Baseball is just a game to some, but for those who face illness and death or who are physically disabled, playing means a lot more. These people have overcome their obstacles because of a common trait: perseverance.
By JOHN C. COTEY
Published May 11, 2004
[Times photo: Bob Croslin]
King Moore and his teammates look forward to the day when Lakewood emerges from its losing shadow. The Spartans finished 0-26 this season.
Life as a Lakewood baseball player revolves around making sure nobody knows you are a Lakewood baseball player.
Ravi Rai braces when the morning announcements rattle off the day's athletic events and a baseball game is announced. Let the jokes begin.
You guys actually going to win tonight?
Are you going to win ever?
No, seriously ... ever?
"It's embarrassing," said Rai, a pitcher and infielder. "Everyone thinks it's funny."
There is nothing funny about a season with zero wins and 26 losses. But with an excruciating mixture of foibles and follies, the Spartans have managed the rarest of feats. No one can recall the last time a team failed to win a single game.
Rai starts to explain, and somewhere between errors and walks he drifts off, staring at his cleats as the tip of his foot drags half-circles in the dirt.
Freshman Chris Bailey thinks the Spartans still are trying to learn how to win.
Want proof? Bailey provides it. In its regular-season finale, Lakewood led Shorecrest 8-5 with two outs in the seventh and a runner on second. It lost 9-8.
"A few walks, a few errors, they got some hits. ... It was unbelievable," Bailey said.
Coach Jim Nardelli had no idea what he was inheriting when he took the job in 2003 to head one of Pinellas County's most combustible programs, becoming the fourth coach in two seasons.
In two years, Nardelli has been attacked physically by as many parents as he has wins - two. Had he known what awaited, he would have chosen to spend his retirement doing something else.
But he believes this is now his responsibility.
Small steps, he said, it will take small steps. Last year, the Spartans hit .162; this year, .204. Lakewood was beaten by the 10-run rule nine times in 2003; this year, just five.
"That's improvement," Nardelli says. "Those are little things, but if I can just convince everyone we're getting better."
Rai is convinced. So is Cory Hansen. And Bailey.
Well, kind of. But they'd rather think about that later.
"It's just nice that the season is over," Bailey said. "I just want to start over."
* * *
[Times photo: Michael Rondou]
Kyle Mills knew he would beat testicular cancer, and that his Dunedin teammates would help him do it, when they all shaved their heads last year. Mills has grown back his hair, a visible sign that the worst is behind him. Other signs: he is hitting .333 and led Pinellas County with four saves.
Kyle Mills had no choice. The way his Dunedin teammates saw it, neither did they.
When chemotherapy stripped Mills' head bald last year, chivalry did the same to his team.
Not just a handful of Falcons, nor those closest to Mills. But every single Falcon.
Bald.
"Everyone shaved their head," Mills said. "It was pretty touching."
Right then, Mills knew he would be okay. The message was simple: He was going to beat testicular cancer, and his teammates were going to help him.
Mills has returned the favor this year. After missing last season, he is cancer-free and one of the Falcons' top players. As the starting second baseman, he is hitting .333. As the closer, he led Pinellas County with four saves.
Friday, in the first start of his career, he pitched Dunedin to the district title.
"He is," said Dunedin coach Tom Hilbert, "the toughest kid I've ever coached."
A year ago, Mills didn't feel so tough. Unable to play even an inning, he sat on the bench almost every game, rendered weak and listless by his chemotherapy treatments.
He often wondered how it all happened, and so quickly. One day he was working out with the baseball team, even putting in an extra session of fielding groundballs (ignoring the pain in his groin), and the next he was lying on an operating table having cancer carved from his body.
"I was shocked," he said. "The doctor said the chances of overcoming it were really good, but I was shocked and really scared to hear the word cancer come out."
He remembers his father, Howie, the rock, calmly asking the doctor questions after the bad news had been broken. Kathy, his mother, cried. He remembers sitting in complete silence for 20 minutes.
Frightening times, he says, tempered by his fervent desire to get back to the baseball field. As he tells the story, he runs his right hand through his brown hair. In a way, it is the best and most visible evidence that the worst is behind him.
"You know, I thought some of the guys looked pretty good bald," Mills said. "But it just wasn't the look for me."
