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SP Ismael Ramirez
SP Ismael Ramirez
When I first saw Ismael Ramirez play baseball in was in the spring of '89. I had gone to watch the Fryeburg Academy Raiders during their spring practice games because everyone in town kept talking about a fifteen year old known as 'the kid'. Nobody could say his name right, or spell it...so Ismael was simply knows as 'the kid'.
I remember I packed up my six year old son, threw a couple drinks in the cooler, kissed the wife goodbye and off we went. Parking was free, it was close to home, and to my little leaguer watching HS ball was like a front row seats to the Guides. After we arrived we found a nice little hill that just peaked over the 3rd base dugout and made it ours. My son got his glove out, the one that could catch a small meteor, and sat in wait. He sat there memorized watching the pre-game warm ups and soon pointed out his favorite player. Of course #11 also happened to be the number on the back of his team jersey (thank you to Jay's Fire Pizza) but I've learned if he's happy I'm happy, so I just smiled and nodded.
I looked around the field for 'the kid' but nobody stood out. I had no idea what he looked like and without names on the jerseys he could have been any of the 20-30 guys out there. As the game started I noticed the coach take the mound, and not just any coach, but the biggest coach out there. He must have been 6'2 (I would later learn 6'3) and weigh 180 lbs. I could not for the life of me figure why the coach would be throwing during spring ball but I figured there was a method to his madness.
The first kid that trotted up to the plate looked no bigger than my son. It was hard to see his face but the guy looked to be about 5'2 and 130 pounds, and that is if he's standing on a book with a pocket full of change. I figured for sure the coach would serve him up something juicy to hit. You know, a little confidence now could go a long way.
When the first pitch game I nearly jumped up and over the dugout in one bound. I played baseball until I was 22, coached baseball until I was 30, and have written about baseball since then...and have never seen anything like it. This fastball must have topped out near 95 mph, went straight for the kids head and then dipped down in at the last possible second. The startled batter jumped back, the small crowd gasp, and the umpire yelled strike. "Are you kidding me!" I screamed. My first thought was who the hell did this guy think he was? Was he trying to relive his glory days? Was the batter his kid? If not was he dating his daughter? My second thought was why isn't this guy in the BLB? There are only a handful of pitchers that can throw like that, Batavia closer Ken Bayer popped into my mind, and this guy could be making millions.
As I approached the fence the pitcher looked over at me and we met eyes...and he was just a kid. I was mesmerized. My heart sped up, I got that feeling in your stomach that you get when you are on a roller coaster, and I completely ignored my son tugging my shirt because he had to go pee already. At that point I realized that he wasn't a kid, he was 'the kid'.
Over the next several innings he pitched for both teams and it was breathtaking. Nobody could touch him. A few batters made contact, and one actually hit a nice double (weather by luck or skill I'll never know) but nobody crossed home on his watch. When my son wandered over to the bathroom (for the 3rd time) I briefly sat behind a guy who had a radar gun. I'm not sure if he was the local sheriff or a BLB scout, but he had attracted a gaggle of people directly behind him. From the dugout I heard the coach, this time I made sure it was actually the coach, yell out "last batter." Not the normal way of doing things but what was normal this night. Ismael quickly got up 1-2 in the count and a slight murmur started in the stands. Before his final windup of the night I could have sworn he gave a small wink to the batter. What came next was pure beauty. If baseball was music 'the kid' was Mozart. The fastball was here and gone before I, the crowd, or the batter knew it. The only thing that "saw" it was the radar gun, and when it flashed 101 MPH three times I almost fainted.
The rest of the game consisted of me staring at Ismael on the bench, my son chasing a toad that happened to come into our area, and me staring some more. I decided to take my press credential out and hang it around my neck because I was afraid after a while the police would come have a chat with me. I just couldn't comprehend what I saw. How could a 15 year old, a 6'3 fifteen year old, have a cannon like that? He was one in a million, no one in a billion...I had to talk to him.
After the game I walked/drug my son over to the dugout. As Ismael began to leave I tapped him on the arm (I couldn't reach the shoulder) and introduced myself as a beat writer for the regional paper. I then proceeded to stand there and stare some more. My whole life I could talk to anyone about anything, but here I was flustered by a teenager. I just didn't know what to say, I mean what can you say? The kid pitched three innings (in reality six), faced 19 batters, struck out 16, and allowed one hit. I finally blurted out "nice game", the coach called him over to the team meeting, he said "thanks" and off he went.
