The Rocky Mountain Collegian

He's five foot nothing. A hundred and nothing and he couldn't strike out Stevie Wonder. Still, he's pitched at four major league baseball games, never throwing anything but a strike (with one exception), and does it all while wearing a bullet-proof vest. And, no, it's not 50 cent.

It's George W. Bush. El presidente, the commander in chief or, simply, Dubya. And he is the most prolific, not to mention the best, pitching president ever. Not only that, but he could be the most knowledegable President, in terms of baseball, ever, too.

"Hey, I never dreamed about being president. I wanted to be Willie Mays," said Bush.

But, unless you are Lenny Dykstra or Freddie Patek, short stocky white guys really aren't in high demand in the majors. So Bush did the next best thing: He bought a team, The Texas Rangers.

From 1989 to 1994 Dubya, a Yale graduate (where he played baseball and rugby), MBA recipient, oil magnate and Texas congressman, was the managing partner of the Rangers. I'm not going to go so far as to say that those years encompassed the prime of the organization; in fact, I'd go so far as to say that the Rangers have never actually had what most baseball writers and passive fans would call a "prime." But they won about as many as they lost and they had Nolan Ryan, so all in all I'd say they came out ahead.

Bush gave up the Rangers after the 1994, season and it was widely believed to be because he wanted make a run at the Texas Governor's mansion. However, a silent minority of Rangers' fans believe he actually left the Rangers because of the trade that sent Sammy Sosa from the Rangers to the White Sox. No one knows for sure, but it can be said with a certain degree of accuracy that in the ensuing gubernatorial race, Bush polled significantly lower in the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex than he did in the rest of the state. I'm not implying that the fans held a grudge. I'm just throwing that out there.

After winning an unprecedented second term as governor of Texas, Bush decided to pursue his true passion: pitching in the majors. And, like any normal apple-pie eating, gun-toting, "Friends" watching child of the 90s Dubya sought to find the easiest way to pursue that dream. He came up with a doozy: becoming the president of the United States. It wasn't exactly the beaten path, but it got the job done. Less than three months after taking office, Bush found himself standing along long-time friend and another former owner, Bud Selig, on the grass of the brand new Miller Park in Milwaukee, throwing out the ceremonial first pitch. He bounced it.

He hasn't bounced one since.

Four months later, he also threw out another first pitch in front of a raucous crowd in Denver, before a Rockies-Braves game. He stood at the top of the mound, something which is pretty out of the ordinary for a ceremonial first pitch, took a little off of it and nailed catcher Brent Mayne's glove like he was born to do it.

By far, his most celebrated pitch came before Game 3 of the World Series in that same year. It was just over a month after Sept. 11 and, needless to say, the city of New York was still reeling. When the Yankees came back from Phoenix down two games to none to the Arizona Diamondbacks, Bush was there to welcome them with open arms. There is a celebrated story about that night that will forever etch Dubya in my heart as an ambassador of our pasttime. Before the game (and probably because of his experience back in April at the Brewers' game) Bush was warming up in a bullpen underneath the stadium when Derek Jeter, the Yankees captain and shortstop (and soon to be called Mr. November) approached Dubya and had a short but meaningful conversation with him. It went something like this:

Jeter: "Are you going to throw it from the top of the mound or in front of it?"

Bush: "I was thinking in front of it, actually, Derek. Why?"

Jeter: "Don't do that. They'll boo you."

And then, after Bush kindly thanked Jeter, and as Jeter was on his way back to the clubhouse, he turned and said one final thing to Bush: "Don't bounce. They'll boo you for that too."

So when Bush came out of the Yankee dugout wearing an oversized jacket to conceal his bullet-proof vest, and gave the thumbs up to thousands of screaming fans in Yankee Stadium (and millions more watching at home), he casually strolled up to the mound, rocked back and fired in a nasty change-up to Jorge Posada.

There was no bounce. There were no boos.

The place just went nuts. Here was a president who looked more comfortable in sneakers than he was in loafers and who actually practiced the ceremonial first pitch before stepping on the field. He probably even used the rosin bag. Properly.

Three years later (after a brief absence to fight terrorism and re-invigorate an economy) Dubya made his triumphant return to the mound, in this very town.

It was opening day at Busch Stadium and, again, Bush stepped out of the dugout, waved to the crowd, dawned his patented cocksure smile, strolled to the mound and grooved yet another pitch right down the pipe.

Not too bad for a guy with the most stressful job in the world, the weight of the free world on his shoulders.

I bet, during congressional recesses or after late-night cabinet meetings, Bush probably takes his own personal Yogi Berra, Don Rumsfeld, out into the Rose Garden and throws the ball around. Maybe then he brings the heat mixed in with some hard sliders. He probably doesn't bounce any, either.

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