Ocean

Playing in Taiwan kept dream alive, but arm problem could end it

By MALCOLM GARCIA
The Kansas City Star


His teammates weren't surprised when he left Taiwan. They had seen enough foreign baseball players come and go.

They thought he might return and coach pitchers this year. But no one asked him about his plans. The new season would start soon enough and resolve any questions.

For now, Jeff Andra wants to work his pitching arm back into shape after a blood clot derailed his game. Then he will decide whether to play baseball in Taiwan again or, for that matter, anywhere else. At 30, he knows he's pushing it. He knows he could have a less stressful life and live comfortably. More than comfortably.

But he has put aside practical considerations, including physical pain. It is more than his love of the game. It is the passionate pursuit of what he loves and not settling for less that drives him.

“It's tough to let go,” Jeff says.

He leans back in his chair at a Johnson County Starbucks. At 6 feet 5 inches, he towers over most of the persons seated around him. He sips a bottle of orange juice and talks below the loud chatter around him in a soft voice that offers little hint of his devotion to baseball.

“Teamwork, sportsmanship, my arm working, it's good,” he says.

He pitched for the Sinon Bulls, one of six professional teams in the Taiwan baseball league, and named after the company that owned it. The team gave him a new name, Fey-Young — “fly bravely.” It is also the name of a chemical insecticide manufactured by the Sinon Co. Every time a TV camera panned Jeff's back, his new name advertised the product. Sometimes he felt like a NASCAR driver, he had so many patches promoting sponsors sewn into his uniform. His teammates called him Jeff.

Three men from the Dominican Republic played with the Bulls. They spoke English. Jeff stuck with them. The coach said little, the Taiwanese players even less. They wanted to see whether he could play. He knew that much even if he didn't understand Chinese.

“I was used to joking with 25 guys in the dugout. In Taiwan, I had to look for a couple of guys who understood English. Sometimes it was lonely; sometimes it was better that way. It kept me focused. I didn't get distracted.”

They played on dirt with little to no grass in the infield. The team did not have spring training as he had known it. He practiced throughout the season on days when there wasn't a game. In the states, he wouldn't go near a baseball field on his day off. It took some getting used to.

But it was baseball. As a kid, he played basketball, ran cross country, but it was a bat and a ball that captured his heart. He can't say why, really. Just something he enjoyed, hitting, fielding, pitching. Especially pitching. He experienced a certain rush when he was in control of the game, first at Shawnee Mission Northwest High School, then at the University of Oklahoma. A kind of elevation. Throwing the ball 80 mph. A southpaw mixing it up with fastballs, curves, sliders. Fooling the batter. To this day, Jeff doesn't know a better feeling.

He was drafted by the San Francisco Giants in 1997 and played in the minor leagues until 2002. He advanced from rookie ball to AAA. But he never reached the majors. He had a poor season in 2001 with nine losses. He was 26 years old.

He signed with the Elmira Pioneers, an independent New York baseball team not affiliated with the major leagues but still a professional ballclub. He had a good year with 10 wins and a low earned-run average. He thought he might have a shot getting back with an affiliated team, but no one called.

The owner of the Pioneers knew people in Asia and told Jeff that a Taiwanese team was looking for a lefty. Why not? He could earn from $6,000 to $10,000 a month. The Taiwan baseball season begins in March with the last playoff game in November. Three or four games a week, 100 games a season. He could be home for the holidays. If it didn't work out, he would be no worse off.

When Jeff flew to Taiwan in January 2003, a man met him at the airport holding a sign with his name. He led Jeff to a car. The man's cell phone rang, and he handed it to Jeff. Someone speaking English explained that Jeff would be driven from the capital, Taipei, to the team in Taichung, about three hours away. Jeff gave the phone back to the driver. He looked out the passenger window. The buildings were squeezed together with vast rice paddies breaking up the congested sprawl.

“First day of practice, it was in the 50s. They thought it was so cold.”

Later in the year, when the days turned steamy and stayed in the upper 90s into the night, he understood why. The fans were loud, almost hysterical. They brought noisemakers and banged sticks and drums, and one man led chants over a microphone. Jeff wondered at times whether they understood the game and why they were cheering. They never booed. After a while, he tuned them out. He signed autographs and posed for photos. He had never experienced that level of acclaim before.

He observed his teammates. He likened their mannerisms to players he knew in the States and in this way connected with them and found common ground. They handled the bat well but were not power hitters. He was always ready for a player to bunt the ball. He threw strikes, avoided walks. Asian pitchers used split-finger pitches. The ball would come in like a fastball, drop at the last minute. Jeff never mastered it.

“When the catcher came to me on the field, he knew enough English to say, ‘More inside.’ ‘More outside.’ Anything more complicated, we needed the translator.”

In his third game with the Bulls, Jeff pitched against the Brother Elephant, champions of the Taiwanese baseball series for the previous two years. Jeff led the Bulls to victory. His teammates started joking with him. They asked him to dinner, teased him by not explaining what he was eating until he tasted it. He knew then he could play ball in Taiwan. He stayed for nearly three years.

“In mid-September, I'd still be doing baseball in Taiwan and the football season was just starting back here. Then I'd think, ‘I'm here a long way away.’ ”

The Bulls won the championship in 2004. He pitched in six games of a seven-game series. He noticed problems with his arm. His hand would grow numb, cold. He had trouble controlling the ball. He was diagnosed with a blood clot in his arm. He received acupuncture and was prescribed medication. It helped. He pitched 14 innings in eight days.

Last year, his arm came back to haunt him. He gave up six runs in one game before the coach took him out. That happens to everybody, but it was the first time it had happened to him.

An operation removed the blood clot. While his arm healed, he remained with the Bulls as a pitching coach. They won the championship again, but it was different this time. Jeff had wanted to pitch. He was pleased he helped other pitchers, but coaching wasn't the same as playing.

When the season ended, he returned in November to Lenexa. For the time being, he lives with his parents. He practices pitching every day into the early evening. He feels pretty good about his arm. Feels it getting stronger. The Bulls management told him they would take him back if his arm improved. He might check into the independent leagues again. He'll keep his options open, and not settle for less. It's tough to let go.