Over the course of '89 I went to every single HS game he pitched in, all nine of them. In his 3rd game he struck out 17 batters, and at one point sat down 12 in a row. Even opposing fans clapped when he came out of that one. His final numbers were 3 wins and 2 losses with a 2.43 ERA, 1.06 WHIP, 83 K's, and 19 walks in 59.1 innings. I know, I recorded them myself. My wife used to joke with me about my "man-date" night with Ismael. She said the last time I followed someone in high school around like that it was her. She came along a time or two but was never impressed. Shoes impress her, kitchen cabinets impress her, but a 15 year old who throws a 101 MPH fastball doesn't impress her? I love her but I'll never understand her.
This year 'the kid' only got better...and bigger. When I first saw him in spring ball he had grown. At 16 years old he is now 6'5 and 205 pounds. What was he eating? More appropriately what wasn't he eating? Over the course of last year I became friends with his parents, who once they realized I wasn't out to take advantage of their son became much more friendly. They stated they had met and married in Mexico in the early 70's, but came to America for a better life. They ended up in a small suburb of Philadelphia named Prospect Park, where Ismael was born in 1973 (fitting). In the late 80's they moved to Maine and ended up in Portland, just a short drive away from Fryeburg Academy where Ismael was soon enrolled. The rest they say, is history.
Let me get back to the 'better' part I mentioned before. Last season Ismael was a true freshman, a 15 year old, who was playing against older guys and dominating them. But there were questions this year. Had he grown into his new body yet? Was he just a one year phenom? Had the talk and high school fame got to his head? Simply put...yes, no, no. From his first game on March 27th, to the last game he pitched in on May 7th this kid was lights out. Over the course of nine games he was 7-0 with a 1.31 ERA, 0.77 WHIP, 94 K's, and only 12 walks in 62 innings pitched. He lead all high school pitchers in wins, ERA, WHIP, strikeouts, opponents average, opponents OBP, opponents SLG, opponents OBS, and VORP. There was even talk that if he entered the BLB draft early he could have been a Top 10 pick.
But that isn't going to happen. Ismael's father already assured me that his son will be finishing high school. I asked him what would happen if Ismael would get hurt and he couldn't play baseball anymore and he turned down all those millions...then what? "Then what," he laughed, "then he goes to college, gets a job better than mine and someday provides for his children like I provide for him." Dad may not have had the best education in the world but I'll tell you what, he is a very smart man.
In 1992, if everything stays on course, Ismael Ramirez will be eligible for the BLB draft. I don't know what the future holds in store for him, but he's been blessed and I hope the blessing continues. I do know one thing though, and that is until that point it is going to be one hell of fun ride, and I plan on being there for every pitch of it.
I remember I packed up my six year old son, threw a couple drinks in the cooler, kissed the wife goodbye and off we went. Parking was free, it was close to home, and to my little leaguer watching HS ball was like a front row seats to the Guides. After we arrived we found a nice little hill that just peaked over the 3rd base dugout and made it ours. My son got his glove out, the one that could catch a small meteor, and sat in wait. He sat there memorized watching the pre-game warm ups and soon pointed out his favorite player. Of course #11 also happened to be the number on the back of his team jersey (thank you to Jay's Fire Pizza) but I've learned if he's happy I'm happy, so I just smiled and nodded.
I looked around the field for 'the kid' but nobody stood out. I had no idea what he looked like and without names on the jerseys he could have been any of the 20-30 guys out there. As the game started I noticed the coach take the mound, and not just any coach, but the biggest coach out there. He must have been 6'2 (I would later learn 6'3) and weigh 180 lbs. I could not for the life of me figure why the coach would be throwing during spring ball but I figured there was a method to his madness.
The first kid that trotted up to the plate looked no bigger than my son. It was hard to see his face but the guy looked to be about 5'2 and 130 pounds, and that is if he's standing on a book with a pocket full of change. I figured for sure the coach would serve him up something juicy to hit. You know, a little confidence now could go a long way.
When the first pitch game I nearly jumped up and over the dugout in one bound. I played baseball until I was 22, coached baseball until I was 30, and have written about baseball since then...and have never seen anything like it. This fastball must have topped out near 95 mph, went straight for the kids head and then dipped down in at the last possible second. The startled batter jumped back, the small crowd gasp, and the umpire yelled strike. "Are you kidding me!" I screamed. My first thought was who the hell did this guy think he was? Was he trying to relive his glory days? Was the batter his kid? If not was he dating his daughter? My second thought was why isn't this guy in the BLB? There are only a handful of pitchers that can throw like that, Batavia closer Ken Bayer popped into my mind, and this guy could be making millions.
As I approached the fence the pitcher looked over at me and we met eyes...and he was just a kid. I was mesmerized. My heart sped up, I got that feeling in your stomach that you get when you are on a roller coaster, and I completely ignored my son tugging my shirt because he had to go pee already. At that point I realized that he wasn't a kid, he was 'the kid'.
