you are in for a rib-busting afternoon.

My buddy Hank: Nick, what did you score on that hole?

Me: I don't know. Hey, what's four plus completely horrible at golf.

Hank: I'll put you down for an eight.

Side-splitting laughter occurs.

And as much as I know the horrors golf can bring into my life, though, I will likely never be able to stay away.

74 Days

That is how long until I begin my dream job. Well okay so the the job I am beginning in two and a half months does not pay enough to cover my monthly rent so I guess it can't be considered my dream job, but it is certainly a step in the right direction.

On Aug. 30, the ASU football team will kickoff its season against the Lumberjacks from Northern Arizona. And I will be in the press box for the start of what should be a very exciting season.

I have spent a good majority of my free time pouring over a seemingly endless pile of statistics about the Sun Devils. I have been studying depth charts, watching highlight videos of incoming freshmen, reading experts' analysis, and trying somehow make sense out of the vast landscape that is college football. Throughout all this I have realized that covering Arizona State football is going to be a class in itself, an icredible launching off point with a world of learning in front of me.

My new office

A Perfect Season

I probably felt the pressure more than he did. So did the rest of his family. Antonio, my 10 year old stepbrother, took the hill on Saturday to pitch in the Sierra Vista Little League Minors Division Championship. His team the Cardinals came in to the game with a 19-0 record, but were playing against a team in the Rangers whose only blemish on their season was a tie ballgame.

First inning. Strikes the first batter out with three straight pitches and I knew he was on his game. He throws pretty fast for a kid his age, but what makes him great is his consistency. He strikes out two in the inning and allows only one baserunner.

In the bottom of the inning the Cardinals got two runs, and it would be all Antonio would need to secure the victory as he game up only one run in five innings pitched, a feat pretty rare in a Little League game.

As they made their last out he threw his glove in the air and raised his fists, the perfect season complete.

Oh the ever swaying emotions

UPDATE ON THE POST BELOW: Tonight they made me a super satisfied fan. Hopefully that will continue.

More than any other sport, baseball is an absolute roller coaster ride. For me, the general highlight of a summer day for me is settling down in the evening to watch my Diamondbacks. My what an infuriating highlight it can be. Take the last two days for example. The boys played day games in Pittsburgh on Sunday and Monday meaning that they started around 10 a.m. here at home. How exciting to have breakfast (both were days off work for me), read the paper and watch my boys play ball.




The problem with all this, though, is my team is playing horribly. So much so that it is infuriating to watch. These days, as I just saw our rightfielder make what has the be the 15th error of this road trip, I can't help but be overcome with Hulk-like anger.





It is a blessing and curse we as fans of the sport must endure. Even when a team is playing well they still go through stretches of three or four straight losses that make in seem like Armageddon is heading for your club's ballpark. On the flip side of that, a nice sweep of a three-game series in the middle of long stretch of losing can still give a fan hope that maybe, just maybe, your team is going to be ok. I just hope the players know what us as hardcore fans go through.

Someone worth rooting for

When looking for a favorite ball player there are a seemingly endless amount of athletes to look to. There are Bunyanesque, all-star sluggers who can crush the ball a country mile and infielders with Ricky Henderson speed who flash more leather than a Harley Davidson clothing store.

But while there are so many players to see on TV day after day in big cities across the country, my favorite professional baseball player steps on the diamond in a small town in Tennessee with rarely a television camera in sight.

The four people who read my blog (and sadly I am probably inflating that number) have likely already heard me talk about Donald Veal, the left-handed starting pitcher for the Tennessee Smokies, a Double A affiliate of the Chicago Cubs. I can hope, though, that at least one other person can find their way to this and hear his story.

I first came to know Donnie when I was 10 years old. I played for the hapless Twins and he played for the Expos. When I first stepped to the plate I was suprised that this was the guy who created buzz around the Sierra Vista Little League. He was skinny and his goggles, which were far too big for his face, pushed his ears seemingly a mile out from his head, hardly a visually intimidating presence. Three pitches later was the first of what seemed like 100 strikeouts I would suffer against the flamethrowing southpaw during the next couple of seasons.

