Product Description

Chris Coste dreamed of playing major-league baseball from the age of seven. But after eleven grueling years in the minors, a spot on a major-league roster still seemed just out of his reach–until that fateful call came from the Philadelphia Phillies in May 2006. At age thirty-three (“going on eighty”), Coste was finally heading to the big time.

The 33-Year-Old Rookie is like a real-life Rocky, an unforgettable and inspirational story of one man’s unwavering pursuit of a lifelong goal. Beginning in a single-parent home in Fargo, North Dakota, and ending behind home plate on the flawless diamond of the Phillies’ Citizens Bank Park–where fans and teammates call him “Chris Clutch” because of his knack for getting timely hits–this intimate account of Coste’s baseball odyssey is a powerful story of determination, perseverance, and passion.

For eleven seasons, Coste hustled, fought, and gritted his way to his breakthrough–and never lost faith in his abilities. Along the way, he gained the affection and admiration of baseball fans from Ottawa and Scranton to various Mexican and Venezuelan cities. Battered by years spent behind a catcher’s mask, and faced with bracing realities–there were bills to pay, and his young daughter was entering first grade–Coste decided to give it one last shot in 2006. But that year, during the Phillies’ major-league spring training, Coste was demoted to the minors at the last minute to make room for a utility outfielder, despite having hit a blistering .463 and earning the trust of the team’s pitchers. Later that season, though, Coste finally got the call-up, and he hit .364 during the Phillies’ furious battle to nail down the final postseason berth.

Coste takes us through the 2006 spring training season–with its pulse-quickening moments and close calls–and into his first season as a major-league catcher with the Phillies. From tense stretch-run games that kept Phillies’ fans on the edge of their seats to moments of intimate personal reflection, Coste’s saga offers baseball aficionados an inside look at a remarkable life and career. In this stirring, wry, and candid look at the life of a professional baseball nomad who never surrendered his dream, we savor the sometimes bittersweet fruits of victory against seemingly insurmountable odds.

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #1645 in Books
• Published on: 2008-03-18
• Released on: 2008-03-18
• Number of items: 1
• Binding: Hardcover
• 224 pages

Review
Advance praise for The 33-Year-Old Rookie

“Anyone who has played in the minors can respect what Chris went through to reach his goal. He endured eleven minor league seasons and should be applauded for never giving up. We have all fought through difficulties to achieve our dreams and Chris’s story speaks volumes about determination, drive, and perseverance.”
–Cal Ripken, Jr., baseball’s all-time “Iron Man”

“What amazes me most about Chris Coste’s unlikely career is that he did it playing the hardest position on the field, enduring the daily barrage of nicks, bruises, and head-on collisions that are the life of a catcher. The 33-Year-Old Rookie is a great story of a man’s triumph over adversity, but it’s also a fascinating account of the view from behind home plate.”
–Tim McCarver, broadcaster, Fox Sports

“The 33-Year-Old Rookie is the best of Rocky, Rudy, and The Rookie–it brought out all the emotions . . . especially when Chris made the team, and the tears started flowing. If you have an impossible dream, and want to see a man and family who paid the price to make theirs come true, you have to read this book.”
–Vince Papale, subject of the Disney movie Invincible


“Chris Coste’s story inspires us because he is a man driven not only by his loyalty to team over self, but also by his love for his family, strong morals, and passion for the great game of baseball. The 33-Year-Old Rookie will remind everyone who’s ever had a dream to keep fighting for it.”
–Mike Schmidt, Hall of Fame third baseman for the Philadelphia Phillies

“Chris Coste is the epitome of the phrase ‘never give up hope.’ His dream was to be a major-league baseball player, and at the age of thirty-three, Chris not only reached the majors but showed that he belonged.”
–Harry Kalas, Hall of Fame broadcaster for the Philadelphia Phillies

About the Author
Chris Coste was an All-American at Concordia College in Moorhead, Minnesota, and played five seasons in various independent leagues before finally getting a shot with the Cleveland Indians’ organization in 2000. From there, he moved to the minor league systems of the Boston Red Sox, Milwaukee Brewers, and Philadelphia Phillies. Coste was awarded the 2006 Dallas Green Award for Special Achievement and the 2007 Media Good Guy Award in the Philadelphia area. He lives in Fargo, North Dakota, with his wife, Marcia, and their daughter, Casey.

www.christcoste.com

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter 1

Spring Training 2006

SPRING training did not get off to a promising start. And this was even before I so much as strapped on my shin guards.

