Brooks' impact comes off field
The Arizona Republic
March 28, 1999
In the world of music, he has recorded a bunch of hit singles.
In spring training, he has a single hit.
One hit in 16 at-bats.
As the Padres slung travel bags over their shoulders and filed out of the
small visitors clubhouse -- "Ten-minute bus!" coach Davey Lopes announced
-- Garth Brooks lingered, lost in thought, staring at a wall.
Brooks pondered his latest missed opportunity in his one trip to the
plate, an eighth-inning pinch-hit appearance against the Angels.
He was angry with himself.
Instead of taking a strike, as planned, he had jumped at left-hander Mike
Magnante's first offering.
"A stupid thing," he said.
At that moment, it didn't matter to him that he is the highest-selling
solo artist in U.S. music history or that hundreds of baseball fans, many
of whom listen to and buy his music, were waiting for him, as they are
after every game.
Brooks earned $54 million last year. But he can't buy a base hit.
When Chris Pritchett caught Brooks' weak pop foul, fans playfully booed
the Angels first baseman for sending the most popular .063 hitter in
baseball back to the dugout unfulfilled.
"Very frustrating," Brooks said. "I hate sucking."
He isn't trying to kid anyone. The 37-year-old singer hasn't played
baseball seriously since high school. He didn't expect to pick up a bat
as if it were a guitar and began terrorizing big league pitching.
Brooks joined the Padres spring training camp as a non-roster invitee.
The team made a donation to the Touch 'Em All Foundation, a collaboration
among major league players, entertainers and corporate partners that
contributes money to children's charities nationally and in San Diego.
Brooks is a realist. When a cheery TV reporter asked Garth how he will
feel when spring training ends and Brooks is informed he made the opening
day roster and is a full-fledged Padre, the entertainer offered a reply
as ridiculous as the question. "And they'll also tell me we have world
peace and we're out of debt as a country."
It's too late in life for him. Brooks knows that. Alone in the clubhouse,
I asked what he would like the Padres to tell him when spring training
ends.
"What would I like to hear?" he asked. After a thoughtful pause, he said,
wishfully, "I would love to be told that if I had invested the last 17
years playing the game, I would be playing major league baseball."
This is the closest chance he will have. So he took it, ignoring critics
and cynics and fighting down his fears.
"I'm scared to death of embarrassment and failure," Brooks said. But he
made a commitment. He would try.
"If you don't, you might as well stay in the house all day. . . . You're
the only one who can see your dreams."
What he has seen during his "minute a day," as he calls his cameo roles
at the plate, are fastballs and curves.
Although he has struck out only once, Brooks sometimes must feel like
former big league catcher Bob Uecker during his playing days. A career
.200 hitter, Uecker jokes that the manager would turn to him on the bench
and bark, "Uecker, grab a bat and put out that rally!"
Brooks is disappointed in himself. From the day spring training began, he
has said he doesn't want to embarrass the Padres and baseball. He doesn't
have to worry.
Can he hit? No. But not every contribution a person makes appears in the
morning box score.
Those columns of gray type don't record the hours Brooks has spent after
every game patiently shaking hands, posing for pictures, signing his
signature until his hand begins to cramp.
"Hi, what's your name?"
"Chris," the fan said.
"C-h-r-i-s?" Brooks asked. Before autographing each ball, he checks the
spelling.
They call out to him. Reach for him. Offer him gifts. One woman presented
Brooks with a jar of pickled vegetables she had picked from her garden.
"Let's see your arm," Brooks said, singling out a wide-eyed little girl.
The child tossed the ball from the stands. Brooks caught it, wrote her
name and tossed it back.
When Brooks noticed a TV cameraman shooting the autograph scene, he asked
him, politely, to turn off his camera. "If you don't mind," he said. "I
don't want people thinking I'm doing this for you."
The bus leaves.
Garth Brooks stays and signs another ball, and another.
"I'm getting more out of this than I'm giving," he said apologetically
after another hitless game.
I couldn't disagree more.
***
