Class A ball not like the rah-rah atmosphere of high school

Leave it to Cedar Rapids Kernels batboy Jon Teig to ease my trepidation and make me feel so welcome.

“Jeff, what are you doing here?” Jon-Jon asked me a few minutes before the first pitch of last Wednesday night's Kernels-Kane County game at Memorial Stadium.

I kind of wondered that myself. Earlier in the season, I casually asked Kernels Manager Bill Mosiello if it would be OK to observe a game from the dugout and write a story about the experience.

I didn't really expect him to say yes. He did.

“Got the night off, huh?” Kernels outfielder Randal Grichuk asked as he slapped me on the shoulder before the game.

Yeah, Randal, because sportswriters always sit in the dugout when they're not covering a game. Ha, ha.

“There's only one problem,” Mosiello said to me shortly before walking out to home plate to exchange lineup cards.

This can't be good, I thought.

“I forgot to tell you that you have to buy dinner for the coaching staff after the game,” he said.

Considering there were three Los Angeles Angels roving minor-league instructors in town, that didn't sound like such a good deal. At least Mosiello didn't make me wear a uniform, although I tried to fit in the best I could with a Kernels-red, collared shirt.

Respect the game

It was my mission to completely stay out of the way and not talk to anyone unless they spoke to me first. I have immense respect for the game and knew these guys needed to concentrate fully on the task at hand.

Roving pitching instructor Kernan Ronan (a former Kernels pitching coach) and roving infield instructor Rob Picciolo (a former big leaguer) made me feel more at ease by including me with everyone else in the pregame fist-bump ritual. I forgot to “blow it up” for Ronan, though.

As a former baseball player in high school, I remember how lively and chatty the dugout was for every game. It's nowhere close to that at the professional level, as you might expect considering this was one of 140 regular-season games.

Minor league baseball has a weird dynamic. It's a team game and you are competing with your teammates, but at the same time you are trying to move up to the next level so you're competing against them in a way as well.

There just isn't much “rooting” that goes on. That's with the exception of Mosiello, who always seemed to be encouraging someone.

“OK, boys. Let's go!” he shouted from his folding chair at the far left in the dugout as his team comes to bat for the first time. Most of the game, pitching coach Brandon Emanuel sat next to Mosiello, with hitting coach Brent Del Chiaro standing behind them. Mosiello constantly flashed signals to catcher Carlos Ramirez and Del Chiaro when he was coaching third.

“Right from the get-go!” Mosiello shouted to his team. ”Come on, Siggy!”

That was for leadoff hitter Jean Segura.

Teachable moments

Mosiello nixed coaching third base this season because this is a particularly young squad and he wanted to be available to address issues as they come up in games. He constantly took teaching moments, pulling a player aside to discuss an at-bat, pitch or defensive play.

“Hitters come here!” he ordered, after Michael Wing was picked off second base to end the bottom of the first. “That's the same thing they did five times at our place last week. No-look picks.”

Another big thing I noticed was how many guys keep charts during the game. Jose Jimenez was keeping some sort of catcher's chart, pitcher Tyler Kehrer a hitter's spray chart, Buddy Boshers a pitcher's chart and Casey Haerther a situational hitting chart. That's on top of three Kernels pitchers sitting in the stands keeping additional hitting and pitching charts.

Is there a thing as too much information?

Personal journal

One of the nicest guys on this team is outfielder Justin Bass. His dad, Kevin, was a longtime outfielder in the big leagues, and his son resembles him physically.

Bass lined into a double play that ended the second inning. But instead of slamming his helmet into the helmet rack in frustration over his poor luck, he pulled out a tiny notebook and began writing something down in his personal hitter's journal.

“Just writing down the location of the pitch,” he explained.

There are two 60-ounce containers in the middle of the dugout: one with seeds, the other with bubble gum. They were about three-fourths empty by the time the game ended.

They were almost as popular as the water coolers or ammonia cooler. Trainer Dan Nichols regularly refreshed heat-weary players by dipping a towel into the ammonia and ringing it out over their heads.

“It's like a revival,” Nichols said.

Hit the showers

The game ended 11-2, with the losing Kernels getting a meaningless run in the bottom of the ninth. There was no talk as everyone grabbed their gear and trudged back to the clubhouse for needed air conditioning and showers.

Well, almost no talk.

“You guys have any bats?” yelled a group of six or seven kids who have run down to the side of the dugout to greet players and coaches as they exited. “How about an extra batting glove? A ball? Anything?”

I'm even asked for a game-ready ball from a nearby bag as I leave the dugout. I'm tempted for a second to be generous but thought better of rewarding these less-than-courteous little mooches.

It's been a long, hot night, for sure, but a good one.

Considering the outcome and the superstitious nature of baseball players, I'm sure I won't get another one.