Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, May 30, 1993 TAG: 9305300023
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: D5 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: RAY COX
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
It goes all the way back to his father, Jose Benjamin Encarnacion of the Vialladuarte neighborhood of Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic. The elder Encarnacion knows his baseball from his days as a third baseman and catcher for the Dominican Army team.
Yes, Jose knew his catching. He also knew, or so he thought, that young Angelo was no catcher.
"You may not play catcher," Jose told Angelo. "You are too small. You are a second baseman."
There was no further discussion.
Jose's word was law, of course, but that didn't mean little Angelo had to like it. What can you do when inside a child's body beats the heart of man who yearns to don the tools of ignorance?
Angelo embraced his destiny as a member of the Dominican Little League National Team. One afternoon, a catcher was needed, and one of the coaches solicited volunteers. One little hand went up.
"That day, I threw out three at second base," Encarnacion said.
Time passed. Encarnacion, a little bigger, was good enough to join the Army team. He was there for only a couple of months before the scout arrived.
Jose Encarnacion was in for one Caribbean-sized shock the day his son informed him he had signed to play professional baseball. Right there on the street one day, the guy from the Pittsburgh Pirates had initiated and completed contract negotiations.
"Great," Jose said. "What position are you going to play?"
When told that the kid was going to be playing catcher, you could have knocked the old guy over with a palm frond.
"Catcher?" he said. "You have surprised me."
No more blown away was he than the guy at Instructional League in Bradenton, Fla., when Angelo showed up in 1990.
"What position do you play?" the guy said, eyeballing Encarnacion's 5-foot-8, 180-pound frame.
"Catcher."
"Come on."
"No, catcher."
"Hey, somebody, what does this guy play?"
Dude wasn't convinced until Encarnacion flung a couple of aspiring base thieves out at second base.
But there is nobody Encarnacion would rather be sold short by than a guy motoring in from third base for an inevitable confrontation at the plate.
"That's my favorite play," said Encarnacion, an evil sparkle in his eye. "I love it when a guy comes to home plate thinking, `Here's some little guy. I'm going to beat him,' and I think, `Have I got a surprise for you.' "
Mike Harrison, the Winston-Salem Spirits catcher and a fellow who measures about 6-2 and 210, got clued in in not-so-gentle fashion last week. He was trying to score from first on a double to right. He and Encarnacion collided at the plate with dirt, sweat and spit going everywhere.
Out!
Harrison got up slowly, looking for all the world like a guy who didn't feel so hot. Encarnacion already was down the third-base line, bouncing on his toes, with his eye on second to hold the runner.
Encarnacion, who is hitting .253, occasionally can jolt the complacent with his bat as well. In that same game against the Spirits, he launched an absolutely majestic mortar shot over the scoreboard in left and off into the Salem night. It was Encarnacion's first homer this year.
"I didn't see it," he said. "I run fast every time I hit it in case I hit it hard."
It would be nice for Jose Encarnacion to be able to see what the muscular little guy can do now, but that is unlikely to come to pass. For the past six months, the Encarnacion patriarch has been in a Santo Domingo hospital. He has cancer.
"Sometimes, I want to go back to be with my family," Angelo said. "But I tell myself, `Angelo, you have to stay here. You have a job to do. This is how you help your family.'
"My father tells me: `Do what you have to do. Don't worry about me.' "
\ HALF MOON OVER THE INFIELD: A traditional moment at Salem Municipal Field involves the delivery of liquid refreshment to the presumably parched umpires during the seventh-inning stretch.
One recent balmy night, ballpark employee Toby Rogers was dispatched with the task of being waiter to the men in blue. However, just as he was making his way from the gate at the visiting dugout across the field, his shorts - those voluminous sorts now favored in fashion circles - began to take a dangerous plunge groundward.
Only with a dexterous grab was disaster averted before the giggling gallery. There was widespread applause and hollering, which he turned and acknowledged with a theatrical gesture.
Later, somebody pointed out to him that the only way such a haberdashery horror show could have occurred was because his pockets were overstuffed. Clearly, he had too much money.
This he denied.
"Not from this ballpark I don't."
\ RECOVERING NICELY: Eric Owens of the Spirits, the former Ferrum whiz, was mired in a 1-for-15 slump before breaking out of it the other night with a 2-for-5, two-RBI game. If ever there were mitigating circumstances for a slump, he had them.
His father, Vernon Owens of Danville, had reported to the doctor with breathing problems recently only to discover that he unknowingly had had a heart attack, perhaps several.
The Owenses are very close. Vernon and Glenda Owens travel to most of the Spirits' home games and once even made the trip to Billings, Mont., where Eric was playing in the Pioneer League last year.
This week, Vernon Owens underwent quadruple bypass surgery. The operation was a success.
"It's been real hard on me," Eric Owens said. "I've been thinking about my dad, and that's hurt me at the plate. It didn't affect me as much in the field, but it doesn't take as much concentration in the field."
Owens can't wait for his folks to be able to get back to the ballpark.
"Just knowing they're there and that they're OK makes me feel better," he said.
By the way, if Owens doesn't have enough pressure on him already, he wears No. 14. If wearing Pete Rose's number in the Cincinnati Reds organization isn't enough to put the squeeze on your brain, what will?
Owens wanted the number because his wife, Dee, likes it.
by CNB