Over the next several innings he pitched for both teams and it was breathtaking. Nobody could touch him. A few batters made contact, and one actually hit a nice double (weather by luck or skill I'll never know) but nobody crossed home on his watch. When my son wandered over to the bathroom (for the 3rd time) I briefly sat behind a guy who had a radar gun. I'm not sure if he was the local sheriff or a BLB scout, but he had attracted a gaggle of people directly behind him. From the dugout I heard the coach, this time I made sure it was actually the coach, yell out "last batter." Not the normal way of doing things but what was normal this night. Ismael quickly got up 1-2 in the count and a slight murmur started in the stands. Before his final windup of the night I could have sworn he gave a small wink to the batter. What came next was pure beauty. If baseball was music 'the kid' was Mozart. The fastball was here and gone before I, the crowd, or the batter knew it. The only thing that "saw" it was the radar gun, and when it flashed 101 MPH three times I almost fainted.
The rest of the game consisted of me staring at Ismael on the bench, my son chasing a toad that happened to come into our area, and me staring some more. I decided to take my press credential out and hang it around my neck because I was afraid after a while the police would come have a chat with me. I just couldn't comprehend what I saw. How could a 15 year old, a 6'3 fifteen year old, have a cannon like that? He was one in a million, no one in a billion...I had to talk to him.
After the game I walked/drug my son over to the dugout. As Ismael began to leave I tapped him on the arm (I couldn't reach the shoulder) and introduced myself as a beat writer for the regional paper. I then proceeded to stand there and stare some more. My whole life I could talk to anyone about anything, but here I was flustered by a teenager. I just didn't know what to say, I mean what can you say? The kid pitched three innings (in reality six), faced 19 batters, struck out 16, and allowed one hit. I finally blurted out "nice game", the coach called him over to the team meeting, he said "thanks" and off he went.
Over the course of '89 I went to every single HS game he pitched in, all nine of them. In his 3rd game he struck out 17 batters, and at one point sat down 12 in a row. Even opposing fans clapped when he came out of that one. His final numbers were 3 wins and 2 losses with a 2.43 ERA, 1.06 WHIP, 83 K's, and 19 walks in 59.1 innings. I know, I recorded them myself. My wife used to joke with me about my "man-date" night with Ismael. She said the last time I followed someone in high school around like that it was her. She came along a time or two but was never impressed. Shoes impress her, kitchen cabinets impress her, but a 15 year old who throws a 101 MPH fastball doesn't impress her? I love her but I'll never understand her.
This year 'the kid' only got better...and bigger. When I first saw him in spring ball he had grown. At 16 years old he is now 6'5 and 205 pounds. What was he eating? More appropriately what wasn't he eating? Over the course of last year I became friends with his parents, who once they realized I wasn't out to take advantage of their son became much more friendly. They stated they had met and married in Mexico in the early 70's, but came to America for a better life. They ended up in a small suburb of Philadelphia named Prospect Park, where Ismael was born in 1973 (fitting). In the late 80's they moved to Maine and ended up in Portland, just a short drive away from Fryeburg Academy where Ismael was soon enrolled. The rest they say, is history.
Let me get back to the 'better' part I mentioned before. Last season Ismael was a true freshman, a 15 year old, who was playing against older guys and dominating them. But there were questions this year. Had he grown into his new body yet? Was he just a one year phenom? Had the talk and high school fame got to his head? Simply put...yes, no, no. From his first game on March 27th, to the last game he pitched in on May 7th this kid was lights out. Over the course of nine games he was 7-0 with a 1.31 ERA, 0.77 WHIP, 94 K's, and only 12 walks in 62 innings pitched. He lead all high school pitchers in wins, ERA, WHIP, strikeouts, opponents average, opponents OBP, opponents SLG, opponents OBS, and VORP. There was even talk that if he entered the BLB draft early he could have been a Top 10 pick.
But that isn't going to happen. Ismael's father already assured me that his son will be finishing high school. I asked him what would happen if Ismael would get hurt and he couldn't play baseball anymore and he turned down all those millions...then what? "Then what," he laughed, "then he goes to college, gets a job better than mine and someday provides for his children like I provide for him." Dad may not have had the best education in the world but I'll tell you what, he is a very smart man.
In 1992, if everything stays on course, Ismael Ramirez will be eligible for the BLB draft. I don't know what the future holds in store for him, but he's been blessed and I hope the blessing continues. I do know one thing though, and that is until that point it is going to be one hell of fun ride, and I plan on being there for every pitch of it.
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