It was evident, even then, that he was going to be special. He could run, hit, jump, and he pitched like few his age had the ability to do. I got to know Donnie better when I was in seventh grade and he was in eighth as we both attended the same middle school and played on the school's baseball team. When he pitched I played first base that season. He almost always pitched. This gave me a chance to have a front row seat as I watched the formerly rail-thin Veal turn grown into a bonafide, hard-throwing sensation. It was probably the most fun playing baseball I ever had and he was an incredible teammate. Despite the fact that talentwise, and sizewise for that matter, he was head and shoulders above everyone on the team, he treated everybody with respect and was always encouraging.

In high school I stopped playing baseball, but Donnie blossomed into a star becoming the best baseball Buena High School had ever seen. It was clear a path in professional baseball was in his future. After his senior year at Buena, where he broke about every pitching record at the 40 year-old school, Donald was drafted by the Chicago White Sox, but did not sign a contract. Instead, he chose to attend the University of Arizona, as he was as talented in the classroom as he was on the field.

Then in November of 2004, Donald lost his best friend, his mother Tanya Veal to cancer. Tanya was a driving force behind Donald and his younger brother Devin, and knowing her it was easy to know why. Mrs. Veal was freshman basketball coach, and was one of the best I've ever had. Her passion and intensity pushed every player on her team to be better and earning her respect was at the top of everyone's priority list.

After greiving over the loss of his mother, Donald did what she would have wanted him to do, he got back on the field. After struggling to get on the field at U of A (he suffered some injury problems) Donnie transfered to Pima where he was one of the most dominating pitchers in the region.

After dominating for the Aztecs, Donnie shot up on scouts' lists and was drafted in the second round of the 2005 draft by the Chicago Cubs and was ready to begin his career in professional baseball.

He started play in the summer of 2005 and pitched pretty well as he did his best to get his feet under him not one year removed from the death of his biggest mentor. In 2006, Donald had an amazing season. The second half of his season was spent in Florida with the Class A Daytona Cubs where he posted a 6-2 record and a stifling 1.67 ERA in 14 starts. He was named the Cubs Minor League Player of the Year along with current Cub Rich Hill and fans in the Windy City began to take notice of this rising prospect.

Coming of a strong 2006 campaign, Donnie started the year with the Smokies with the hope of moving up. Much of the season, though, turned out to be a struggle.

"I put a lot of pressure on myself at the start of the season to get to Chicago instead of enjoying myself and continuing to improve and get better," he told MLB.com earlier this year.

At the end of the season, though, Donnie finished strong with a 2-1 record with a 1.93 ERA in his last four starts of the season.

As he began to get ready for his next season in November of last year the unthinkable happened. Donald lost his father, Donald Sr., to a tragic scuba diving accident. It had been only three years since his mother passed away, how could this happen? I remember hearing the news from my own dad after work one night and I, like so many others in a close knit community who knew the Veals, was shocked.

It would have been easy to quit at that point. It's not, though, what his parents would want him to do. Donald started 2008 with a renewed focus on his sport. Baseball has become an escape and therapy for him. A place where the essence of the game he has always loved soothes him.

So far this season Donnie has recaptured the stuff from his 2006 season. Through 13 starts he has a 2.67 ERA which is good enough for seventh in the Southern League. On May 31, he went eight scoreless innings giving up only three hits. He is currently in the top five on many Cubs top prospect lists.

Through it all his faith has grown and he knows his parents are with him.

"I've got two angels on my side now," he said in his MLB.com interview.

I can't help checking his player profile page every couple of days, even though I know he'll only pitch every five or so days. Sure, I am bias towards a player that was such a great teammate of mine, but his inspiration is universal.

Soon, I hope, my favorite player will be in one of those big cities, in one of those huge parks full of fans who won't be able to help but root for him. And I hope I am right there to see it.