The Boy Who Knew Too Much

by Cathy Byrd

  When I read that the Kershaws were planning a Texas hoedown barbecue-themed event at Dodger Stadium later that summer to raise funds for Kershaw’s Challenge, I reached out to Ellen Kershaw to offer my services as a volunteer, given my fund-raising and event-planning background. My offer to help was well received, as Ellen was fairly new to Los Angeles and this was their first time putting on a fund-raiser of this magnitude. I called upon the help of my friend Cinthia, and the two of us spent the month of July rounding up sponsors and collecting donations to be auctioned off at the event.

  Ellen and Clayton’s charity event, held in a tent in the parking lot of Dodger Stadium, was a huge success. The highlight for Christian was pitching tennis balls to Dodgers catcher A. J. Ellis while Clayton looked on. When A. J. pretended that Christian’s pitch had hurt his hand, Clayton said, “That’s gas!” and gave Christian a high five. It was Clayton Kershaw’s request to the Dodgers marketing executives to have Christian throw a ceremonial first pitch that ultimately sealed the deal. Thanks to Clayton’s prodding, a young kid was granted the opportunity to throw a ceremonial first pitch for the first time in history. Christian would officially be making his big debut on the mound at Dodger Stadium in a few short weeks.

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE PITCH

  “Any baseball is beautiful. No other small package comes

  as close to the ideal design and utility. It is a perfect

  object for a man’s hand. Pick it up and it instantly suggests

  its purpose; it is meant to be thrown a considerable

  distance—thrown hard and with precision.”

  ROGER ANGELL

  The school year commenced with Charlotte losing a tooth on her first day of first grade and Christian throwing the ceremonial first pitch at Dodger Stadium on his first day of preschool. By the time this day arrived, Christian could not have been more excited or better prepared for his big moment on the mound. He had been practicing his imitation of Clayton Kershaw’s unique stretch and windup day and night. Charlotte and Christian slept the entire way to Dodger Stadium while Michael and I did our best not to think about all the things that could possibly go wrong in the next few hours. In between our worrying, we fielded calls from our friends and family who were en route to meet us at the Dodgers game. When we arrived a vivacious Dodgers employee greeted us at the main office and escorted us past the tight security and onto the field, where the Dodgers were taking batting practice.

  We had witnessed this pregame ritual many times from the stands, but this was Christian’s first time experiencing it from the other side of the wall. Music filled the air as the players took turns batting from the netted batting cage at home plate. While the Major League players were launching home runs into the stands, Christian was behind home plate, hitting foam balls with his tiny wooden bat. He was thrilled when one of his favorite players, Andre Ethier, came over to shake his hand. The Dodgers outfielder made an even bigger impression when he peeled the tape off his hand to show Christian the blisters that had prevented him from taking batting practice that day.

  Charlotte had given Christian a giant baseball for his fourth birthday just a few days prior, and he had brought it onto the field for his Dodgers heroes to sign. The look on his face was priceless when Dodgers manager Don Mattingly crouched down to sign the ball and pose for a photo with him. Coach Mattingly and Christian became fast friends in that moment on the field. I didn’t know at the time that Don Mattingly had spent his entire MLB playing career, which had spanned from 1982 to 1995, as a left-handed first baseman for the New York Yankees, just like Lou Gehrig.

  The stadium buzzed with excitement as the steady flow of people filled up the stands. The pregame crowd was larger than normal because the first 30,000 fans to enter the stadium would receive a Matt Kemp jersey, the promotional giveaway of the night. With the minutes remaining until game time steadily clicking down, it was time for our little pitcher to warm up his arm. I served as Christian’s catcher while Dodgers legend Maury Wills stood behind him and offered pointers. In between pitches I glanced up at the stands and spotted my ex-boss, Magic Johnson, settling into his seat beside Tommy Lasorda near the Dodgers dugout. This was my cue that the pregame pomp and circumstance was about to begin.

