The Secret Life Of Rocky Perone

It was a thrill, all right. As I walked out of the tunnel into the sunlight and onto the field, my heart was pumping furiously. It was a beautiful sight. I'll never forget that first moment. I was 36 pretending to be 21, but I felt like 16.

Because my knees were shaking, I turned to Lister, who was standing behind the dugout. He made a fist and nodded in encouragement. My throat was as dry as a bone, and I didn't feel at all at ease. I stared at him, half wondering if he could hypnotize me right then and there.

Then Second Baseman Glenn Beckert called out to me. "Catch, Aussie?"

I collected my wits. " 'Catch,' mate?" I asked as though I didn't know what he meant.

He pounded a ball in his glove and made a throwing gesture. I nodded, and we warmed up together. Beckert was an old pro, formerly a star with the Cubs, who was now past his prime. I thought, I'll bet I'm older than he is! (I was, by two years.)

Then I was on the field during batting practice, and someone was fungoing ground balls to me between pitches. I made all the moves, but I wasn't really there. I couldn't seem to handle the ball right. Over the years, I'd made thousands of throws right on the money. Suddenly I couldn't. It kept crossing my mind that someone was going to recognize me. After all, a player's moves are his signature. Then I was called in to hit, and I grabbed a few bats. Someone told me to use a particular one. I got in the cage and started knocking the ball when Derrel Thomas, the Padres' shortstop, rushed over and grabbed the bat I was using. Instinctively, I wouldn't let him have it. "Nobody uses my bat!" he hollered. Lots of ballplayers are sensitive about that, I knew. I heard laughter behind the cage and realized I'd been set up. I took another bat, but my hitting wasn't the same. I barely made contact with the next few pitches and got angry at myself. Then I got even angrier at the pitcher when he didn't throw strikes. I couldn't get it all together. When the game began, I didn't even shower. I grabbed my clothes and met Lister, and we blew out of San Diego like a pair of thieves.

"You were pretty sad, Rich," he snapped at me. "You lost your cool. I had the glasses on you. You looked like you were itching for trouble."

"I guess I was scared," I said.

"Worse. You were quitting on yourself."

We drove in silence. I thought: Was it true? Was a part of me hoping to be discovered before I had the chance to play a professional game?