Scott Emerson and Colin Hardin probably don't know each other, but they should meet sometime. A dugout would be an appropriate setting. Surrounded both by stitched five-ounce cowhide spheres, and by carefully crafted lengths of maple, birch, or ash, you can bet their conversation would be interesting.
They are a couple of professional baseball guys who ply their trade on opposite sides of the great divide between those who pitch the ball, and those who try to smack it out of the park. While the two need each other professionally, Scott and Colin are dedicated to seeing that the other fails.
Scott Emerson develops and coaches baseball pitchers on the professional level. Colin Hardin crafts the bats that major league hitters carry to the batter's box to face Scott's charges.
I have been acquainted with Scott since he married my cousin, Jill Jones, in 2001. Colin recently conducted Robin and me on a behind-the-scenes tour of Hillerich & Bradsby's baseball bat factory in Louisville, Kentucky.
Raw bat billets await processing at the Hillerich & Bradsby Co. factory in Louisville, Kentucky.
Doug Smith
A bat begins its journey over 600 miles north of Louisville in forests that straddle northern Pennsylvania and southern New York. The climate there produces the very hard professional-grade maple, birch and ash woods prized in the major leagues.
A tree destined for professional bats can be expected to produce about 60 cylindrical "billets" cut to 40-inch lengths around three to four inches in diameter. Typically, a tree is aged over 50 to 60 years, meaning that a sapling that sprouted during Boston Red Sox great Carl Yastrzemski's heyday, is now ready to produce a bat for his major leaguer grandson, Mike, in Atlanta.
At the factory in Louisville, the wood billets are turned on a computerized lathe to each contracted player's exact specifications, within league rules, for barrel size, thickness, and taper. Hillerich & Bradsby maintains a vault housing thousands of template bats for major league players — current, retired, or deceased.
With gloved hands, Robin held the decades-old bat template for her ancestral cousin, St. Louis Cardinals great Enos Slaughter, who grew up near Roxboro.
Unlike the hand-turning of decades past, current lathes can turn a new bat in 30-40 seconds, after which it is smoothed by automated, or even manual, sanders to remove nubs and rough edges. Following laser application of the company logo, the new bat is coated with lacquer and wood filler, then sent on to cure to a finish on a rack.
When a bat makes its way off of Colin's production line in Louisville, it is pristine, virginal, and smooth to the touch. Scott Emerson and his pitchers are dedicated to seeing that their opponents' bats remain that way.
Emerson recently published a memoir of his life and experiences in baseball, "Give Me The Ball." The 54-year-old — known as "Emo" to friends and colleagues — points out that his is a journey still being written. I did not realize that Scott had been released by the Oakland A's in July when, at a family reunion in early August, I placed my foot in my mouth as I quizzed, "Hey Scott, what are you doing here? It's mid-season." He grinned and answered, "Didn't you hear? I was fired."
Cover of Scott Emerson's book, "Give Me the Ball."
Doug Smith
Professional ball in any sport is notoriously unforgiving. "What have you done for us lately?" seems to guide most sports executives. It's a testament to his dedication that Emo stayed with the A's for a quarter century — including nine seasons as their major league pitching coach.
I recall seeing the 2011 "Moneyball" film with Scott, Jill, Robin, and Jill's mom, Tess Jones. Based on the Michael Lewis book of the same title, "Moneyball" was about the experiences of noted Oakland A's general manager, Billy Beane, with actor Brad Pitt in the leading role. One scene depicted A's executives and scouts in a meeting to mull over various player prospects. The scene involved a certain amount of salty language being tossed about. On leaving the theatre, Scott pulled out his phone and dialed up one of the principals in the scene.
"Hey, I just saw Moneyball," he began with a glint of mischief. "Do you guys really talk like that in the major leagues?" I'm sure he got an earful, and we all enjoyed a laugh.
Born into a close-knit Baltimore, Maryland family, Scott was encouraged in his youthful baseball pursuits by his parents, Bill and Pat Emerson.
His mom never tired of throwing Wiffle balls to hone his hitting skills. Scott loved the voice of his golf course superintendent dad shouting encouragement from the Little League stands in Darnestown, Maryland.
Playing first base one rainy day, though chafing to take the mound and the ball, Scott received his baptism by fire when his coach sent him to toe the pitching rubber with the bases loaded and no one out. Nine pitches ... nine strikes. Just give me the ball.
The Emersons made their way to Phoenix, Arizona, where Scott found success on the bump pitching for Shadow Mountain High School. Drafted in the 13th round by San Diego in 1990, he elected to remain in college before signing with the Baltimore Orioles in 1991.
"Give Me The Ball" provides any fan a glimpse at what happens when playing dreams fade due to injuries and bad luck. Emo especially supplies useful insights, here, to the adolescent who is chasing baseball dreams and desires a look behind the scenes at what it takes.
When injuries finally ended his own playing career — an 85 mph fastball simply won't do in "the show" — Scott discovered his own innate love of people, and coaching young men to achieve their own aspirations.
Various personalities influenced Emerson along his journey, but the late Marty DeMerritt stood out. DeMerritt spent 36 years as a pitching coach — 22 of them with the Tampa Bay organization. Emerson credits his own philosophy to DeMerritt's teaching: Don't cookie-cut pitchers.
Don't cookie-cut people.
DeMerritt's, and now Emerson's, approach is to consider each pitcher as a puzzle. How does he think, move, throw, etc.? A great pitching delivery for one is, likely, not the right one for another.
Through his friendship with Red Sox star, and 2004 World Series champ, Trot Nixon, Scott met Jill Jones, a friend of Trot's wife, Kathryn. Anyone who knows Jill understands that while she may not have an effective curve ball of her own, she certainly possesses a major league personality. A career woman in her own right, Jill proved adaptable to life in "the show."
Jill's grandmother — my Aunt Lucille Rankin Smith — described it succinctly: "Four months on, eight months off. What a great marriage!"
Unless a batter makes contact, Scott Emerson's charges have four chances to pitch a ball fast enough, or difficult enough, to reach a two-and-a-third square foot area from 60 feet, six inches before a batter earns a free pass to first base.
It's a testament to the prowess of major league pitchers that, since 1900, overall league batting averages have ranged between .240 and .300. Even the elite hitters are going to fail over 60% of the time. Hall of Fame great Ted Williams once noted that "Baseball is the only field of endeavor where a man can succeed three times out of ten and be considered a good performer."
Two professional craftsmen, Scott Emerson and Colin Hardin, meet somewhere around the three on that ten-scale. Like a couple of baseball sumos, their battle continues.
Award-winning columnist Douglas Smith lives and writes in Rockingham.
