Tommy John

During high school I played baseball year round through my school and assortment of travel ball teams. During my sophomore year I drove to San Diego for a baseball tournament. That morning I received a call from one of my coaches begging me to drive down for a tournament so I could pitch. San Diego was around an hour and half from my house so the drive was pretty significant. I get to the game and basically walk out of my car and onto the field to start playing catch. Everything seems good to go. In my pregame bullpen I hit all of my spots and felt untouchable. 

            The game started but we were the home team so I had to wait for us to bat before I pitched. We ended hitting extremely well and I got up to bat and got a broken bat single with an rbi. Eventually the inning ends and it is my turn to go out a show the other team what I can do.  

            The first batter walks in the box and I stared at him from the mound, like I did to every hitter. I get my sign and throw a fastball, strike one. I was throwing pretty hard that day so I felt good about that pitch. I get the ball back, step on the mound and receive my next pitch selection. Fastball on the outside corner, strike two. Everyone in the stadium knew what pitch was coming next, curveball in the dirt. As planned, the batter swings and misses and the catcher throws to first for the first out of the inning. The next hitter comes up, and I cannot believe this kid is 15. The batter was Mexican, around 6’3, 180ish pounds, but muscle. My coach yells out to me to watch out for this kid. Already knowing that, I get on the mound ready to pitch. I throw back to back curveballs, one for a called strike and one for a swinging strike in the dirt. The hitter is now 0-2 and feeling great about my fastball I am elated to see the pitch call of a high fastball. I get in my wind up and throw the pitch. Boom, a homerun, hit pretty far out of the ballpark. I shake it off knowing we have a pretty significant lead and focus on the next hitter.

            There is one out and the next hitter walks into the batter’s box. I get the call of a fastball and miss high, a little amped from just letting up and absolute bomb to the previous hitter. I throw two consecutive curveballs for swinging strikes to bring the count to 1-2. I then throw a fastball high and the hitter takes. 2-2. I see the call for a curveball in the dirt and I know this will work. I begin my windup and as I release the ball I feel a tingling pain run up my elbow. I reach my glove hand to my elbow and begin to hop on the ball of my right foot trying to make the pain go away. Oh yeah, and the hitter broke his batter for a single of a pitch that nearly bounced. As I walked around the mound, my internal temperature rising, I squeeze my cap to try and subside the pain in my elbow. My coach walks out to see if everything is ok. He tells me to try and throw another pitch to see how my elbow feels. Hesitantly, I step back on the mound and breathe out. Mentally preparing myself for what could come, I go through my wind up and as I release the pitch my elbow hurts more than I could imagine. I hop again, this time faster as I feel the pain pulsing along my forearm and elbow. Without saying a word, I hop to the dugout, knowing that this can’t be good. I get to the bench and then I just sit, waiting for my elbow to not feel as I was hit in my funny bone but painful and seriously elongated.

            As quickly as they can they bring me ice and I just sit there thinking, today I drove and hour and a half to break my bat, let up a homerun, and hurt my elbow. Not to mention, I still had to drive home. After 20 minutes of pure icing, I walk up to the dugout and watch as the other team begins scoring runs and tying the ballgame. After months of physical training and different results from x-rays, I am finally ordered a lithograph on my elbow. It turns out, not only did I have bone chips in my elbow (which later I found out were around a centimeter large), I also had a torn ulnar collateral ligament in my elbow. My options were to experiment with injections or have Tommy John. After long deliberations with my family, I chose to not pitch again so I could at least play baseball my senior year. Never will I ever forget hopping around on that mound wishing and wishing for me not feel anything in my elbow and be able to finish off the rest of the game.