Brandon Kintzler and the Never Giving Up

I love the Brewers (they're my 4th favorite team, which is pretty impressive). They're the favorite team that I see least, so I don't get as personally attached to those guys, with a few exceptions, most notably my ardent and misplaced defense of Ryan Braun a couple years back (but he is totally forgiven by me.) 

But, not surprisingly, the Brewer I was most attached to was one of my bullpen boys. Brandon Kintzler was a middle reliever for the Brewers the past few years, and had a turbulent career. I honestly don't know how our friendship began (and we are not actual friends, but baseball player friends), but we always had great talks when he came to Chicago or I came to Milwaukee. We also swapped stuff--I gave him a bobblehead. He gave me his game used cleats. He greeted me with hugs and a huge smile. He was very funny, with a deadpan sense of humor:

Me: "What was draft day like for you, Brandon?"

BK: "Well, I was drafted in the 40th round, so pretty much a Tuesday."

so much sarcasm:

BK: "Seriously, why do you need more of my stuff? Are you sniffing my shoes at home? Tell me the truth and I won't call the cops."

 ---I hope he was being sarcastic...

and then hit-you-in-the-gut seriousness:

Me: "Ugh. How can you do this all the time? You get to make zero choices about your life. You can get released any minute. You can get thrown in the game any minute. I would have 20 heart attacks."

 

BK: "Yeah, it's terrible. I haven't seen my dogs since spring training. I just wait to see if I still have a job every day."

 

He helped me see the very unglamorous side of baseball. He was just a regular guy who just does this one thing that hardly anyone can do. I think that's what I love about Steve Clevenger and Blake Parker and Kyle Hendricks and Andre Rienzo. They're the same way. Just people. Not sure what the future holds but working hard to get to where they want to be.

Anyway, back to the turbulent career. Initially, he was drafted by the Padres in 2004 and played a couple years but never made it past A League. Then he sat out a season. Then he played a couple years of independent ball.  

 

Then the Brewers signed him to a minor league deal in 2009, and he played some AA ball. The next year he played AAA ball and eventually made his MLB debut. Then in 2011 got hurt. DFA'd in 2012. Suddenly remarkable as the set-up man in 2013 and very successful. Messed up his shoulder in 2014 and saw limited time. Messed up his leg in 2015 and barely played. (I hadn't seen him at all in 2015 except for yelling to him on the field from the Miller Park TGIF the day he came off the DL the first time last season. We actually had a long and loud conversation, where I found out his wife was pregnant). Released by the Brewers in the offseason.

 

I wanted to jump off a bridge and assumed I'd never see him again. How many of my favored baseball players had I lost over the past few years? Where the heck is Brooks Raley (playing in Japan or Korea or something, last I heard)? Where is Adrian Cardenas (at NYU becoming a writer or something)? What about sweet Cole DeVries (I'm pretty sure he is in real estate in Minnesota)? Scott Maine (who never thought I was funny or fun or clever, so I completely obsessed about winning him over and eventually succeeded, with the help of Blake and Steve)? Brian LaHair? Cole Gilaspie? Jeff Bellevue? I could list a hundred guys that I became attached to and developed a baseball friendship with (maybe I should just be honest and call it 'rapport," but I refuse) that I will never ever hear of again.

 

This is baseball life. It's a great accomplishment to have a couple good years in the bigs, and even an inning or two can lead to a great story, but it does not end well for a girl like me, a fan of epic proportions who often roots for the individuals long after they have left my favored teams.

I know that baseball doesn't work for everyone, and if it doesn't, or they get sick of it or whatever, that means I never ever get to see them again. It's a big deal. Because of my stupid attachment issues.

Anyway, back to the turbulent career: To my complete surprise and delight, signed this past offseason by the Twins to a MiLB deal (he did not make the 40-man roster). I made plans for a road trip to see the AAA Rochester Red Wings play....

AND THEN......

The Twins bullpen was abysmal as usual. Shakeups and rumors. Nothing confirmed. Brandon's name coming up a lot but I didn't believe it. Thinking maybe he would be brought up Sunday, and maybe I would see him while the Twins were in Chicago.

Then out of nowhere, seeing him in the uniform of my Twins, a day earlier than I dared believe, while the Twins were still in MY city, made me so happy. For me to be able to be there for his Twins debut--well, I can't even describe the pride and happiness. Of course it is only fair. I am surely his biggest fan who is not related to him. He looked terrified on his run in from the pen, but he probably wasn't. Aren't baseball players impervious to fear?

He was thrown into a ridiculous situation, either men on the corners or bases loaded (I can't remember because I was still in shock), only one out, and facing two of the toughest hitters on the first -place White Sox. But he was great, pitching 1 2/3 scoreless innings. Striking out Jose Abreu, then forcing Todd Frazier to hit into a groundout. He pitched the next inning and only allowed one base-runner, a base hit to Melky Cabrera. Not bad for a first time out, for a guy who SHOULD NEVER GIVE UP but I would have a long time ago because I am a weak person.

I didn't get to talk to him yesterday, but today I did, and the first thing I said was, "I thought I'd never see you again!"

He looked at me wryly. "I see how much confidence you have in my abilities."

Of course I didn't mean that, but he doesn't know how many people I have said goodbye to. Actually, who I never got to say goodbye to.

I asked him who he was friends with on the team.

"No one yet," then adding, "I don't really make friends on the team. I don't see a point."

This is that real-life, punch-me-in-the-gut truth-telling that is difficult for me to hear.

