it almost was

This column could be entitled, “How I Made David Price the Top Pick in the Major League Baseball Draft.”

If that were in fact the title, I would tell you how I coached David for five years in youth baseball in Murfreesboro back in the 90’s. I would probably tell you it was my coaching that helped make him a star at Blackman High School and now at Vanderbilt.

I would tell you that I am the one who saw the potential and put him on the road to becoming the first player drafted in last week’s MLB draft. But it would all be a lie.

The column should be entitled, “How I ALMOST Got to Coach a Future No. 1 Draft Choice.”

That column won’t be nearly as interesting as the first but is at least truthful – well at least as truthful as any sports columnist can be.

I realize the Major League Baseball draft isn’t big news. It doesn’t elicit the same sort of hype as the NFL and NBA drafts. But to real baseball junkies, it is pretty big stuff. Last week, the Tampa Bay Devil Rays selected Vanderbilt’s David Price with the first pick in this year’s draft. The big lefty was arguably the best pitcher in college baseball this past season and his selection came as no surprise to anyone.

But what does all of that have to with this writer? I’m getting to that.

As 7-year olds, my son and Price were on the same coach-pitch team. Although the Orioles looked good all decked out in their orange uniforms, they weren’t very good on the field. There was some talent but the coach was one of those guys who knew little about baseball and even less about coaching.

David’s dad and I would stand along the fence and watch as the little fellas lose week after week despite the best efforts of our sons who were, and I’m not bragging, the two best players on the team.

After the frustrating season was over, I made a major decision. I couldn’t be as bad of a coach as this guy. I told the league I would like to take over as coach of the Orioles the next season.

With Price and my boy anchoring the infield, I had championships dancing in my mind. Then came the horrible news. David’s dad was thinking about moving his son up to the 9-10 year league a year early.

I made the phone call to try to convince him that another year of coach-pitch would be good for David. The minors could wait. This was David’s time to shine. It was a great sales pitch. The only problem was papa wasn’t’ buying it. I had lost my first recruiting battle. I would have to carry on without my stud at first base.

The Orioles did okay without Price, going undefeated and winning both the regular and postseason championships. And for the next five years I had to coach against Price.

Had he stayed with the Orioles, there was at least a chance he would have stayed with me through the 9-10 year old and 11-12 year old leagues. Can you imagine how good he would be if he had played five seasons with me? Can you imagine what this column would read like then?

Even at such a young age, we all knew David was something special.

Tall left-handed pitchers who can throw hard are a hot commodity even as third or fourth graders. He was intimidating at age 10 and more so at age 12. He was just as intimidating to SEC batters a decade later.

The good news is I never had a team lose to a team that Price played on. Maybe I should call this column, “How I Never Lost to a Future Top Draft Choice.” I don’t deserve the credit for that little tidbit but it is a fun little fact I like to throw out from time to time. Like his days with the Orioles in coach-pitch, David had a tendency to play on teams that were short on overall talent. He was a great player on mediocre teams. He lost a lot of games by scores of 1-0 and 2-1. I was just fortunate to have better overall team talent. But still, if only Price had stayed with me for that one extra year of coach-pitch, How many state titles might I hold?

If David makes it to the Bigs, and I am confident he will, I will write another column trying to take credit for his success. If he is inducted into the Hall of Fame, I will tell my grandkids how Price would be nothing if it weren’t for me. And what will I call those columns? How about, “How to Make it in Baseball: Don’t Play for a Coach Named Smith.”