I arrived in Clearwater, Florida, in February 2006 with the rest of the pitchers and catchers for my second spring with the Phillies. My only hope to put myself on the club’s radar, as in each of the other four spring camps I’d attended, was to prove that I could catch at the major-league level. Going in, I knew that Philadelphia had its two catchers in Mike Lieberthal and Sal Fasano, and there was nothing I could do to take either one’s spot on the twenty-five-man roster for opening day. The most that a player in my position could hope for was to make enough of a positive impression that if someone went down during the season, I might get called up.

After pulling into the parking lot of the Hampton Inn in our rental car, Marcia, Casey, and I got out and began unpacking the car. I went straight to the trunk for the heavy bags and was dubiously greeted by one of the small Florida birds. I felt something soft and wet hit my head and couldn’t believe what had just happened.

“Mommy!” yelled Casey with exhilarating laughter in her voice. “Did you see that? A birdie just flew by and pooped on Daddy’s head!” My sixyear-old daughter could barely contain her laughter at seeing her big and strong daddy getting pooped on the head by a tiny bird. Marcia didn’t know whether to laugh or not because she was unsure how I would react. I normally have a good sense of humor, but to have a bird poop on your head certainly is not a pleasant experience. Fortunately, seeing the joy and laughter on Casey’s face made me instantly realize that it was funny.
You have got to be kidding me, I thought to myself. My first instinct was that a bird pooping on my head was not a good way to begin spring training.

No sooner had we settled into our hotel room than I received a phone call from Steve Noworyta, the Phillies’ director of minor-league operations. Simply put, he’s like the general manager of the organization’s minor-league teams and oversees all of its minor-league players.

“Hi, Chris,” he said in a concerned tone. “Are you in Clearwater already?”

“Yes.” Why wouldn’t I be? I thought.

“Oh . . .” He sighed an ominous sigh. “Well, I guess we had a bit of a miscommunication. We didn’t want you to show up with the pitchers and catchers, we wanted you to show up next week with the position players. As of right now, it looks like you will play mostly first or third base in triple-A. But since you are already here, I guess you can show up tomorrow and help catch some bullpens and stuff like that.”

To put it mildly, I was pissed off. I had hoped to prove to anyone who would pay attention that I was a good catcher. I knew it, my teammates knew it, and virtually every pitcher who’d ever thrown to me always had great comments regarding my catching ability. By no means was I another Johnny Bench, but they always praised my game calling, my soft hands, my ability to catch the low pitch for a strike, and how I always gave a great target. Over the years, many pitchers had remarked, “Chris, I stare in at your glove, and it’s like I can’t help but throw a perfect strike into it!”
In fact, many of my batterymates had gone to the manager and requested that I catch them in their next start. All catching instructors preach the importance of earning the pitchers’ confidence. “A catcher may be able to hit great, block every ball, and throw every guy out trying to steal, but the only thing that matters is if the pitching staff likes throwing to him,” they’ll stress. “If a pitcher insists that you catch him, that is the best compliment you can receive. And it is that kind of catcher that will not only get to the big leagues but stay there.”

Well, I was that kind of catcher. So why hadn’t I made it?

One reason, I’m pretty sure, was that my ability to play other positions actually undermined my career, in a way. What was my best position? Catcher? First base? Third base? It was always a mystery to them. I always considered myself a catcher who could play elsewhere if needed. However, the decision makers inevitably mistook me for a utility man who could play multiple positions–with catching being just one of them. It seems similar, right? But in the world of professional baseball, there’s a huge difference between the two perceptions. The term utility player tends to refer to guys who play shortstop and second base, maybe third base, too. No team will put its trust in a catcher who is not primarily a catcher.

So to hear that the Phillies had no plans for me to catch during spring training made no sense to me. And they wanted me at first base, of all positions? They had to be kidding. Ryan Howard, the reigning NL Rookie of the Year, played there. All he did in 2005 was hit .288 with 22 homers and 63 RBIs in just half a season.

I hung up the phone in disgust.

“What did you expect?” my wife asked. “Did you really think things were ever going to be easy for you? This is totally par for the course.”

“I really hoped the Phillies would be different,” I replied. “And I’m thirty-three, Marcia. Time is more than running out. If they won’t give me the chance to prove I can catch, I will never make it. Catching is my only hope. They will never call me up as an infielder, especially not at first base.”

No one understood what I had gone through more than Marcia. As many times as I had received great comments from pitchers over the years, oddly enough, she also received the same kind of comments from pitchers’ wives. “Is your husband catching tomorrow?” a wife would ask. “My husband is pitching tomorrow and he loves it when Chris catches.” She heard things like that on a regular basis.

