December 21, 2008
Clay Zavada: A Lunch-Pail Prospect for the Diamondbacks
STREATOR, Ill. — Days before the Yankees signed C. C. Sabathia to a $161 million deal, one of the Arizona Diamondbacks’ most promising minor league pitchers rose before dawn at his house on the outskirts of this central Illinois town.
An overnight storm had coated the roads in ice, and the thermometer
read 8 degrees. It was the perfect morning to sleep in, but not for
Clay Zavada, who steered his Nissan Sentra toward town — past frozen
cornstalks, an abandoned farmhouse and the red lights of windmills
blinking in the distance. A dilapidated motel and a series of fast-food
restaurants indicated his arrival in Streator.
Zavada could not afford to be late. This was the only time the high
school gym would be empty, and his old coach — the assistant principal
— would have time to catch for him.
“If you don’t get it done early and get it out of the way, it’s kind
of hard to get it done,” Zavada said, slamming a two-seam fastball
toward the gloved hand of Nick McGurk. “You’ve got to get in here and
get it done.”
Once the sun came up, Zavada knew there would be other demands on
his time. His uncle might call him to work at the family sawmill. A
cousin in the construction business often needs a hand. And Zavada has
a long list of chores waiting for him on the 40-acre property his
father left him and his brother — logs to be split and sold for
firewood, a go-kart awaiting refurbishing and posting on eBay, or the
thick bushes choking a grove of walnut trees that need clearing. For
that task of protecting the trees, the federal government sends him a
small yearly subsidy.
Despite an impressive 0.51 earned run average and a 3-1 record last
season as a reliever for the Class A South Bend Silver Hawks, Zavada,
24, must work outside of baseball to pay his bills. Last season, he
earned $280 a week — before taxes — from the Silver Hawks. His income
is typical of the roughly 4,500 minor league players, about 10 percent
of whom will play in even one major league game.
“Not all of these guys are getting million-dollar bonuses,” said A.
J. Hinch, the director of player development for the Diamondbacks. “I
don’t know that everybody is quite aware of what these guys go through
in order to give themselves a chance to make it.”
Zavada had never been a hotly pursued prospect until now. His work
last season, which included allowing six hits in 35 innings, earned him
a coveted spot on the Diamondbacks’ 40-man roster. In spring training,
he will have the chance to compete for one of the 25 spots on the major
league roster.
Zavada had considered playing N.C.A.A.
Division I baseball, but big-time college recruiters do not stop here.
After playing at Illinois Valley Community College, he transferred in
his junior year to Southern Illinois University Edwardsville, which
competes in Division II. In 2006, the Diamondbacks drafted him in the
30th round, paying him a $1,000 signing bonus that after taxes, barely
paid the deposit on his apartment in Missoula, Mont., where he played
on a summer rookie team.
That December, Zavada’s father, Clarence, a quality-control manager
for a nuclear plant, died of a heart attack. Zavada’s mother, Linda,
had died when he was 3; his older brother, Dustin, was serving in the
Navy. Suddenly, Zavada found himself responsible for looking after his
family’s property, a mix of farmland and forest that was his father’s
pride and joy.
“That’s when the wheels kind of came off the track,” Zavada said.
“He was my life. My brother and him, that’s all we were. The three of
us.”
Zavada failed to report to spring training in 2007 and lost touch
with the Diamondbacks, who dropped his contract later in the summer.
“I was just sitting around, trying to figure things out,” he said.
That fall, Zavada decided to honor his father’s wishes by completing
his bachelor’s degree at Edwardsville. He also took a part-time job
delivering furniture.
“I was pretty much done with baseball,” he said.
Last spring, he graduated with a degree in business. At the prodding
of a friend, he decided to celebrate by trying out for an independent
team, the Southern Illinois Miners.
“I hadn’t picked up a ball in over a year,” he said.
After a few practice games that were “absolutely awful,” Zavada said, he eventually picked up momentum.
“From that point on, it was like, boom,” said Zavada, who is 6 feet
1 inch and 195 pounds. “I didn’t have a negative thought in my mind.”
