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.

From the Hardcover edition.

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....

 

"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."

 

"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."

 

"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."

 

"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."

 

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

From the Hardcover...