He ran some sprints. I took some pictures, still reveling in my luck. I presented him with the picture below of his strikeout of Abreu, his Twins debut, an omen of all the good he deserves to come his way.

Brandon is special to me, the same way Blake and Steve are. But I can talk to those boys on facebook and twitter. I'm friends with their ladies and they show me great photos and give me updates when the boys are too busy to talk to me. I worry about them, too, but the thing is, if things don't work out. I'll still know them. I'll get to follow their lives in photograph and facebook statuses and I'll know they are happy and healthy.

All I have with Brandon is the thin wisp of a baseball career. And that is not my lack of confidence in Brandon. I think he will shine in Minnesota. I think he will have a home there for a while. But all baseball careers are shorter and less durable than the length of my affection.

Anyway, I'll enjoy this while it lasts, and my enthusiasm will follow him to whatever team he plays for (if I'm wrong about Minnesota). I just hope he keeps playing, because as long as he does, I can still hold on to that wisp.

(P.S. All of the following pictures are out of order. Just like my life.)

 

 



BK striking out Jose Abreu in his first appearance as a Twin.





Kurt Suzuki congratulating Brandon after his 2/3 scoreless inning pitched.

Finally reunited.

 

 

I love that the infield boys just stood and watched, like they were thinking, I wonder what stuff this kid has,

 

 

Brandon fearlessly holding Melky to a short lead-off at first. A lot of seasoned pitchers are terrified of using the pick-off throw.

 

I think this was after Melky's hit.

 

Watching Brandon warm up

 

Warming up in the pen last night

 

Throwing long toss like a boss

 

This is his after-strikeout excitement.

 

Warming up before his Twins debut

 

Kurt Suzuki pumping up the kid.

 

The run in from the bullpen

Now walking in, because it's a long run.

 

 

Frazier crying because Brandon made him ground out.

 

Brandon after his outing.

 

Pre-pitch whatever he does. Praying? Thinking? Magic?

 

I've missed that windup.

 

After sprints

 

 

Fatherless Day

Oh man. You know, I knew this day was coming, almost exactly 6 months after the death of my dad. But I really thought I'd be better by now. Not over it, maybe, because losing a dad isn't something you just forget about, but I thought I'd feel closer to whole. I don't. I feel worse than ever. I feel like every day that gets closer to Father's Day, I think of one more way that I was a pretty bad daughter.

It's ridiculous. I was a great daughter. My dad and I had a lot of fun, and a lot of good talks, and spent a lot of time together. Truth be told, he would be the first to say that I was a far better daughter than he was a dad. But I still think of all the things we didn't do together, and lately I begin to cry at the slightest reminder that I will never talk to my dad again. It's hard to NOT think of all the things you didn't do, didn't say, all the ways you let him down. But I always did Father's Day right by him, that I know.

Every Father's Day, I went to church, then stopped and picked up food, then went to his house to watch the Sox game. That was our pattern every year since years began. He was a simple guy. I usually bought him a couple Sox t-shirts or something. But what he really wanted was to watch the Sox with me, just to spend time with me doing something he loved. That was the real present.

This year I decided I would leave town for Father's Day. I thought being away physically might also distance the pain emotionally. But a couple weeks ago, when I began to cry more regularly at the thought of this day coming, I realized that it didn't matter where I was. I'm going to cry on June 15th. I may even cry the whole day, even among strangers, even making people super uncomfy. Geography isn't going to stop me from remembering that I should be sitting in my dad's dusty living room eating pizza and listening to him tell me why the White Sox were the greatest team in the entire universe and Paul Konerko should be president of the world and Gordon Beckham should've won the Gold Glove the last three years and Alexei Ramirez should stay with the team at ANY COST and Robin Ventura is a genius and just you wait until Adam Dunn gets on a roll because he will blast every home run imaginable and have you seen Jose Abreu and what a steal he was and that brilliant Rick Hahn, etc., etc., etc. My dad loved the Sox and supported their every move. I still can't wrap my mind around the idea that he is gone and those conversations are over.

So here's how I will spend Father's Day. In Chicago. At a White Sox game. Family Sunday, which I realize sounds like I am torturing myself, but listen---I look forward to seeing dads with their daughters. It might make me sad, it might make me miss him more, but above all of that, I will remember my own father's delight when he realized that I loved baseball and he would have a child to watch with, to talk with. I will remember how he drove all the way through Chicago during rush hour so he could take me to Southlake Mall in Hobart, Indiana, so I could meet my favorite baseball player, Robin Ventura, how he laughed when I cried and said I reminded him of a girl he knew who met the Beatles. I will remember all the times he took me to SoxFest, such a waste of a ticket because he didn't care about autographs or anything--he just loved watching my reaction meeting players. I will remember all the Twins-Sox games we went to, and how he would roll his eyes and say, "Are you really going to wear that?" at my Twins gear. I will remember my dear old dad and our good baseball times as I watch loads of dear old dads with their kids, and I hope they all savor every second, because who knew you only get 65 years sometimes? I will cry, but I will be happy because Andre Rienzo is pitching, and my dad absolutely raved about him, and he is one of my favorite people on this planet. Maybe I'll splurge and get really good seats and just enjoy the game. Maybe I will buy an extra ticket for my dad, even though he probably won't make it. Maybe I am getting all my tears out now and there will be nothing left Sunday.

But the bottom line is, I will spend this Fatherless Day with the White Sox, who, in spite of my support for the Cubs and Twins, I really do love. I will always love them because they brought my dad and me together 22 years ago, and they kept our relationship solid up until the day he died. So see ya Sunday, Sox!