Inside: Minor league baseball players look back on a season lost due to the coronavirus,
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 with the Minnesota Twins last spring, trying to lock up a roster spot at one of their low-level affiliates.
Instead, he was sent back to his parent’s house on Long Island, where every ballfield and batting cage was closed while New York fought to flatten the curve. Desperate for somewhere to practice, he pleaded with his parents to build a cage on their front lawn.
“I’m like, ‘This is my career. I need to get my work in,’” he recalled shouting.
Garland got his batting cage — briefly. He and another nearby player, Bobby Honeyman of the Seattle Mariners, bought a popup structure designed for Little Leaguers and set it up outside Garland’s house.
“I remember all the
neighbors were just looking at us like, ‘What the hell are these kids doing?’” he said. “We thought it was the coolest thing ever. Five swings in, we put five holes in it.”
Garland had better luck working on his defense thanks to Seelinger, who lives nearby. Needing somewhere to throw, Seelinger and his dad built their own mound from plywood and artificial turf and set up a bullpen in their backyard. Garland came over frequently to catch, and that’s how they stayed sharp until parks began to reopen around June.
Elsewhere, players did whatever they could to stay in shape. Jake Fishman, a left-hander for the Miami Marlins, began deadlifting a neighbor’s crane stabilizers — big hunks of metal used to keep trucks and other machinery in place.
Oakland A’s catcher Collin Theroux couldn’t find anything heavy, so he focused on explosiveness. Among his workouts — venturing into the parking lot of his girlfriend’s apartment complex and jumping on benches, electrical units or whatever else he could find.
“Everybody was just embracing the weird at that point,” Theroux said.