Introduction

The last remnants of autumn sunlight filtered down upon the playing field at Bank One Ballpark. It was a beautiful September evening for the last regular season game between the Arizona Diamondbacks and the San Diego Padres. The ballpark roof had just opened; the cheers of the crowd were beginning to subside. Forty-eight thousand fans were now settling into their seats waiting for what promised to be a memorable end to the Diamondbacks inaugural season. The pre-game festivities were in mid-stride. Along the base paths and in the outfield, the starting players were going through their final warm-ups before the game started. As game time approached, I quietly stood near the on-deck circle with my family. The children gazed about taking in all of the sights and sounds of this historic game. None of us could have imagined we would be standing here on the field as the grounds crew put the finishing touches on the baselines and batters boxes. Nor could I have anticipated the events that were about to occur.

The Walk

It was time for the game to get underway. Jeff Golner handed me the baseball as Jeff Munn, the public address announcer, bellowed my name. I took the five-ounce ball and held it in my hand. I rotated it over and over feeling each of the 108 stitches that held the cover in place. I could here the cheers from my friends and family as I began my slow walk from home plate to the pitcher's mound. I knew the distance by heart, I had replayed this march over and over in my mind. As I looked up, I could see my name written upon the JumboTron along with live video of my approach to the mound. On each side of me were my children, Tiffany (8) on my right, Mallorie (12) and Dakota (1) on my left. During my walk, I could hear the public address announcer retelling my story to the watching fans. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my wife Trina with my daughters Ashley (15) and Whitney (4) standing with her. Each of them held a camera to document my throw from the mound.