Non-Prospect Diary
Hayhurst explains his hitting "ability" in new entry
Non-Prospect Diary. That's what Rattler Radio is, isn't it?
Anyway, Hayhurst is Dirk Hayhurst played for Fort Wayne in 2004.
It's not good when the first part of your second entry is spent apologizing for your first entry:
Hey everyone, thanks for reading this--it's fun for me to write.
Well, most of the time anyway. Let me explain: In the last article, I wrote some things about my fellow Padres associates, namely our fantastic training staff. I didn't realize it at first but it wasn't the coolest thing to say about they guys who take care of your health!
In my heart I just wanted to show folks what the normal stuff that goes on in the average life of a spring trainee. What I said, in effect, was construed as: the trainers didn't take care of me because they aren't good at their job.
That couldn't farther from the truth, and I couldn't be more wrong. These guys are awesome, seriously. In fact, while I am writing this I am suffering from some severe diarrhea, and I mean SEVERE (too much information right? Deal with it.). I called the trainers and they took care of me--and they were off the clock.
Not one, but two of them showed up to help me out even after my condescending comments. Most of these guys are way more professional then I will ever be and most are better athletes too!
This being said, I wanted to clear the air and let everyone know it was not my intent to belittle my fabulous training staff in any way, shape or form. They are classy guys and they do a great job and I mean that 100 percent. Thanks--and sorry guys.
So, Dirk, now that you've apologized, what's it like to bat against, oh, I don't know, Dustin Nippert?
When I got in the box, I got all the way in the far back corner as if I was hoping he wouldn't notice I was even up to bat.
No such luck. I got the bunt sign, swallowed hard, squared around on this flamethrower and inched my bat head out over the plate like I was about to be executed. Nipper's 95 mph fastball slammed into my bat like a semi and knocked it right out of my hands. The ball went sailing up over the backstop and landed in the expensive seats.
Eyes bulging, I looked down at my empty, shaking hands, then quickly at the manager who was trying to be encouraging and not chuckle. In the dugout, the boys were falling over each other in roaring laughter.
The catcher handed me my bat and I said, "Thanks . . . uh, it's coming a lot harder in person huh?" He laughed, but I am sure he felt no remorse in setting me down in three pitches. After two nasty curveballs--which I swung at like I had a bag on my head--I found myself back in the dugout. Some of the guys told me it was the worst batting they had ever seen. I said I was surprised I even made contact with the ball! There is always a positive!
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