Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: TUESDAY, May 3, 1994 TAG: 9405040009
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: MARK MORRISON STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
Standing alone on the pitcher's mound, Larry Beheler thought to himself: This is going to be one long afternoon.
He looked to his catcher, who was shaking with a terrible case of nerves behind home plate.
He blew out a deep breath. Yes, a very long afternoon.
Beheler, 42, made his pitching debut Sunday in Roanoke's new adult baseball league. It marked the first time he had played in a baseball game since he was a 15-year-old little leaguer - and he had honestly hoped for a much better beginning to his long-dreamed-about return.
He had hoped at least for a catcher who could catch.
But that was only part of his predicament as he stood there with the bases loaded.
Watching from the bleachers was a small legion of supporters, from his wife and 8-month old daughter to his 78-year-old mother. Even an old friend, who had read about his baseball comeback in the Sunday newspaper, showed up out of curiosity.
Then there was his field support, his seven other teammates around the infield and outfield at Maher Field in Roanoke, waiting with rusty gloves, aging bones and nerves of their own. Like Beheler and his catcher, they, too, were playing baseball again for the first time in many years.
They wore their name and image on brand new uniforms: The Mudcats.
Beheler eyed his jittery catcher, Rich Cranwell, who was visibly shaking.
"It's like someone has stuck a 12-volt battery on my back," Cranwell said.
In baseball, that is not good. A jittery, shaking catcher tends to rattle a pitcher, particularly when that pitcher hasn't pitched since 1966.
Cranwell, the son of powerful state legislator Richard Cranwell, crouched down behind home plate and opened up his catcher's mitt for Beheler's next pitch. It was not a comforting picture. Already in the first inning, Cranwell had dropped more of Beheler's pitches than he had caught, which was the primary reason their team was behind one run and now faced runners on first base, second and third.
Beheler kicked into his pitching motion.
He felt an added pressure. He couldn't throw a bad pitch, he told himself. If he did, if he threw the ball too high or too low or too wide, then chances were Cranwell would miss it. Chances were he might miss it anyway.
The ball came in perfect, over the middle of the plate and dead on-target for Cranwell's mitt.
The umpire called a strike.
But Cranwell couldn't handle the ball. It skimmed off his glove and rolled toward the backstop behind him, leaving the runner free to score easily.
Soon afterward, Beheler's first inning on the mound ended, without any more runs scored.
He was lucky. The score was only 2-0. It could have been much worse.
It could have been like the second inning.
In the second inning, Cranwell's troubles continued. After Beheler walked the first batter, Cranwell missed two consecutive pitches, allowing the first batter to advance to second base, and then third.
By then, Cranwell had suffered enough. He took himself out of the game.
He was upset, but to his credit, he remained spirited and enthusiastic through the rest of the game, and his fellow Mudcats were supportive. Beheler said: "We're all out here trying. I really can't get down on him. He was doing the best he could."
Beheler would be much harsher on his own performance.
In the second inning, he gave up five runs, although one of those came on a fielding error and another came on a blooper that plopped down in shallow right field. And there was a bright side. Despite the five runs, he registered three strike-outs.
He did better in the third inning, adding another strike-out, and getting the first three batters out in short order. No runs. No hits. No errors. "He's got that Louis Tiant twist," commented one of the opposing players from the Roanoke Stars. Louis Tiant was a former major-league pitcher.
With his own turn at bat, Beheler struck out.
The fourth inning offered little solace in return. He gave up a home run - a lofting, confidence-killing, 350-foot drive over the left field fence - that made the score 9-2 and left only one thing in doubt. Would the game end early because of the league's 10-run mercy rule?
From the dugout, Beheler's teammate Peter Lewis called out.
"OK, we got them where we want them."
Beheler ended the inning by regaining some of his dignity with a strike out on a tricky change-up pitch that fooled the batter so thoroughly it forced him to swing about an hour before the ball arrived at the plate.
"That ball wasn't going 10 miles per hour," Beheler said later. "I enjoyed that one."
In all, he pitched just four innings. He threw 79 pitches. He had five strike-outs, gave up two walks, eight hits and nine runs. Not exactly all-star numbers, although they aren't as bad as they might seem. Cranwell's problems at catcher and a handful of other mistakes made the game much more lopsided than it should have been.
Still, Beheler wasn't happy with his pitching: "I thought it was pretty bad, to be honest."
Part of that, of course, was the defeat talking. Under the mercy rule, the game on Sunday was called after seven innings with the Mudcats behind 13-3. For Beheler and company, it had been a long afternoon indeed.
Afterwards, they huddled together briefly with serious faces, as serious as only men named after fish and playing a boy's game can be. They came out to win, and this had been a setback to their newborn Mudcat pride.
Someone in the group finally said: "We just have to shake this one off." And everybody chimed in: "Let's shake it off. Come on now."
Walking away from the field in solitude, Beheler didn't look back at the scoreboard.
He would pitch again in two weeks. He will play better then, he thought. They all will. They will have to.
Or it is going to be a long, long summer.
by CNB