Holy Toledo: Minor league odyssey a major endeavor

The thought occurred to Matt LaWell 10 years ago, while sitting on the floor of his dormitory room at Ohio University:

Twenty-six thousand miles, 120 teams, one season.

He would bear witness to a minor league ballgame in every minor league ballpark. And he would drive. And he would take his wife, Carolyn, so that when he made a wrong turn, someone would remind him of it.

(This is where Matt and Carolyn LaWell of suburban Cleveland would like to thank the Hawaii Islanders for folding after the 1987 season. It would have been cost prohibitive to retrofit their metallic orange 2004 Honda Element with a rudder and a propeller.)

Twenty-six thousand miles, 120 teams, one season.

It would be better than Harold and Kumar going to White Castle, a more excellent adventure than whatever Bill and Ted could dream up.

It would sort of be like Thelma and Louise, if Thelma had been a man. But there would be no driving off a cliff, not even if a game at Single-A Bakersfield (Calif.) went 17 innings; not even if Motel 6 out on the interstate did not leave the light on.

They would watch guys miss the cutoff man in Jupiter (Fla.) and Las Vegas, which might be closer than you think.

There would be a Kodak moment in the Tennessee town of the same name, at a Smokies game.

There would be baseball from coast to coast, some of it well played, some of it marginally played, from Allentown (Pa.) to Zebulon (N.C.). And many, many, points in between. Such as Cedar Rapids (Iowa), where the starting lineup practically can run to their positions from out of a cornfield, like in the movies.

Matt and Carolyn LaWell said they have yet to encounter Archie "Moonlight" Graham hitchhiking, or standing in line for a biscuit with molasses and all the trimmings at a ballgame in Montgomery (Ala.), home of the Biscuits in the Double-A Southern League.

But Friday night, they saw George Springer of the Lancaster (Calif.) JetHawks hit a home run during his last at-bat in the first game of a doubleheader against the Lake Elsinore (Calif.) Storm. Then they watched, jaws agape, as Springer hit three more long ones in his first three trips in the nightcap.

Four home runs in four consecutive at-bats. There you go, Josh Hamilton. Something to shoot for.

Matt and Carolyn LaWell, former newspaper and magazine writers, will spend much of the five months that began April 5 in Jacksonville, Fla., at a Suns game, and will end Sept. 3 in Toledo, Ohio, at a Mud Hens game back home, separated by no more than a cup holder and the emergency brake.

But if they don't hit each other upside the head with fungo bats, they will cross paths with Storm Chasers (Omaha) and Stone Crabs (Charlotte); IronPigs (Lehigh Valley) and Sand Gnats (Savannah); TinCaps (Fort Wayne) and Whitecaps (Western Michigan); Lugnuts (Lansing) and Loons (Great Lakes); Flying Squirrels (Richmond) and Flying Tigers (Lakeland); Fisher Cats (New Hampshire) and Rock Cats (New Britain) and Hillcats (Lynchburg) and River Cats (Sacramento) and Mudcats (Carolina). More cats than you can shake a Louisville Slugger at.

And the Modesto Nuts.

On Monday, they encountered the Las Vegas 51s - at 10:30 a.m., an odd hour at which to throw out a first pitch. It was the second morning game they had witnessed in 13 days. They said hardly anybody showed up for the one in New Orleans.

The LaWells are chronicling every passed ball and wild pitch, every Texaco station on the turnpike whose restrooms need a good cleanup man (aminorleagueseason.com). When we met in the press box at Cashman Field, Matt LaWell was blogging and admiring the palm trees beyond the left-field fence. He was wearing a 1939 Atlanta Crackers cap made of wool.

Carolyn LaWell was taking photographs and wearing a smile made of bewilderment. It was if she has been kidnapped, tied up, taken away and held for ransom, like in that Tom Petty song, and had sort of begun to like it.

After the game, I walked with them to their car, where most of their belongings were stuffed into plastic crates in the back of the Element. A pouch of Big League Chew was near the top of one, but I assured Matt I wouldn't tell anyone at Minor League Baseball headquarters.

Insect remains were splattered on the grille of the Element, a souvenir of the ride down I-15 from the Quakes' game in Rancho Cucamonga, Calif., the day before. Some had gotten on the hood, which was starting to resemble the scorecard of 51s broadcaster Russ Langer.

It was 1:30 p.m. Monday, and they weren't due in San Bernardino, Calif., to watch the Inland Empire 66ers throw to the wrong bases until Tuesday night.

Matt LaWell told his wife they had plenty of time to find a car wash.

Las Vegas Review-Journal sports columnist Ron Kantowski can be reached at rkantowski@reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0352. Follow him on Twitter: @ronkantowski.