  My nerves were at an all-time high when the announcer asked the crowd to rise for the singing of the national anthem. As “The Star-Spangled Banner” rang throughout the stadium, I could hardly believe that the moment we had been waiting for was about to happen. When the music stopped, the video on the big screen cut to Christian smiling and waving while the announcer said:

  Ladies and gentleman, here to throw out tonight’s ceremonial first pitch we have three-year-old Christian Haupt. He was discovered on YouTube by Adam Sandler for a baseball-playing cameo role in That’s My Boy. He is a lefty and his favorite player is Clayton Kershaw. Christian lives in Westlake Village and is a Dodgers season-ticket holder. Today was his first day of preschool. Fans, please welcome Christian Haupt!

  That was Christian’s cue to take the mound. As he jogged away from the camera, the big screen showed Clayton Kershaw warming up in the Dodgers bullpen in the same white Dodgers uniform that Christian was wearing. Our son was oddly comfortable under the spotlight of the 30,000 fans in attendance. He confidently took his spot on the mound and cracked a smile as he leaned forward and put the ball behind his back. Pretending to shake off the catcher’s sign, Christian slowly shook his head up and down, side to side, and then up and down again. He stretched his arms into the air above his head like his hero Clayton Kershaw, and then hurled the ball with all his might. The roar of the crowd took my breath away as the Dodgers catcher Tim Federowicz scooped up the pitch and jogged to the mound to greet Christian for a photo.

  I wondered if Christian had noticed in all the excitement that the announcer who introduced him had mistakenly said he was three years old, unaware he had celebrated his fourth birthday just a few days earlier. As we were exiting the field to go to our seats, Christian wandered down the stairs of the Dodgers dugout and received a fist bump from Don Mattingly. As soon as we joined our friends and family in the stands, we heard the unmistakable voice of Hall of Fame Dodgers broadcaster Vin Scully over the loudspeaker. I had never been so happy to hear him say the words, “It’s time for Dodger Baseball!”

  The following morning I was flooded with voice mails and text messages from friends who had seen the photo of Christian’s first pitch plastered all over the Internet. The Associated Press (AP) photo of Christian’s first pitch taken by Mark J. Terrill was featured in the FOX Sports top photos of the day, and the photo received over 50,000 likes on the MLB Facebook page by 10 A.M. The YouTube video we posted of Christian’s first pitch immediately went viral, but thankfully our son was completely oblivious to all the attention he was getting online. The FOX Sports article written by Joe McDonnell captured the moment best.

  Three-year-old a film star, pitching prodigy

  LOS ANGELES—On the warm night of Sept. 4, 2012, Christian Haupt stood on the mound at Dodger Stadium in his home Dodger whites, ready to throw the first pitch.

  The lefthander—who models his style after Clayton Kershaw—stepped onto the rubber, looked in at catcher Tim Federowicz, nodded yes to the sign and threw. The pennant-race crowd went crazy—even though the ball bounced well short of home plate. Federowicz jogged out to the plate, giving Christian a high five as Haupt walked off the mound—and the crowd’s ovation got even louder.

  By now you’re probably wondering why thousands of fans would cheer a bounced pitch so loudly—especially in the middle of a tight playoff race. Guess you had to be there.

  Christian Haupt is just 3 years old. That’s not a typo. He’s really just three. And with the perfect motion—at least for a prodigy—he threw the ball harder, straighter and longer than most of the men, women or children chosen to throw out the ceremonial first pitch over the course of a season in Chavez Ravine.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

 
A NATIONAL TREASURE

  “The foundation of life is love and respect.”

  TOMMY LASORDA

  While waiting for the Dodgers to return from their five-month winter break, Christian watched recordings of last season’s Dodgers games over and over again. He still insisted on wearing a full baseball uniform and playing baseball for multiple hours every day, but somewhere along the way he had stopped asking us to call him Baseball Konrad. One evening before bed, Christian made a comment that made me think my plan to distract him from talking about his life as a baseball player during the early 1900s was working. He exclaimed, “I don’t want to be an old guy anymore. I want to be a new guy like Matt Kemp (the Dodger outfielder).” I was overjoyed to hear these words come out of his mouth because it felt like a step in the right direction.

