"...after all my tears, all my fears, all my fights, all my money, all my honors and awards, I was used to leaving bewilderment, confusion, and anger in my wake, as well as some wonder and awe. That had been the story of my life. And that story began, just as it will end, here at la finca."
"I had the essentials, beginning with the heart of a lion. Behind every pitch lay the determination and will to win: to kill rather than be killed."
"Hard work and good chemistry, yes, there was plenty of that, especially in an age when hitters had gained an edge over pitchers. But when theory, knowledge, and talent result in execution at a dominant level, there’s some mystery and grandeur in play as well. Sometimes the magic of baseball steals the day."
"Behind every big-league pitcher stands the real person, each with his own story to tell of resilience and an offering of hope. Mine is the story of a young boy and then a man who overcame his demons, fought his battles, overcame the doubters, and ignored the taunts and jeers of the fans who acted as if they knew the man in front of them, the man who lived, loved, cried, and laughed his way from the humblest beginning to this blessed present. From the mango tree to the top of the world. A ball in my hand, flowers at my feet."
Rating: 4/5
Quotes:
“Flowers teach you something,” she said. “They teach you about how to be, how to live inside. The heart of someone is like a flower—a beautiful thing in a person and is an attraction for someone.
He stressed to me that if I ever wanted a shot at becoming a baseball player, I had to do everything like he did.
Train, run, and throw, then train, run, and throw some more.
“There are no shortcuts,” he told me. “I got you into the academy, but I can’t get you out of here.
“That part’s up to you.”
Eleodoro had spoken with me before and after the tryout. He knew what I was about. He had locked eyes with me, and I never blinked back at his intense, dark eyes. He did not see an ounce of fear. He sensed that I would show everyone that what they saw on the outside bore no resemblance to what was on the inside. Look inside my heart, I was saying. There you’ll find the answer you’re looking for.
"The fact that he had to compete with so much talent that was at Campo Las Palmas forced him to develop his ability to concentrate, his intelligence, and above all, the ability to throw all of his pitches with excellent control."
“Never quit pitching inside.”
"After all the adversity I overcame, from cultural shock, jealous teammates, distru****l coaches, and ultimately disbelief that my head and body would hold up as a big-league starter, the Dodgers prized an outsider more highly than one of their own. The Dodgers gave up on me. They turned their back on me, which is why, to this day, my back is turned on them."
"Imagine if Rivera had never blazed his Hall of Fame path in the Bronx and I had spent my peak years there instead. It’s a fun scenario to toss around, and there were others too."
Torre’s opinion was, “‘Look for a pitch and try to stay with it.’ That’s why guys took a lot out of Pedro because Pedro, to me, he was always trying to throw pitches that looked like strikes. They weren’t, because he had the ability to do that, which is very rare. I think basically we were trying to stay in the middle of the field with him. We weren’t trying to pull him, we were just trying to stay on the ball. He could embarrass you, but so be it—you can’t play this game afraid of being embarrassed.”
As usual, Joe acted surprised that I was not there.
“You’re not going to go to the meeting?”
“No. I’ve faced these guys before. What is there that I haven’t seen?”
“Well, you better find your way to get Jeter out.”
“Why don’t you and Jeter together go **** yourself, Joe.”
He had to laugh at that one, but that made me even more snippy.
"Sometimes you really find out about a person when things aren’t going so good"
Great Story:
I continued to circle the baseball field.
The cafeteria at Dodgertown had big windows that overlooked the fields, so I wasn’t surprised to hear later that Leo Posada, one of the minor league instructors, asked Chico as they sat down to eat, “Hey, who’s that guy running out there? He’s been running for more than an hour.”
Chico said, “Who?” before looking out the window. Next thing I know, Chico sprinted toward me from the cafeteria.
“Why are you running?” Chico asked.
I had been running for almost two hours in my cleats, with no water.
“Because you told me to run until you remember to stop me—did you finally remember?” I asked.
Now, I could tell, Chico felt awful.
He said, “I’m sorry, Pedro, I didn’t mean it.”
Very calmly, I said, “That’s okay. Next time, just tell me to get my tennis shoes and I’ll run forever.”
I sat down on the grass and gingerly untied my cleats, pulled them off, and saw that blood had seeped through my socks. My toes and the back of my heel were peeling, the skin was all gone, and I had sets of blisters exactly where each cleat had been pounding into the bottom of my feet.
I remember Guy and the other coaches got very upset over what had happened, especially with the intrasquad game coming up.
I told them, “No, it doesn’t matter.”
Guy said, “Tomorrow you won’t run.”
“I will run. But I just need my tennis shoes.”
2 Hilarious Parts:
"When I came back, I didn’t always have perfect attendance, mainly because there were some baseball games I wanted to play in that conflicted with my class time. One teacher decided to nip my hooky habit in the bud. I had a really short haircut then, almost completely shaved off, except for a little tuft in the front of my head. My teacher grabbed that tuft one day and shook my head back and forth."
I never heard what 40-10’s real name was, but I knew the origin of his nickname. He was a young baseball player taking an English class, and it came time for him to practice his counting. So he started to count out loud: “ . . . forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine, forty-ten—”
Baseball players can’t let a beautiful moment like that just slide on by.