A Life Of Glamour, Drudgery -- Work's Hard, But Batboys Have Fun, Too

Saturday night is often slumber-party night in the Kingdome clubhouse. For the batboys, it's the reward for a week's worth of shagging, fetching, sweeping and sorting.

For every 10 minutes of drudgery, there is one minute of frivolity. This is one of the latter.

After the batboys finish cleaning the clubhouse, usually after midnight, it's their turn to take the field. Under the Kingdome lights, they confine their games of two-on-two or one-on-one to the outfield, taking care not to disturb the infield dirt.

When they've had enough, they return to the clubhouse, grab a couch or a training table and sleep. In a short time, they will have to wake up to get ready for Sunday's day game.

"There are so many things we do," said Bryan Thorn, who has been a Seattle Mariners batboy for three seasons. "I couldn't teach someone to do all those things. It just comes to you. Right now, it's hard to think of everything we do. But I'm sure years from now I'm going to remember sleeping in the clubhouse."

The life of a batboy is both mundane and glamorous. It's the best job and the worst job at the same time. In the same shift, for less than $5 per hour, you'll clean the toilets and take batting practice.

Every batboy, former and current, has one thing in common. He can't stand to be away from the game.

"The best thing about being a batboy was standing on the field with the players, in a uniform," said Henry Genzale, who was a

batboy for the Seattle Rainiers in 1963. He has been the Mariners' equipment manager since 1978.

"I thought it was everybody's dream to be a pro ball player. Baseball has been my whole life."

Genzale, a graduate of Franklin High and Seattle University, has been the equipment manager for all of Seattle's pro ballclubs - the Rainiers, the Pilots and the Mariners. He supervises the clubhouse staff, which includes the batboys.

When Paul Towey was a batboy, he got paid $12-$16 a game. Towey, 23, did it for three years, starting in 1983. His typical day was long. He would walk to the Kingdome after school (he attended O'Dea), arriving at 4 p.m. to shag balls. He got home in time to get an abbreviated night of sleep.

But for a baseball junkie, the fringe benefits were unbeatable.

When a player was tired of a pair of cleats, a bat or a glove, Towey inherited them. The equipment usually came with free lessons. Of course, Towey was the first in line for autographs of visiting players.

Once, he played catch with Tommy John.

"He wasn't pitching that night and I guess he wanted to keep his arm loose," Towey said. "He came up to me and asked me if I wanted to play catch. We threw for about 45 minutes, and the whole time I kept thinking, `I can't believe I'm playing catch with Tommy John.' "

Towey once was mistaken for a player while playing catch with former Mariner outfielder John Moses. Towey even was asked to sign autographs.

Being close to players is part of a batboy's job. Towey often cashed players' checks. He would carry the cash, often more than $30,000, in a plain canvas bag, a baseball bat in his other hand.

Towey's older brother, Steve, was the first Mariners batboy in the family. Steve, now a professional player in Taiwan, was 15 when the Mariners hired him.

Today he is in Cooperstown, N.Y., as Gaylord Perry's guest at Perry's Hall of Fame induction ceremony.

"Gaylord's been like a second father," Steve Towey said. "We just got along, and we kept in touch."

Towey has stayed with Perry's family, visited his farm. Before games, Perry would throw batting practice to his own son and Towey.

"I never had to ask for advice," Towey said. "I was there every game and just picked it up, took everything in. I never could get used to putting Vaseline on my fingers, though."

Another friend Towey made was former Mariner reliever Bill Caudill. When Towey's baseball career started (Towey was a pitcher in the Class A California League), Caudill and Towey worked out together.

"When Steve was a batboy, he could run faster than most of the guys on the team," Caudill said.

The club was impressed enough with Towey's arm to let him throw batting practice before the old-timer's game. The players trusted him enough to let him drive their cars.

Towey has made 14 trips from the Mariners' spring training site in Tempe, Ariz., to Seattle. Towey has driven players' cars to Salt Lake City, North Carolina and Baltimore, just some of the hundreds of errands batboys run.

Steve Towey also inherited his share of equipment. He supplied all his teammates on the O'Dea baseball team with used, blue cleats.

For a batboy, making a mistake on the job can be as embarrassing as making an error in the field.

Thorn, who graduated from Seattle Prep last June, and another batboy, Wonzel Ingram, were throwing balls in from the outfield when one got away from them and hit Rick Rizzs, the Mariners' play-by-play announcer, on the hand, spilling a cup of coffee Rizzs was holding.

Ingram, a sophomore at Ballard High School, once forgot to wear his batting helmet on the job and was yanked from the game in the seventh inning. Thorn relieved him.

Steve Towey once bet another batboy he could put an entire can of chewing tobacco in his cheek. Towey got so dizzy he fell down on the field and threw up in the dugout. He went home and fell asleep, still wearing his cleats.

Mariners Manager Jim Lefebvre was the visiting team's batboy for the Los Angeles Dodgers. Before he ever coached a player, Lefebvre learned to pack their bags, fold their laundry and shine their shoes.

"Our job was to make those players feel the best they could be, so they could concentrate on baseball," Lefebvre said.

He learned one rule early.

"Never take a bat out of a player's hands after they strike out," Lefebvre said. "If a player struck out, he'd be pretty mad. I just sit and wait."