  During the off-season, Christian invested so many hours into staring at the player photos in the Dodgers media guide that he even knew the names and numbers of the Minor League Baseball players by heart. When I heard the Dodgers were hosting a preseason FanFest in the parking lot at Dodger Stadium, I jumped on the opportunity to reunite Christian with his heroes. Apparently the 20,000 fans who showed up at the event were just as excited as Christian for the return of the Dodgers. He had a big grin on his face as he strolled down the blue carpet into the carnival-like FanFest. Once we passed through the entrance, we instantly became one with a massive sea of people dressed in blue and white. After trying every imaginable interactive baseball game, Christian grew tired of waiting in the long lines and asked if we could leave the FanFest to hit balls in the parking lot. The idea of being in a vacant parking lot away from the crowds sounded quite appealing, so I willingly obliged.

  We found an open space outside of the FanFest where I could pitch to him without worrying about the foam balls hitting parked cars or people passing by. Each time Christian launched a ball into the air off of his tiny wooden bat, he made his customary victory lap around the imaginary bases. When he was in baseball mode, there was no stopping him. His serious demeanor made it look as if he had come here to work, not play. We repeated this drill for nearly an hour before a familiar face appeared behind the chain-link fence from inside of the FanFest. I was shocked and amazed when Baseball Hall of Fame Dodgers manager Tommy Lasorda called out to Christian, “What’s your name, son?”

  Without interrupting the flow of his game, Christian replied, “I’m Christian.”

  “You sure love baseball, don’t you?” Tommy said.

  Christian smacked a ball into the air with his bat and yelled, “Yep!” as he took off for first base.

  Tommy instructed his assistant to fetch him a pizza, and he planted himself at a table near the fence so he could continue watching Christian’s animated display in the deserted parking lot. When Tommy finished eating, he walked outside of the chain-link fence to offer some hands-on batting instruction. This gentle-natured 85-year-old man with an obvious love for children seemed nothing like the pop culture icon who had famously screamed at umpires during his 21-year career as the Dodgers skipper from 1976 to 1996. Tommy Lasorda turned out to be the exact opposite of the image I had in my mind for so many years before meeting him face-to-face.

  Michael and I had attended an event a couple of years prior, a tribute to Sparky Anderson at California Lutheran University, where Tommy Lasorda had wooed the crowd with his dynamic storytelling. Each story had ended with a punch line that had left us laughing so hard we could barely breathe. Although I’m not sure Tommy was joking when he said he wants to have the Dodgers schedule placed on his grave so people can check it to see if the Dodgers are playing at home or on the road when visiting their loved ones at the cemetery.

  My favorite story of the night was when Tommy talked about how he had tried to cheer up his losing team by telling them that the best team in all of baseball, the 1927 Yankees, had lost nine games in a row, and the Dodgers had only lost seven games in a row. Tommy went on to say the Dodgers won 10 games in a row after that speech. When Tommy’s wife asked him if the 1927 Yankees had really lost nine in a row, he replied, “How the hell do I know? That’s the year I was born. It sure sounded good to those guys though.” I love this story because, in addition to showing Tommy’s hilarious sense of humor, it also illustrates his belief that success doesn’t necessarily come from being the best, but from believing you’re the best.

  Here in a vacant parking lot, the former Dodgers manager was busy coaching a four-year-old while thousands of Dodgers fans were roaming around on the opposite side of the fence. As Christian smacked the balls, Tommy yelled out, “Chop that tree!” and “Take a ride on that one! It would cost you ten dollars in a taxi to go that far!”

  I hoped that Christian would remember this moment when he was old enough to realize how special it was. Before going our separate ways, Tommy reached out his hand to Christian and said with authority, “Let me see a nice, firm handshake, son. We always look a person in the eye when we shake their hand. A smile goes a long way too.” Tommy then signed a baseball with the inscription, “To Christian, a future Dodger.” When I later heard from a Dodgers employee that Tommy frequently signs this inscription to kids, it only made the ball more special. It was Tommy Lasorda’s creative way of instilling the belief that anything is possible with hard work and determination.

