May 15, 2006
The ultimate summer job | A day at the ballpark is a day at the office for Portland Sea Dogs pitcher Chris Smith
By Taylor Smith
Two straight days of rain in Portland early this month meant two postponed games for the Portland Sea Dogs, the Double-A affiliate of the Boston Red Sox. Rain isn't a rarity in the early season ˆ the Sea Dogs by late May last year set a record for the most rainouts in club history. But a two-day break during the season is a welcome respite for players like Chris Smith, a 25-year-old right-handed pitcher in his third season with the Sea Dogs, who are lucky to get one off day a month. "We play 142 games a year," he says. "And our off day is usually taken up by travel."
Eventually the sky cleared and a recent Thursday offered a picture-perfect day for baseball. A few hours before the 6 p.m. start of the Sea Dogs' doubleheader with the Connecticut Defenders, Smith stands, bat cocked, on a gray mat next to the batting cage where Sea Dogs players are taking batting practice. He lobs a ball into the air and smacks hard grounders to the second baseman and shortstop, who fire the balls into the first baseman's mitt.
Unlike the big leagues, where a battery of coaches warm up the players and starting pitchers are coddled like, well, multi-million-dollar investments, Smith says the Sea Dogs will grind through two seven-inning games tonight. He probably won't leave the park until 11 p.m., and he'll have to make his way back by 10 a.m. tomorrow, when the team bus leaves for a series in Connecticut.
But Smith isn't complaining. In fact, he's happy just to be playing professional ball after rehabbing himself back from two major injuries. Smith, a University of California-Riverside graduate who was signed by the Red Sox for $280,000 in 2002, flipped a dune buggy near his hometown of Hesperia, Calif., during the following offseason. The crash snapped two bones in his pitching arm, which required a dozen screws and two titanium plates to fix. Then there was the 2004 partial tear of his labrum ˆ a potential disaster for anyone who makes a living hurling fastballs and snapping off breaking balls.
Fortunately, Smith says, he's bounced back from the surgery to repair the labrum. Even more fortunate, the Red Sox organization covered his stack of medical bills. Still, Double-A ball isn't a path to riches. Smith says the typical rookie gets a monthly paycheck of just $1,500, and though he didn't disclose what his current salary is, he says plenty of guys make more. Those are the guys that can afford apartments in Portland. In spring training this year, Smith called a Yarmouth family that had offered a home for Sea Dogs players. "I've got a really good setup," he says.
In fact, during the six months the Sea Dogs play, money isn't an issue. The team gives players $20 a day for food and other expenses during road trips, which Smith is able to stretch. Besides gas for his car, Smith says there isn't much he needs to buy when he's back in Portland. "We're too busy playing to go and spend money," he jokes.
But it's clear the business side of pro baseball isn't in the forefront of Smith's mind. He might become a major league star with a huge contract. Or, he won't make it to the show, plain and simple. Smith says he hasn't given much thought to backup plans ˆ maybe becoming a sheriff or firefighter. "I'm doing what everybody wants to do ˆ playing baseball for a living," he says. "Ten years from now, hopefully I'll still be playing ball. But 10 years is a long time away, especially in baseball."
Eventually the sky cleared and a recent Thursday offered a picture-perfect day for baseball. A few hours before the 6 p.m. start of the Sea Dogs' doubleheader with the Connecticut Defenders, Smith stands, bat cocked, on a gray mat next to the batting cage where Sea Dogs players are taking batting practice. He lobs a ball into the air and smacks hard grounders to the second baseman and shortstop, who fire the balls into the first baseman's mitt.
Unlike the big leagues, where a battery of coaches warm up the players and starting pitchers are coddled like, well, multi-million-dollar investments, Smith says the Sea Dogs will grind through two seven-inning games tonight. He probably won't leave the park until 11 p.m., and he'll have to make his way back by 10 a.m. tomorrow, when the team bus leaves for a series in Connecticut.
But Smith isn't complaining. In fact, he's happy just to be playing professional ball after rehabbing himself back from two major injuries. Smith, a University of California-Riverside graduate who was signed by the Red Sox for $280,000 in 2002, flipped a dune buggy near his hometown of Hesperia, Calif., during the following offseason. The crash snapped two bones in his pitching arm, which required a dozen screws and two titanium plates to fix. Then there was the 2004 partial tear of his labrum ˆ a potential disaster for anyone who makes a living hurling fastballs and snapping off breaking balls.
Fortunately, Smith says, he's bounced back from the surgery to repair the labrum. Even more fortunate, the Red Sox organization covered his stack of medical bills. Still, Double-A ball isn't a path to riches. Smith says the typical rookie gets a monthly paycheck of just $1,500, and though he didn't disclose what his current salary is, he says plenty of guys make more. Those are the guys that can afford apartments in Portland. In spring training this year, Smith called a Yarmouth family that had offered a home for Sea Dogs players. "I've got a really good setup," he says.
In fact, during the six months the Sea Dogs play, money isn't an issue. The team gives players $20 a day for food and other expenses during road trips, which Smith is able to stretch. Besides gas for his car, Smith says there isn't much he needs to buy when he's back in Portland. "We're too busy playing to go and spend money," he jokes.
But it's clear the business side of pro baseball isn't in the forefront of Smith's mind. He might become a major league star with a huge contract. Or, he won't make it to the show, plain and simple. Smith says he hasn't given much thought to backup plans ˆ maybe becoming a sheriff or firefighter. "I'm doing what everybody wants to do ˆ playing baseball for a living," he says. "Ten years from now, hopefully I'll still be playing ball. But 10 years is a long time away, especially in baseball."
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