A night in the dugout with the Kernels

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

"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 pregame.

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 Mose didn't make me wear a uniform, though I tried to fit in the best I could with a Kernels-red, collared shirt.

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.

Both 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 Kernan, though.

Injured first baseman Casey Haerther also made me feel more comfortable by chatting me up. He noticed how much I was sweating ... and it didn't all have to do with the mid-90s temperature and high humidity.

"It's always hot in here," he said. "There is absolutely no air in this dugout. Just sweat."

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 to the far left of the dugout as his team came 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.

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. Catcher Jose Jimenez was keeping some sort of catcher's chart, pitcher Tyler Kehrer a hitter's spray chart, pitcher Buddy Boshers a pitcher's chart and 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?

"They actually switched the lineup on us," Emanuel said to Kehrer as the game began, pointing out a late Kane County lineup change that had all the chart keepers scurrying.

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

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.

This was his personal hitter's journal.

"Just writing down the location of the pitch," he explained.

Later in the game, I was standing on a perch in the dugout next to Bass. Relief pitcher Yeison Almeida (from Venezuela) was struggling, and Bass was encouraging him in his native Spanish.

Kane County's Jose Crisotomo (from the Dominican Republic) was coaching first base and looked at Bass, surprised at the fluent Spanish. Bass continued, which led Crisotomo to glance over again, smile and tip his hat.

Korean pitcher Young-Il Jung followed Almeida into the game and had one of those outings. He faced five batters, walking four and giving up a double.

After his fourth walk, Mosiello sprinted to the mound to take him out. Jung's head hung as he walked to the dugout and sat down - with no one around him - to contemplate what just happened.

His teammates continued to give him plenty of space and time. It took a few seconds, but eventually they walked over one by one and tapped him on the back or leg in support.

"Next time, buddy," one told him.

He doesn't respond ... or stop staring at the dugout floor.

This one turned into a rout. Center fielder Matt Long dropped a routine fly ball that made it 11-1 Kane County in the sixth inning.

Mosiello had gotten up from his chair when the ball was first hit, assuming it was the third out of the inning. He had to turn back around and ask Emanuel what happened when he heard the crowd groan.

"I picked the wrong day to stop sniffing glue," the affable Del Chiaro said to me at one point as he came over to grab another handful of sunflower seeds.

Two 60-ounce containers sat 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 on this night. 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.

Speaking of heat, perhaps the weirdest moment of the night came in the middle of the eighth inning. First baseman Eric Oliver trotted off the field and headed directly for Haerther.

"You got an extra pair of spikes I can use the rest of the game?" he asked a confused Haerther.

Then he explained. It was so hot Oliver had sweated through both of his shoes to the extent where sweat was literally bubbling through the toe portion.

"Holy (cow)!" Haerther exclaimed, as a crowd congregated around Oliver.

Haerther ran back to the clubhouse and got Oliver a dry pair of spikes. He shook his head as he watched his teammate change into them.

"You have got to write about this," Haerther said to me.

I assured him I would.

The game ended 11-2, with the 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 ran 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. Thank you to Mosiello and the Kernels for giving me a chance to see what a professional baseball game up close and personal is really like.

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