A commentary by Sam Hurst

You gotta love springtime baseball on the Great Plains. Two weeks ago it snowed and the wind howled forty miles an hour. Four days later there was an inch of rain on the field. In between, the 2010 Post 22 baseball team took the field against Cheyenne, and got whacked. So why is Dave Ploof smiling?

Shortstop Dante Bledsoe turned a fleet-footed double play, and then on the next routine grounder threw the ball fifteen feet over the first baseman’s head. The hitters were flat-footed and slow to react. Parker Sullivan pulled his head and struck out. So why is Dave Ploof smiling?

There is almost nobody in the stands. Of course, there’s that one old man, with the patient wife, who sits behind the first base dugout. While parents are yelling, “Come on…Johnny”, the old man exclaims with some frustration, “Stay back. Don’t pull your head.” Those who need to know who he is…know. Those who need to listen…listen. Along the left field line, high in the bleachers, sits another man, laughing softly with his friends. When a grounder is hit to shortstop he pulls off the conversation, watches the play, and then returns to his friends. His grandson is an emerging star, but the man leaves the impression that he has seen all this before. He is unassuming, modest…doesn’t even wear an Oakland A’s cap.

Long-time Post 22 supporter and former coach Dr. James 'Pev' Evans

I have never seen Dave Ploof smile this much at the beginning of a season.

Three years ago he scowled his way through warm-ups. He seemed twisted in knots. He knew his team was young. The road ahead would be tedious and the outcome unsure. Maybe the best days of Post 22 were behind it. “We have to go back to basics.” He told me. “We’re behind. We have to do a better job of teaching fundamentals.” He then went out and built a state-of-the-art indoor training facility, added the best modern training technology, and hired coaches Kyle Yamada and Mitch Messer.

This week Ploof is smiling. He cracks jokes with Little Leaguers in the stands. He fist bumps his players. Fist bumping? Dave Ploof? What’s going on?

Is it possible that by losing Sam Wolfe last year, grinding out a tough season, and losing to Post 320 in the first round of the state tournament, the program finally hit bottom…and survived? Is it possible that a huge burden was finally lifted? Is it possible that Post 22 can now get on with the business of being great without being perfect? Is it possible that the young, small, under-achievers have finally come of age?

Ploof whispers that the Expos (the old split squad) have the strongest group of talent in years, and almost all of the Canyon Lake Little League All-Stars who went to Williamsport are now in the Post 22 program. Is that why Dave Ploof is smiling?

Ah…not so fast.

Quietly, almost imperceptibly, the Music Man has come to town. He promises the boys of summer that if they will just follow him away from the clutches of their community-based American Legion teams, he will lead them to big time college baseball and the pro draft. Coach Jason Anderson (late of the Los Angeles Angels farm system) ain’t talking. I wish he would explain what it is he’s trying to accomplish. He has already held tryouts for an “all star traveling team”–a team that will “showcase” individual talent to pro scouts in a way that no Legion team can offer. Or so he tells anxious players who pay $150 just to tryout. Those who make the roster will pay more…much more. The cult of the “showcase” is, after all, a cash and carry business.

There is mystery surrounding the new all-stars. When do they play?” Where do they play? How can you organize a South Dakota all-star team without Post 22 players? Why wouldn’t a big-time stud from Rapid City, who wants to be seen by pro scouts and college coaches, just play for Post 22? Anderson is silent. Nonetheless, Post 320 has lost its promising sophomore catcher Jake Fredericksen. And Sturgis has lost a good left arm in senior Michael Baldwin.

The logic of the all-star team is that it recruits only the best. But the true seduction of the Music Man is his promise that success does not rest on talent, or hard work, or the team concept, but the right body type, the right connections, and faith…lots of faith. If you (parent or player) believe that you are good enough to play professional baseball, you can. This approach taps into the deepest Horatio Alger values of American success. If you believe in yourself, all the rest is fate. If you fail it is because you just didn’t have enough faith (or you didn’t pay enough).

With the new “Team South Dakota”—or whatever it calls itself—the American cult of narcissism, celebrity, and self-promotion has finally come home to Rapid City. This is the Brittany Spears of youth baseball. Lindsay Lohan could play third base. Paris Hilton, centerfield. Terrell Owens, first base. “Me. Me. Me. Me. Look at me.” The slogan on the front of all star jerseys should read: “We Took the Short Cut”.
This is the culture of minor leaguers who start using steroids “to get an edge”. This is the culture of golf stars who believe “the rules just didn’t apply to me.” This is the culture of Hall of Fame players who go before Congress and lie to protect their legacies and their corporate sponsorships, then can’t understand why a fourteen year old would lie and claim he was twelve just for the chance to play in the Little League World Series. This is the culture of Enron, Halliburton, and Wall Street. Damn the community. Damn my teammates. I’m gonna get mine.

For almost half a century Dave Ploof has stood against this approach to baseball. “You are not as good as you think your are.” He cautions. “You’re not ready.” “You need to work harder, hustle harder, be a better teammate.” The Music Man argues that mediocre teammates hold the shooting star back from his potential. Ploof argues that baseball is a team sport best played on a hot July evening in front of a loyal community.

Most super-star nineteen year olds who graduate from the Post 22 program think they are ready to be drafted, Ploof thinks they barely understand the game.

In this culture of self-centered individualism, and get-it-now celebrity, Ploof is an old- school traditionalist. But maybe his time has passed. Are traveling all-star teams the way of the future? Is American Legion baseball a quaint backwater of undiscovered, mediocre talent? Is the team concept an anachronism?