  When I left my business card with Tommy, I never imagined I would receive a call from him a few days later. I was helping out with Charlotte’s softball practice when the voice mail from Tommy came in.

  “Cathy, Tommy Lasorda. I’d like to talk to you about—I’d like to film your little guy swinging that bat. That’s an amazing, amazing thing for a young man like that to swing the bat the way he does, and I’d like to have it on file, on film. Is that okay with you?”

  I returned the call right away, and Tommy subsequently invited Christian to attend Dodgers spring training in Arizona the following week.

  A few days later, we packed our car and embarked on the six-hour drive to Phoenix, Arizona. I had heard of spring training before, but I had no idea, until we arrived, just what we were in for. This month-long series of exhibition games and practices is a ritual that began in the 1890s in Hot Springs, Arkansas, where players convene to shake off the dust and prepare for the upcoming 162-game season. Baseball fans from all over the country now flock to spring training facilities in Arizona and Florida during the month of March to watch the 30 Major League Baseball teams face off in friendly competition. When I called Tommy Lasorda to let him know that we were in town, he told me we were in for a treat. Tommy had been participating in this annual tradition for more than 60 years.

  Tommy requested that we meet him at the Dodgers training facility at Camelback Ranch in Glendale, Arizona, the following morning. When we arrived at the baseball complex, it was easy to spot Tommy by the long line of people waiting for his autograph. He sat at a table with his assistant and signed autograph after autograph for the fans while Frank Sinatra music played on his old-style, portable boom box. When he saw us in the crowd, he signaled for us to come over. Tommy affectionately put his arm around Christian and asked, “Are you ready to play some ball today?” Christian nodded and whispered yes under his breath, but he looked as nervous talking to Tommy as I remembered him being the last time he had sat on Santa’s lap. Tommy said, “Come on back in about thirty minutes, and we’ll go play some ball with the Dodgers.” A big smile lit up Christian’s face. Now Tommy was speaking his language.

  Christian and I headed to a grassy area to play catch while we waited for Tommy to finish his autograph-signing session. Before we knew it, Tommy drove up in his golf cart and asked us to hop in. With Tommy as pilot and Christian as co-pilot, they looked like twins. Tommy was decked out in his pristine, white Dodgers uniform from head to toe for the first day of spring training, and Christian was wearing his standard Dodgers whites as well. Tommy drove us through the security gate and onto the field where the Dodgers players were warming up for batting practice.

 
; Tommy waited until he had the undivided attention of the Dodgers players, and then he directed the Dodgers videographer to film Christian hitting foam balls with his little wooden bat. Christian sent a ball flying into the air.

  “He hit that one good,” Tommy said, then to Christian, “You hit a home run on that one.” After a few more good whacks of bat on ball, Tommy said to Christian, “Okay, now let me see you pitch.” Christian gave him his standard line whenever it was time to stop hitting:

  “Okay, one more hit.”

  When Christian finally set down his bat and put on his glove, the videographer shot footage of him pitching and catching fly balls as Tommy looked on with rapt attention. He said to a Dodgers pitcher standing nearby, “The kid throws heat.” Christian had the time of his life playing baseball in the company of his Dodgers heroes, and they seemed to get a kick out of Tommy Lasorda having them watch a four-year-old play baseball in the middle of their spring training camp.

  The following morning when we stopped by Tommy’s autograph-signing table, he gave Christian the pep talk of a lifetime. Tommy reached his arm around Christian.

  “Remember all that work you did yesterday?”

  Christian nodded.

  “One day, do you want to play for the Dodgers?”

  When Christian answered yes, Tommy gently said, “You could because you can hit that ball, and you can catch that ball, and you can run. But how bad do you want it? That’s what really matters. Do you really want it?”