The Journal

Issue date: 9/21/06 Section: Sports

Media Credit: Mariano Ulibarri

Fifteen years, three traveling select teams and two collegiate seasons seem like enough for one person to be a connoisseur of a sport. Heading into my third year as a Webster University Gorlok, I would like to think that my knowledge of the game of baseball ranks right up there with anyone, especially with a resumé with the clout that mine has. However, even after playing thousands of games and practicing for countless hours, I have come to realize I can't even touch the bar that past great baseball minds have set. On July 20, 2006, I began a journey that would change my outlook on baseball and life forever.

I walked into the terminal at Lambert-St. Louis International Airport at 7:30 a.m. expecting to see a group of tired 14-year-olds who had no idea what they were about to do. Instead, I saw 10 boys who were ready to become men. Their ball caps and bags read "USA." We stood for something. We were going to represent our country in the World Championship Tournament in Japan. I thought the team wouldn't recognize the chance they had been given, but really it was me who had not yet realized.

Even though we flew Northwest Airlines, by the time we stepped onto the plane, we were united. Nothing from the outside world mattered any more. For the next eight days, Head Coach Brian Garner, his son and fellow Gorlok, Assistant Coach Kurt Garner, myself and our talented 10 would eat, sleep and breathe baseball.

Sixteen sleepless hours later, our flight landed in Japan. We hadn't even made it through customs when an excited young Japanese man shouted "Hello Americans!" I thought he couldn't have been older than 14 or 15 and I immediately wondered how he was going to escort Team USA. It made no sense to me, so I asked him where everyone else was. Luckily, he spoke English and said he would take us where we needed to go. I still didn't understand until he introduced himself as the assistant coach for a Japanese elementary school team. He was 21, older than me. I guessed that would be the first of many opportunities for me to look like a fool by judging a book by its cover.

The bus ride was only two hours, but after a 16-hour flight it felt like an eternity. I could sense the growing anxiety in my players as well as myself. Finally, the bus pulled into what looked like an abandoned school. It pulled down a hill and parked. The doors swung open and the players filed out one by one. I followed them, but hesitated before the last step. I realized I wasn't in the comforts of America anymore. My left foot slowly descended onto the hard dirt surface - I had made it.

Continued...

Page 1 of 3 next >

Article Tools