Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, May 29, 1994 TAG: 9405290029
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: B6 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: RAY COX
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
From the windswept plains of Wytheville, from the murky hollows of Marion, from the far corners of Collinsville they come one by one.
They are the afflicted, the confused, the seekers of knowledge.
They come by truck and they come by car. They come with their parents. They come with their girlfriends. They occasionally come with a favorite security blanket.
They come to worship at the shrine of the cage, the pitching robot and the Wiffle Ball.
They come to hit, these pilgrims.
Some come with a closed stance and an open mind.
Others come with an open stance but a closed mind.
The latter the wise man of the mountains sends back home. No future in trying to teach those who do not wish to learn.
Ed Goodson hasn't had to send too many home from his private seminars on the art, science and witchcraft of hitting a baseball. Only the very young, those who arrive with a thin crust of pureed bananas on their bib overalls and a thumb stuffed intractably in mouth, does Goodson reject.
"Attention span is too short yet," he tells the stricken and mortified parents. "Bring him back next year."
But then again, a prodigy might arrive, bat in tow and eyes aglow. Goodson has a couple from over in Stuart who fit that description. To hear Goodson's stirring testimony, woe to Piedmont District pitching when these young'uns reach their majority on a Patrick County High School roster some years hence.
The tykes are the one who really bring out Goodson's most noble professorial instincts.
"If they're ready, they're really a pleasure to teach," he said. "They have no bad habits."
Yet.
Therein lies the key: With proper instruction from the guru of Grayson County, bad habits will be banished (in theory) and not allowed to take root like so much Johnson grass in a smooth expanse of putting green.
Ah, but there are those pupils who arrive with heavy baggage. These are the unfortunates who come with sick sticks, lumber with an ice pack on its head and tubes attached to it. Afflictions include hitches, upper cuts and out-of-control heads.
Drastic and sometimes painful remedies are required.
"The older kids are a lot tougher," Goodson said. "They have bad habits that they must unlearn. You basically have to break down everything and start over again."
Goodson isn't talking about breaking bones like an orthopedic surgeon would with a crookedly healing femur, he's talking about breaking down the swing into its basic elements. This is done with dry swing after dry swing, in slow motion, repetition after repetition.
"I make it simple," he said. "A 4-year-old, you should be able to go home and explain to his father every aspect of the swing."
By now, you may be wondering under what authority Goodson makes these pronouncements on hitting baseballs (or Wiffle Balls, which he uses a great deal for instructional purposes). His credentials including eight years of major-league service with the San Francisco Giants and Los Angeles Dodgers and long toil as the high school baseball coach first at Independence High School and then its successor, Grayson County.
Goodson has been giving instruction on the side for five years, taking a year off last year to build a house. It is in the new manse, between Galax and Independence, that he intends to build a batting cage in the basement for year-round schooling. Meanwhile, he meets his clients - they range in years from 4 to college age - at one of his friend's houses. The buddy has his own cage and pitching machine, purchased for the sporting edification of his young son.
That Goodson may deprive the young fellow of some cuts in his own cage in the name of a commercial enterprise may strike you as unfair. That judgment would be premature.
"He gets his lessons free," Goodson said.
Goodson doesn't do this work out of a spirit of benevolence, although he once did. For such expertise, one must pay $25 for 30 minutes of videotaped tutoring.
"What do tennis lessons cost?" Goodson said. "This is a bargain."
As far as the teacher is concerned, it pays better than being a hitting coach for a minor-league team or, for that matter, a high school baseball coach.
"Not even close," he said.
Which brings to mind a story about golfer Sam Snead, a fellow known for prodigious drives off the tee and a keen appreciation of the value of a dollar.
According to a written account, a fellow approached Snead and asked him for a lesson.
"Now take an 8-iron out of the bag," Snead said.
"Wait a minute," the fellow said. "How much is this going to cost me?"
"How much are you willing to pay?"
"Two dollars."
"Put the club back in the bag," Snead said. "You've already had your $2 worth."
These days, Goodson has taken his son, Kirk, into the family business and turned over all pitching matters to him. Kirk played college ball and spent a year or so in the Chicago Cubs' organization, so he knows matters of the mound.
Before long, they may have a nice little sporting conglomerate going: "Goodson & Son" has a stirring ring to it, doesn't it?
A partnership with a cousin, Bob Bralley, also is a possibility. Bralley, who was a baseball coach and athletic director at Highland Springs High School outside Richmond, has been teaching hitting for 20 years. Business was so good that he had to retire from the high school.
Goodson intends to stick with public education, but it won't hurt his feelings if his side business expands, either. As it is, pupils are coming from all over - some driving more than two hours for the privilege. Goodson doesn't do a whit of advertising, either. It's all word of mouth, some of that started in clinics he gives during the winter.
By Goodson's reckoning, 13 of his pupils have gone on to play college ball.
"That makes me feel good," he said, "not that I've had anything to do with it."
Perhaps he's being too modest. The proof is in the pupil.
"They must be satisfied," Goodson said. "They keep coming back."
by CNB