Matt Buschmann: The day I got 'the call'

ByMATT BUSCHMANN
August 24, 2016, 10:20 AM

— -- ESPN's Buster Olney is on vacation this week, but he's still compiling roundups. View his latest roundup here .

I got the call.

A simple four-word statement. Devoid of context, it can mean anything, but in the world of baseball, it means everything. To some, it's a logical next step, something that was bound to happen. To others, it's a shock, an unexpected jolt of lightning out of nowhere that changes your life overnight. To a few, it's vindication. A player's existence within the game, coupled with their place on the road of life, help shape their reaction to the news they are going to "The Show." Every player's call is unique, in how they receive it and how it ripples through their life. This is mine ...

It was a Thursday night, April 7, opening night for the Reno Aces and the Pacific Coast League. I was scheduled to start the fourth game of the season that Sunday. After the game, I moved all my belongings into the apartment I rented and was finally feeling settled in so I could concentrate on baseball. After the last suitcase was thrown into my room, I settled into my new couch, ready for some Netflix and a late-night meal of fast food (it was the only thing open ... it happens). The season really hadn't started yet for me, and I had just finished what I thought to be a successful spring training. I had the same positive, high expectations going into the season that I have every year. The only thing that mattered to me that night was eating and getting to bed. Just as I was about to take my first bite, my phone rang. It was Phil Nevin.

Nevin is the manager of the Reno Aces. For the uninitiated, calls from the manager late at night -- it was about 11:30 p.m. -- generally mean only one thing: a move is happening. I immediately got chills and then became nauseated, simultaneously feeling excited but also thinking, "What the hell did I do wrong?" After 10 years of playing minor league baseball, one doesn't necessarily assume the best. I answered, and the conversation went something like this:

Me: "What's up, Nev?"

Nevin: "Hey Busch, uhhh, you move into an apartment yet?"

Me: "Yep, just moved in tonight."

Nevin: "Oh, OK. Which one? (I tell him.) All right, there's this bar right by there. Meet me there in 15 minutes. We need to talk."

I hung up. I felt like I wanted to throw up. Don't know why. I stared at nothing for a good two minutes, and then the wheels started turning. I went through every conceivable possibility as to why Nevin wanted to talk. No way I'm getting released, right? Maybe I just got traded. Or maybe I'm getting moved to the bullpen and he wants to tell me in person? All these thoughts were borderline insane, because every one of those scenarios would be done over the phone or at the field. But I wasn't exactly thinking rationally at that moment. I think deep down I knew as soon as I saw his name on the caller ID, but I wouldn't let myself go there, not yet.

The bar was about a minute away from me, so I waited five and then got in the car and headed over. I think I drove about 10 mph the whole way. I was in a daze. I walked into the place, which was pretty much empty, and sat at the bar, ordered a water and waited. The more I thought about it, the more I knew this could only mean one thing. This had to be it.

From the moment I sat down to the moment Nevin walked in the door was about six hours -- or so it felt. In real time, it was about 10 minutes. He walked in, I felt nauseated again, and he came over and sat down.

Nevin: "You ordered a water? Why didn't you get a real drink?"

Me: "Well, Nev, the type of drink I order depends on what we have to talk about."

Nevin: "Ha, fair enough. Let's get a beer."

And then the man started making small talk. I can barely breathe, and he's striking up a random conversation. I think he saw the look on my face and said, "Don't worry, nothing bad. Just want to wait until Mike Bell gets here." (Mike Bell is the director of player development for the Arizona Diamondbacks). So we chatted some more.

At this point, I was pretty much certain. I don't remember what we talked about, because the only thing going through my mind at that moment was "Holy s---, this is really happening." My whole body started tingling. I couldn't swallow. Bell walked in, and he had this big smile on his face. He walked over and said to hold on because he wanted to get a beer first. The bartender wasn't there; he was in the kitchen. I almost jumped over and got the beer myself. Mike finally got one and sat down.

Nev turned to me and said, "All right ..." My hands started shaking, and I pretty much stopped breathing. I locked eyes with him, and, with a huge smile on his face, he says, "I wanted to meet you here, in person, because I couldn't tell a guy he's going to the big leagues for the first time over the phone. Congratulations, man."

He said it, he actually said it. I had imagined/dreamt/visualized this moment so many times over the years. I had always pictured myself crying, for some reason, to the point where I even got choked up just picturing it. I had thought of all the different ways I would tell my loved ones. Keep in mind that when I started playing professional baseball, the iPhone didn't exist yet. Until those words came out of Nevin's mouth, I had pitched in 279 games and amassed more than 1,300 innings as a pro, all in the minor leagues. This was the start of my 11th season.