1B - Lance Berkman - Team#1_The Favorites

Wayne Graham is a baseball coach. Knock-kneed, with his tight, short Bikes on and shin-length white socks, perched on a pair of sensible comfy trainers tied with the same care that a grunt makes his bed in the morning. He paced in front of us, from one end of the steel bleachers to the other. Ten-year-olds and up through high school players, all wearing our standard issue Rice University Baseball Camp sponsored by Powerade t-shirts. I still have the shirt. I just checked: I am wearing the shirt right now.

I don't remember much about Lance Berkman from when I saw him hit at Rice. I seem to recall a struck baseball traveling a great distance, sailing on wings of ping! towards the double Medical Center spires built like twin glowing syringes. I grew up running around the Rice University soccer fields, watching football games at Rice Stadium where the Dolphins bounced the Vikings in Superbowl VIII, 1974. I was not in attendance; I wasn't born.

The Houston Astros drafted Berkman in the first round, 1997, 15 spots behind his Rice teammate, first pick Matt Anderson, who never could figure out how to make due with his fucking ridiculous fastball. No better hitter--not even close--came from that draft (Chase Utley threatens, from afar).

The swing, from the left side, is level at the point of contact. Hands, relaxed, holding the bat like a hobo with a cane pole over his shoulder. There is a moment, during each pitch, when Berkman's hands stop being polite, and start being real. The bat head wavers, and then very quickly it is on a plane with its target.

stats. images. disturbing sumo.