USD Magazine Fall 2005

Put me in COACH by Michael R. Haskins photography by Scott Paulus

H ere is a short but important list of the things Brady Clark ’95 was told he couldn’t do: play Division I college baseball. Play professional baseball. Make it to the major leagues. Be a starter. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. For as long as he wanted to be a professional athlete, Clark’s been dismissed by everyone — scouts, sportswriters, analysts, and the all- around know-it-alls who seem to pop up whenever sports are being discussed — as a guy without the tools, or the size, or the speed, or the talent, to be a starter on a major league baseball team. They all underestimated him. But proving the critics wrong hasn’t been easy. At every step, Clark has had to prove himself. The breaks have been few, and the setbacks so numerous that at many junctures it would have been easier to give up. But for a guy who’s always been told he can’t, Clark has always been pretty sure — strike that, he’s been absolutely sure — that he can. IT’S A TUESDAY AFTERNOON AT SAN DIEGO’S PETCO PARK, and the Milwaukee Brewers have the field for practice before the night’s game against the Padres. The sun shines on the fresh grass, the wind breezes through the stadium. The park is quiet, save for some random chatter from the outfield, the occasional crack of the

bat and the slap of a ball landing in a glove. When Brady Clark appears in the visitors dugout, bat in hand, it’s entirely possible to see why, for so many years, he was overlooked by the baseball establishment. A lanky 6-foot-2, 200 pounds, he’s not an imposing figure. At 32, he’s middle-aged for a baseball player, but his youthful face makes it easy to picture him getting carded at a bar. The bat in his hands somehow seems oversized. It doesn’t look like he could use this bat to become one of the top hitters in the National League, which is exactly what he’s done. In a world full of swagger, Clark is calm and quiet. He doesn’t make much eye contact, preferring to gaze out at center field, as if taking stock of the territory he’ll patrol this evening. In the midst of a break- through season as the leadoff hitter for the Brewers, he looks about as far from self-important as the outfield wall looks from home plate. Clark wears his cap pulled low as he watches his teammates take batting practice. If you described him to a friend, you’d probably start with something like “low-key.” He turns that bat over and over in his hands, as if itching to get out there and take a few cuts. When Clark does talk, it’s clear why he’s finally has taken his rightful place among the ranks of the top major leaguers. He believes. And his faith in himself is unwavering.

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