* * *
[Special to the Times]
Calvary Christian standout David Penn is motivated to play well whenever his uncle, David Lauhon, attends a game. Lauhon had a stroke late last year.
David Lauhon no longer can cheer on his nephew, at least not like he used to. But from his wheelchair behind home plate, he continues to try.
He screams "no, no, no" as David Penn swings a bat in the on-deck circle, desperately trying to get his nephew's attention. When Penn looks over, Lauhon flashes him the thumbs-up sign.
Lauhon also will yell "yes, yes, yes" and "alright," but a stroke late last year has stunted his remaining verbal skills. For Penn, though, all that matters is he is there, watching him play baseball. Not every game, like he used to, but as often as his body will allow.
"He can usually make one game a week, but he's really not doing well," Penn said. "It pushes me harder when he's there. I want to do well; I want him to see me do well."
Penn, a three-sport standout at Calvary Christian, says he owes Lauhon, whom he calls dad. His parents, Air Force personnel who were stationed in Germany, died in a car accident when he was 2 months old. The only family he has is Lauhon, who raised him.
Penn, 18, now lives with a family friend, but he swings by the Tandem at Safety Harbor nursing home to pick Lauhon up for the games he can attend. Penn provides detailed reports on those he can't.
He admits to hurting inside, to being a little afraid. Baseball, he says, has been therapeutic.
"It definitely helps keep my mind off things," Penn said.
Coach Ken Kmet has seen a dramatic change in Penn. An emotional kid, Penn always has been quick-tempered and stubborn, but Lauhon's stroke has provided clarity.
"The one and only support person he has left almost died," Kmet said. "I think he's hurt. He knows his friends are it."
When Lauhon suffered his stroke, Kmet said every parent on the team volunteered to take in Penn.
"He has lots of moms. He's got a big family," said Marsha Mullett, the mother of Penn's best friend Kyle.
He may not hear "no, no, no" at every game, but he knows when he looks into the stands, he will always get the thumbs up.
"Not seeing him there every game, it still kind of bothers me," Penn said, "but I know the other parents are rooting for me."
* * *
[Times photo: Joseph Garnett Jr.]
"I never thought that my leg was a hindrance," said John Cruz, who is an amputee. The Tampa Catholic first baseman was 1-for-6 this season.
Tampa Catholic's John Cruz has a decent stick, a slick glove and a winning attitude.
His sense of humor ain't so bad, either.
He remembers as a freshman playing soccer during physical education and letting go a booming kick that would find the back of the net. The celebration was short-lived - his prosthetic right leg went flying with the ball, lopsidedly rolling to a stop a few feet away.
While some gasped and covered their mouths in horror, Cruz laughed.
"I had to go pick up my leg," he said. "Everybody who knew me thought it was the funniest thing. We all laughed. The ones that didn't know me, they weren't laughing."
There have been dozens of incidents like that one, some funny, others not so much: the leg snapping in half, falling off, rolling around.
Cruz was born with a deformed right leg, the result of Amniotic Band Syndrome. His leg somehow pushed through his mother's amniotic sac, which closed tightly around the protruding leg and prevented it from developing any further.
He has been through myriad operations, worn dozens of prosthetics, at times got around in a wheelchair.
He wasn't supposed to ever play baseball, but someone forgot to tell him.
At 3, his grandmother bought him a baseball outfit with the No.1 on the back. He father, John, bought him a plastic glove and bat. He's played ever since.
"I never thought that my leg was a hindrance," Cruz said. "Maybe it's because I grew up like this. I didn't become an amputee five years ago or anything. It's all I've ever known."
As a junior first baseman at Tampa Catholic, Cruz had one hit in eight at bats. This year, he was 1-for-6.
His hit was a clean shot to the gap against Berkeley Prep. He also proudly notes that he was left in to run the bases, was often called upon to bunt and was used as a defensive replacement.
Cruz hopes to attend Florida International University in the fall. He might even try to walk on to the baseball team. Regardless, he'll continue playing the game, and in the process, inspire others to do the same.
"I've met up with many many people that have applauded me for what I do," Cruz said. "They pat me on the back, tell me I'm doing a good job. Some of them thank me for showing them that anything is possible."