Her response was usually the same as my response to the pitcher. “He loves to catch, but your husband needs to tell that to the manager or the pitching coach–they are the only ones who will listen,” Marcia would say. I had almost taught her word for word what to say when a wife would say these things to her. The typical response from the wife was that her husband had gone into the manager’s office on several occasions and told him that I should be catching.

HERE’S how you know you’re a long shot to crack the opening day roster: When I reported to training camp, I was handed a uniform with a big red 67 on the back. Generally, the higher your number, the lower your status. I also took note that my locker was on the “hopeless” side of the locker room with all the other players destined for the minors. Or oblivion.

I decided to use my frustration as motivation. It may have been only spring training, but I approached every catching drill as though I were preparing for the World Series. Just as important, each and every day I was in Charlie Manuel’s ear, reminding him that catching was my best position. He knew I could hit: In 2002, when he was managing the Indians, I batted .318, 8 HR, 67 RBI for the triple-A Buffalo Bisons and was named team MVP; the previous spring, Charlie’s first as Phillies skipper, I hit at a .313 clip. Now I had to prove to him that I was good defensively. “Just keep your eyes open,” I’d say before morning workouts. “I promise I will surprise you.” He wouldn’t reply, just smile and nod, as if to say, “Okay, go prove it.”

One other factor would make this spring training difficult: It was the first spring that I would be mostly on my own, as Marcia and Casey had to leave the following week. In previous years, they had accompanied me throughout the entire baseball season. But with Casey now in first grade, she could no longer miss so much school. We would all have to try to get used to seeing each other for short stints up until school let out in June.

Through the first weeks of spring training, I knew I was making a bit of a statement. Three days before our first official spring training game, against the New York Yankees, the team’s main catching instructor, Mick Billmeyer, approached me with some positive words. “Coastey,” he said, “after watching you catch bullpens, seeing you in our catching drills, and going by what the pitchers are saying about you, I have been telling Charlie every day that I think you can catch in the big leagues. He also asks about you every day and tells me to keep an eye on you because he wants to know how good of a catcher you really are. He knows you can hit, and he definitely wants to give you a shot at catching in some spring training games. So be ready, you might actually get a chance to impress him.” Mick, a former catcher, seemed empathetic, perhaps because he’d languished in the minors for eight seasons before turning to coaching in the 1990s.

“Also,” he continued, “Carlos Ruiz will be gone for a while to catch for Panama in the World Baseball Classic, so that should also allow you to slip in and catch some innings.” Ruiz had a lock on the starting catcher’s job at Scranton/Wilkes-Barre and figured to put in a lot of time behind the plate during the spring. With him away to participate in the first-ever international baseball tournament, I’d get a few extra innings to show what I could do.

That brief exchange with Mick Billmeyer improved my outlook dramatically. Whether it was a coincidence or not, later that day I really put myself on the map as far as the Phillies were concer...

Customer Reviews

One of the best three baseball books this year
This is a wonderfully entertaining book. It is great to read about people like Chris who work hard trying to reach their goal, and then to actually make it. Well-written. This book, along with "Working at the Ballpark" by Tom Jones, and "We Would have Played for Nothing" by Fay Vincent, are the top baseball books of the year because they provide truthful and poignant stories of what it's truly like to work in major league baseball.

An inspiring story
Philadelphia Phillies catcher Chris Coste has written an inspirational account about what it takes to get to the major leagues. Coste, a backup catcher, shares the heartaches, self-doubts and physical injuries he had to endure during his 11 years in the minors. He gives the reader an interesting look at life in the minors and with independent teams. Although Coste was determined to make it to the majors, there are hundreds of others who are just as talented and as determined who don't achieve their dreams.

Coste's book is refreshing in that he's a player who appreciates everything he receives as a major leaguer. He vows not to complain about how much taxes he pays on his major league minimum salary of $370,000. He's a down-to-earth guy who hasn't been jaded by the major league life, and hopefully will never succumb to the pitfalls.

You can't help but to root for Coste and cheer for him when he does well in the book. Any one who reads this book will be a Chris Coste fan. The book is thin at 196 pages and easy to read. While adults will enjoy it, I believe younger readers who don't know much about what it takes to get to the majors will also find it interesting and enjoyable.

A winner, both Chris Coste and this book!
The inspiring story of a thirty-three year old
baseball player, who finally makes it to the
Majors after 11 seasons in the Minor Pros, in-
cluding a stint in Manitoba! Highly recommended!