Sentinel & Enterprise

Minor leaguers reflect on canceled season

- By Jake Seiner

Matt Seelinger sat in the visitor’s bullpen at Surprise Stadium, waiting for his turn to pitch. The San Francisco Giants right-hander had never played above Class A. Now, in a Cactus League exhibition against the Texas Rangers, he was in line to toe a major league mound for the first time.

Then it started to storm in Arizona.

“Just my luck, it rains in the desert,” Seelinger said.

The Giants and Rangers called off the game after five innings, and Seelinger returned to his hotel. That’s where he was, trying not to lament his missed opportunit­y, when he saw the headline on TV:

The NBA was suspending its season after Utah Jazz player Rudy Gobert tested positive for the coronaviru­s. Seelinger figured baseball wouldn’t be far behind.

More than a year later, Seelinger and several thousand other minor leaguers are finally getting back to work. After major league players depart their camps in Florida and Arizona to begin the big league season on Thursday, the lucky minor leaguers who kept their jobs through the past year will take their places in spring training, resuming careers put on pause by the pandemic.

They’ll have some stories to swap -- about power lifting with truck parts, box jumping on electrical units, constructi­ng makeshift bullpens in their back yards. About moving in with parents and working odd jobs to cover expenses. About being locked in apartments for months on end, not even allowed out for groceries.

“Each industry in this world went through stuff, but us baseball players, we only have X amount of years to play our sport, and we lost a year,” Seelinger said. “I’ll never get that year back. You don’t think of it like that because that’s not a good mindset to have. But that’s just a reality.”

Last year was supposed to be a pivotal one for Nick Garland. Undrafted as a senior out of Central Connecticu­t State, the catcher once drove from facility to facility along Florida’s Gulf Coast, demanding to speak to farm directors so he could ask for a job. It

had worked — he was in camp frequently to catch, and that’s how He quarantine­d in an apartwith the Minnesota Twins last they stayed sharp until parks bement with a teammate for over spring, trying to lock up a roster gan to reopen around June. two months, not even allowed to spot at one of their low-level affiliElse­where, players did whatevleav­e to grocery shop — a team nuates. er they could to stay in shape. Jake tritionist would FaceTime him

Instead, he was sent back to his Fishman, a left-hander for the Mifrom the market to make sure he parent’s house on Long Island, ami Marlins, began deadliftin­g a got what he wanted. The Reds prowhere every ballfield and batting neighbor’s crane stabilizer­s — big vided exercise bands and workout cage was closed while New York hunks of metal used to keep programs via Zoom, but even gofought to flatten the curve. Destrucks and other machinery in ing outside to throw was prohibithe perate pleaded ed.“for somewhere with his to parents practice, to place. Oakland A’s catcher Collin We were in our apartment, gobuild a cage on their front lawn. Theroux couldn’t find anything ing nowhere,” he said. “Just sitting

“I’m like, ‘ This is my career. I heavy, so he focused on explosivet­here watching TV or doing our need to get my work in,’” he reness. Among his workouts — venworkout­s. called shouting. turing into the parking lot of his “It was hard, especially for us,

Garland got his batting cage — girlfriend’s apartment complex when Americans went home and briefly. He and another nearby and jumping on benches, electriwe couldn’t. It was frustratin­g.” player, Bobby Honeyman of the cal units or whatever else he could Plaz considers himself lucky. Seattle Mariners, bought a popup find. He’s spoken to other Venezuelan structure designed for Little “Everybody was just embracing players whose teams were less atLeaguers and set it up outside the weird at that point,” Theroux tentive last summer.

Garland’s house. said. “Normally I think I would Still, the lockdown hardly

“I remember all the neighbors shy away from that, but I think helped his big league aspiration­s. were just looking at us like, ‘What those times called for people givThat much became clear when the hell are these kids doing?’” he ing you a pass on being weird.” Plaz and his teammates finally resaid. “We thought it was the coolPeters­on Plaz, an outfielder turned to the team facility around est thing ever. Five swings in, we with the Cincinnati Reds, would August. put five holes in it.” have loved just to go outside. The “We were feeling like we didn’t

Garland had better luck work22-year-old from Venezuela hasn’t know how to play baseball,” he ing on his defense thanks to been home in two years due to the said. “It was crazy. We were bad. Seelinger, who lives nearby. Needpoliti­cal and economic crisis We were looking at each other ing somewhere to throw, Seelinger there. Like many of his countrylik­e, ‘ Oh my God, you’re fat,’ or and his dad built their own men, he was among the few play‘ You can’t even swing, you can’t mound from plywood and artifiers allowed by MLB to remain in even run.’ It was a challenge becial turf and set up a bullpen in team housing when spring traincause then we had to start from their backyard. Garland came over ing was shuttered. zero again.”

 ?? AP FILE ?? Menu boards and tables occupy the third-base infield dirt in preparatio­n for dining guests at McCoy Stadium, home of the then-Pawtucket Red Sox, in Pawtucket, R.I., on May 27, 2020. Following a year without a season due to the coronaviru­s pandemic, thousands of minor league players are finally returning to work.
AP FILE Menu boards and tables occupy the third-base infield dirt in preparatio­n for dining guests at McCoy Stadium, home of the then-Pawtucket Red Sox, in Pawtucket, R.I., on May 27, 2020. Following a year without a season due to the coronaviru­s pandemic, thousands of minor league players are finally returning to work.

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