In a trying year, Vinnie Pasquantino finds perspective in a friendly place
Vinnie Pasquantino wore sunglasses and a royal blue T-shirt, with the brim of his white baseball cap lowered to his eyebrows. He strolled across a high school football field Monday packed with 150 kids.
A short 15 miles northeast of this place, Pasquantino is known almost exclusively by his back-of-the-baseball-card stat line, which this year hasn’t been the most favorable of introductions.
Here, a group of 6-year-old grade-schoolers ranging to high school teenagers know him, or at least called him, something far more relaxing:
Vinnie.
Some actually called him by his nickname: Pasquatch.
At the end of the stroll, he spotted a kid swinging a plastic bat, and he interrupted for a moment.
“I can help with something here,” he said.
Hands on his knees, he bent down and instructed a young kid — a lefty, as fate would have it — to start his swing a bit earlier.
“The earlier you start your swing,” Pasquantino said, “the easier it is to see it.”
This is how he anticipated he would spend a long-awaited off-day in Kansas City: as an instructional coach, offering tidbits where he could, during his own second annual baseball camp.
But about an hour later, the kids separated into teams for a game resembling backyard stickball. Like a left-hander from the bullpen, Pasquantino walked to the makeshift mound, subbed out the pitcher and began tossing Wiffle balls himself.
He offered some baseball banter lingo between pitches, initially standing still and relaxing as the campers chased the baseball and created the chaos around him. But he began to grow into the game, and all of a sudden, here he was, serving as the last line of relay throws. As he fired home once, he raised his fist in the air.
Out.
The whistle blew, and Pasquantino rotated groups. On to the next station, and, before long, he literally had rolled up his sleeves and grabbed the plastic bat, signaling to a pitcher to throw one his way. The kids had practically begged him to do it.
“Hit it out here!” one shouted as he backtracked deeper into right field.
After a 10-day road trip, Pasquantino and the Royals arrived home at maybe 9 p.m. the night before. He could’ve scheduled this camp better, he quipped, as he stood on a sun-drenched field at 9 a.m.
But then again, maybe he scheduled it at a perfect time.
“How could you not be excited to be out here?” he said.
Over three hours on a hot morning on the Shawnee Mission South football field, he supplied autographs, batting tips and pictures.
The kids gave him something in return: a reminder.
It’s a reminder of the game he loves, a reminder of why he loves it and a reminder of how carefree it was when he too was this age.
“Just how much fun it was and being with your friends and just trying to win ballgames,” he said of his own childhood. “To be honest, that’s what I remember about it the most.”
It’s not been that way this year, of course. It’s a livelihood. It’s pressure. It’s stress. It’s everything. And it should be. He gets paid, and those in the stands pay to see him play.
He’s heard the boos this season, hitting under .200 as late as May 27, though he’s hitting .295 with more walks than strikeouts over the last 16 games. He’s felt the boos this year. He isn’t complaining.
His baseball camp Monday provided a different feel. The little leaguers chanted his name each time they completed a drill. They lined up for pictures. A couple asked for hugs.
“Oh,” he said. “They like me.”
He spent his time conversing with many, and before offering specific advise on swing mechanics, they talked about something far simpler. Naive, even.
“Why do you love the game?” he asked.
Because, several said, it’s fun.
“It’s nice seeing it from this perspective again — where it’s almost more innocent,” he said. “It’s pretty special.”