For every former Major League Baseball player who has recited the popular quote “It’s easy to get to the Bigs, but hard to stay,” I can confidently find you nine former Minor Leaguers who vehemently disagree. I got there and I still disagree. Chances are, that guy was a first rounder or a Hall of Famer and it really was easy for him. But if it was easy, everyone would do it. As much as I despise the aforementioned adage, though, there is one that stuck with me.

Bobby Dickerson came to the Orioles in 2011 as the Roving Infield Coordinator. He had a Southern quote for every situation so all you had to do was spend a little time with him and you were bound to come across something memorable. Luckily for me, every time he was in town, I had early work with him. And then more early work.

Playing multiple positions is the best. If someone was a poor batter, they “couldn’t hit a bull’s (rear end) with a bass fiddle.” Being from California, I had never heard of a bass fiddle and bulls were just a team Michael Jordan played for. Don’t worry, this is not the quote that carried me through 855 minor league games prior to my first promotion- though I can’t deny thinking about it every time I see Bobby D coaching 3rd for the Orioles today. He told me that if I wanted to get called up(from Low-A at the time), I had to “beat the league.” Up until that point, I had been a solid player on my teams, but never done anything to really set myself apart.

That resonated with me as it forced me to set my goals higher than ever before. I guess I didn’t realize I would literally have to lead the league in hitting before getting called up(humble brag). I was hoping it wasn’t so set in stone.

I was hitting .391 in mid-May, 2016, which was the top spot in the Pacific Coast League(just bragging now). We were in Colorado Springs, home of the Sky Sox and, undoubtedly, the worst Triple-A stadium in the country. It was a day game and I had the day off- stars don’t play day games after night games. Just kidding- I had gone 0-4 the night before. I walked down the stadium bleachers from the visiting clubhouse to the dugout because it was Colorado Springs and the clubhouses are at the top of the bleachers- similar to a lot of High School stadiums probably. The starters were getting ready for the game so I poured myself a coffee to muster the energy to coach 1st base for my allotted three innings.

My manager was Wally Backman. For those of you who know Wally, his reputation precedes him. For those of you don’t know him, I guess you could say he has a flair for the dramatic. Nobody on Wally’s teams just gets called up. There’s a whole performance that goes into it. He leads with a casual misdirection- catches you off guard, makes you wonder what’s happening.

“Have you met the clubbie here?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Good. When you go back up, tell him you owe me a bottle.”

“What?”

“You owe me a bottle.”

“Of what?”

“Dewars.”

“Dewars? I don’t even-”

And just when you least expect it:

“Congratulations-you’re-going-up-you’re-meeting-the-team-in-Washington.”

It happened that fast. 855 games. 3,063 at bats. I had finally gotten “the call.” My teammates rushed to congratulate me because I am always everyone’s favorite teammate. No need to ask around- just trust me.

Still in shock, I headed back up the bleachers, through the crowd, and into the clubhouse to pack. I texted a few friends, called my parents, and then got in a car headed to the airport and, ultimately, Washington, DC. *An airplane moves across an old map from CO Springs to DC, Indiana Jones-style.*

I awoke the next morning in DC and got breakfast with Logan Verrett, the only person on the team willing to match my level of sarcasm for an entire meal. It was a 20 dollar breakfast and I didn’t even feel bad. I was a Major League Baseball player now- a.k.a rich. One day of minimum wage in the MLB was more than what I made in 2 months back in A-ball. Totally fair.

What’s not fair is facing Stephen Strasburg your first MLB game. More on this later.

I got to the field that first day and walked through the tunnels of the stadium to the visitor’s clubhouse. Under the stadium. Not through the bleachers. Wow. The clubhouse was nicer than any home clubhouse I had ever seen. There was a kitchen with like four chefs, a full weight room with flat-screen TVs, and enough spacious, wooden lockers for everyone on the team. Doubling-up on lockers is a common MiLB problem and, of course, Fenway and Wrigley because their locker rooms were built in the 1800s by the same people who designed CO Springs stadium(I assume).

I didn’t start the game my first day because some other guy got the nod at third base. I was outraged. He had done nothing to deserve it and his home run that night was pure luck. David Wrong is more like it- am I wright?

The whole game, I stood on the railing of the dugout. The lights were ridiculous. It was like the sun never went down. The fans had special cheers for the players and a chant every time their team scored a run. The batting cage was right behind the dugout and a TV was on the wall so guys could watch the game while getting ready for possible pinch-hits. I was in awe of everything.

The top of the ninth inning came around and I was told that I would be pinch-hitting if the spot came up. Yusmeiro Petit was on the mound- someone I had faced in the minors- so I was feeling confident about my at-bat. I grabbed my helmet and bat and walked into the on-deck circle. I looked over to the home dugout and saw the assistant coaches inform Dusty Baker that I was on-deck. He seemed unfazed for some reason. The third out of the inning was made, though so I wouldn’t make my debut until the next night.

0-4 with 3 strikeouts. Strasburg is good- good for him- whatever. My first at-bat, I got wrung up on a pitch 5 inches inside. The Nationals color announcer, F.P. Santangelo said “I bet he didn’t see any fastballs like that in the PCL!” I will hold off on my come-back because I’m bigger than that. Restraint builds character or something probably. Also, I haven’t thought of anything good enough yet. Someday.

Conclusion: Major League Baseball is great even when you strikeout three times.