Hayhurst at his worst (re: best).
A minor league all-star game is about as useful as wings on a bowling ball. It’d be a different story if going to the all-star game put you on the fast track for a promotion, but I knew from experience that wasn’t the case. I’d already been through the minor league all-star experience once before and it was a complete and utter disaster that yielded nothing but frustration and regret.
The year was 2004 and I was playing for the now defunct Fort Wayne Wizards. I legitimately made the all-star team as a first ballot member and was told, because I was one of the standout starters in the league at the time, I would actually get to pitch in the game.
The trouble was Fort Wayne was a three-hour drive from my home in Canton, Ohio. I could easily head home for the break and unplug from baseball, play video games, visit friends and fight with my family — the good stuff.
But just when I summoned the nerve to opt out, I was back-roomed by management and told of how the all-star game was a great opportunity, a real feather in my cap and that I should be honoured. Also, there was this line about how, if I didn’t go, there would be consequences.
...He threw his hands up and told me he respected my inner competitor. Then he promptly went into the bathroom and projectile vomited.
I heard him hurl vividly for two reasons: first, he was a big man and really got into it. Second, he left the bathroom door open.
Also worthy of note: he puked in the bathtub, not the toilet. The tub is a much bigger target than a toilet, I get that, but what I couldn’t understand is why he tried to wash it down the drain without first opening the stop that keeps the drain closed.
Minutes after the water starting running, the tub started to fill and the thick, heavy, putrid scent of steaming vomit began to pour into the room.