The traveling team philosophy is based on a series of shaky premises. First, there is the notion that a six foot, five inch, left-handed pitcher who throws ninety miles-an-hour, and is stuck on a small town team, will not be noticed by pro scouts or college coaches unless he leaves his community and hooks up with a traveling team. Yeah, right. This is a premise that under-estimates the greed of professional baseball, and the ambition of scouts whose paychecks are linked to the discovery of the next phenom. The real problem is that a self-centered boy who throws seventy-two and can’t get the ball over the plate thinks he is throwing ninety, thinks he is being held back by the lessers around him, and thinks that if he could just get seen by the coach from Texas he would prove that he is as good as his dad thinks he is. You throw ninety, believe me, the scouts will see you no matter where you live. They will knock down your door.

The second, more complicated premise, is the notion that individual talent can be separated from team.

Scouts are paid to find raw physical talent. The operative word is “paid”. They are not looking for players. They are looking for physical potential. But where does maturity fit in? Does he understand the game? What kind of teammate is he? Can he survive a long, grueling season? Who cares how a player looks in front of the mirror? How does he pitch or hit against really good competition…when it’s 2-2 in the ninth and he’s scared out of his mind? For the answers to these questions, college coaches turn to high school and American Legion coaches, not traveling team coaches whose paycheck is tied to the promotion of their players.

Fitzgerald Stadium (Photo courtesy of Post 22 baseball)

Among the generations of parents who pass through the gates of Fitzgerald Field, there is a common criticism of Dave Ploof. He is not a cheerleader for his players. I don’t know whether he is or not. But I do know this: Fathers are notoriously the worst judges of their son’s talent, and Dave Ploof talks to college and pro scouts more than people think. The problem is that he doesn’t always tell his players (or their parents) what they want to hear. Pardon me for stating the obvious, but when it comes time to judge whether a player is ready for college or the pros, I trust Dave Ploof’s judgment, and the judgment of his staff, more than I trust mom and dad or a paid promoter.

Let me explore two cases, which tell us a lot about the process. InsideDakotaSports.com editor Jake Nordbye was a three-year starting catcher on Post 22. He had a cannon for an arm, perhaps the best ever. He was wicked fast on the base paths. He had a good stick. He had the right body type. Most of all, he loved, absolutely loved, baseball. He also had a wild temper. More than once Dave Ploof shook his head in frustration and grumbled, “Jake just doesn’t listen.” Physically Jake was ready for big-time college baseball or the professional minor leagues, but he wasn’t ready mentally. So what did Dave Ploof do? He steered Jake to a small junior college in Kansas (a baseball powerhouse) where Jake could work on his skills and grow up. In Kansas, Jake got frustrated and impatient. He left the program months before he would have been drafted. Jake’s story is baseball’s loss, but journalism’s gain. I believe Jake’s true calling is as a writer. He may not make it to the Major Leagues, but if he sticks to it, there is a Pulitzer Prize in his future.

There is a second story. It is a cautionary tale for all the studs out there who think raw talent trumps character. It’s the Mark Ellis story. We would do well to remember that the only South Dakota player actually playing in the Major Leagues is a 5’9” infielder with a mediocre arm and no spectacular home run pop. Dave Ploof would say I am dead wrong about Ellis’ physical endowment. But…come on, coach. Just look at him! Mark Ellis has none of the physical traits that would attract a professional scout. He has just enough, but he also has all the intangibles that Dave Ploof teaches.

How did Mark Ellis get to the Major Leagues? He spent his entire eligibility with Post 22. He spent four years at the University of Florida. He spent two years in the minor leagues. He took no shortcuts. He did it the painstaking, unglamorous, Ploof Way. And, somewhere along the line, Dave Ploof told the coach from Florida, or a pro scout, “This kid can play ball.”

A decade later, Mark Ellis is arguably the best second baseman in the American League.

Advocates of the all-star traveling team say that they only want four or five of the “very best” South Dakota players, to which they will add all-stars from surrounding states. This is a slippery slope to mediocrity. By taking one or two of the best players off a community team like Post 22, Rapid City cannot compete for a state title or World Series appearance. They cannot compete well in the very tournaments (the Gopher Classic, the Firecracker, the College World Series) that scouts attend. Imagine this year’s Post 22 team without Kolton Emery, Parker Sullivan, or Dana Hill.

All-star coaches may argue, “So what. Our commitment is to the individual all-star, not the community.” This is a dead-end.
Yes, the winters are long, and the early season tries our patience. But when summer comes, there is no better place in the country for teenage boys to train for high-level competitive baseball. And who pays for the Post 22 program? The community. A player on an all-star team will pay tens of thousands of dollars a season for the honor of playing before empty bleachers and a handful of radar guns, with strangers for teammates. Post 22 players train in the best facilities in the country from the time they are fourteen. They work with the best coaches in the region. They travel to the best tournaments. All for free. They don’t even pay for their caps. They earn them, but they don’t pay for them.

What does the community expect in return for its investment? We want to sit on a warm summer night and see the hardhats hustle onto the field when they are down 8-0 in the sixth. We want each season to begin with the hope and expectation that by August the team will compete to play in the World Series. We want the announcer to come on the PA system between innings and report that Mark Ellis went three for five against the Rangers. We want to lean over to our friend in the stands and say, “We really need to turn two to get out of this jam.” And then watch the boys do it. We want to believe that in ten years Parker Sullivan will still be playing centerfield…somewhere. Is that too much to ask for?

For the two, or three, or four boys with the God-given talent to play at higher levels, this community has created a great opportunity. This community! Shred that foundation, and there is nothing left but a culture of individual self-promotion. Traveling all star teams may be the rage of the future. They may be a viable model in big urban centers of the sunbelt where boys play high school baseball all year round. But as for me…I’d just as soon have our players get to college and the pros the old fashioned way, by sprinting onto the field wearing jerseys with RAPID CITY embroidered on the front.