Zavada’s performance caught the attention of the Diamondbacks, and
in June, they re-signed him to a one-year contract. He was assigned to
the Silver Hawks.
“He opened some eyes — one, being left-handed, and two, he had a
good arsenal,” Hinch said. “But he didn’t come in with a lot of
accolades. He’s had to earn every bit” of the attention he is starting
to get.
Zavada does not argue the point.
“I’ve been a low-percentage shot for baseball my whole life,” he said.
Last Monday, Zavada’s sneakers squeaked down the aisles of the
Kroger supermarket as he hunted for breakfast. He grabbed a box of
store-brand raisin bran cereal — at $1.89, it was $2 less than the name
brands nearby.
“As far as food is concerned, I don’t buy anything that’s not on sale, or not cheap,” he said.
A few aisles away, he tucked a pack of chicken thighs under his arm. “Almost five pounds of it for $3,” he marveled.
As much as baseball is Zavada’s dream, it is also a paycheck. Being
on the 40-man roster will quadruple his salary, at the very least. If
he is selected for the major league team, he will earn the rookie
minimum, $400,000.
“It’s good that I play baseball and I actually have a job that I
know I can go to in about two months,” he said. “Some people can’t.
Some people around here, they’re barely getting by.”
Once a bustling town of coal mines and bottle factories, Streator is
now home to about 14,000 people, many of whom drive long distances to
work at power plants. The nearest interstate is 13 miles away, and
there is not even a Wal-Mart, although Zavada said many residents
welcomed plans to build one because it might bring jobs.
The only cinema — a renovated movie palace called the Majestic —
charges $5.25 a ticket. The theater’s owner addressed members of the
audience before a recent screening of “The Day the Earth Stood Still,”
pleading with them to come back soon and to invite relatives and
friends.
“I’m going to try to keep it open through the end of the year,” he told the crowd.
The temperature was still in the single digits by the time Zavada
returned home from the grocery store about 9 a.m. In the kitchen, he
poured a bowl of raisin bran and turned up the volume on his kitchen
radio. “Swap Shop,” a live classified advertising show broadcast every
morning on a local AM station, was about to start.
“This is the home run derby of Streator,” Zavada said, slurping his
cereal as Gunner, his Labrador retriever, waited hopefully at his feet.
“This is what you live for.”
On this morning, the items for sale or trade included a pair of
turquoise bracelets, a 2-year-old cocker spaniel, an Xbox video system
“only used once,” an extra-large Green Bay Packers
jacket with tags attached and a 1994 Honda Civic. One woman called in
looking for beeswax. Another wanted to alert her neighbors that two
dogs — “a shepherd and a hunting dog” — seemed to have gotten loose at
the end of her block.
Not long ago, Zavada said, he got an “awesome deal” on a 1996 Honda
Rebel motorcycle that he bought from “Swap Shop.” He fixed it up and
sold it on eBay, making a $900 profit.
“If you can find a deal, you can definitely make a mint,” he said.
Like many of his neighbors, Zavada’s livelihood relies on a mix of
odd jobs and an entrepreneurial spirit. He is a regular at the Streator
pawn shop, searching for underappreciated treasures that can be sold
online. During the harvest, he drove a truck for a farmer who had
shattered his ankle after falling off a grain bin.
His pitching is equally versatile. Zavada takes pride in his best
pitch, a changeup, and said that for now, baseball was his priority.
But it is clear that he also takes pleasure in other tasks, like
clearing brush behind his house, or slicing an old telephone pole into
smooth, straight boards at his uncle’s sawmill. Using his pitching hand
to line up the blades of an industrial saw may make the Diamondbacks’
management cringe, but Zavada says he will not give it up.
“You got to do what you got to do,” he said. “It’s how I grew up, you know. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”
Last Sunday, Zavada spotted an opossum that had been wandering
around his property for days. He grabbed his grandfather’s shotgun over
the fireplace and raced outside. Later, as Gunner trotted toward the
house with the carcass in his mouth, Zavada ordered the dog to drop it.
With any luck, he explained, this animal may attract another.
Raccoon pelts are selling for $25 apiece.
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Source: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/12/21/sports/baseball/21pitcher.html?_r=2
