645
08-19-2004, 11:44 PM
<b><font size=4>Woolard tidy on mound and in Stars locker room</font></b>
Glenn Woolard likes things orderly. "The neatest locker in the Southern League,'' proclaims his teammate, Brian Adams.
Woolard has spikes in a perfect row. He has clothes hanging just right. Everything in his place
He strives for nice and orderly, like this:
000000000000000000000000000
That's zeroes in a perfect row. Twenty-seven of them. Twenty-seven innings in which opponents haven't scored against him.
Woolard hasn't given up a run since July 29, with his stretch continuing through seven innings of nifty work Tuesday against West Tenn.
"This, by far, is the hottest I've ever been,'' he says. "I'm just enjoying it while it lasts.''
Consider this:
Counting Wednesday's 6-3 loss to the Diamond Jaxx, the rest of the staff has pitched well enough to play .500 baseball, but still allowed 61 runs since Woolard last gave up a run.
What gives? What's the magic?
"You know what he's doing?'' asks pitching coach Fred Dabney. "He's throwing strikes and disrupting hitters' timing. That's what pitching is all about. That's what you have to do to pitch in the big leagues.''
Woolard, 23, has been the ultimate good-luck story for the Stars, and indeed, the Brewers organization.
He came over the final week of spring training from the San Francisco Giants, who had made him a 10th-round draft pick out of Kutztown (Pa.) University, for which he was the NCAA Division II Player of the Year in 2002. He began the season at High Desert, then was shipped here in May, and he's been brilliant (5-0, 2.37 ERA).
He has also been a nice, neat - emphasis on neat - target for his teammates, some of whom have delighted in messing up his locker before he arrives for work.
Woolard is finicky in a clubhouse of frat guys. If Martha Stewart had a 92 mph fastball and a slider, she'd be Glenn Woolard.
To him, packing a bag for a road trip isn't a chore, it's a science. Everything is lined up just so on his bed, all to go in their proper places and folded as if right off a men's store shelf.
"Just because I'm too lazy to iron them later,'' Woolard pleads.
Let's go check out his locker.
On the top shelf, three pairs of spikes. A glove rests atop each of the two outside pair. Personal items on the second shelf, where a photo of his 4-year-old daughter Addie is taped. Below that, clothes are hung - including a jersey of his beloved Philadelphia 76ers - with the hangers all pointed the same way and the same distance apart. The colors of clothes must alternate, gray to blue to gray again.
"I don't know if it's O.C.D (Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder) or not,'' Woolard says.
"I'm just a weird guy, I guess.''
Does it carry over on the field?
Woolard makes a noise like air escaping a flat.
"Pffffffffff,'' he says, to begin his confession.
Between innings, he has to run toward the mound until the instant he bends over to pick up the ball. If the same ball had been used for a base hit in the previous inning, he tosses it out. Ditto if he gives up a hit.
He has the baseball tossed out. And other assorted things that are habits and "some are superstitions.''
Woolard's foundation is deeper than superstition.
On the second shelf of his locker, standing side by side, are two books.
One is a Bible.
The other is a notebook, a record of every hitter he has faced in the Southern League. (It is more than some consolation, as Woolard flips through the pages, to see that he'd earn a B-plus at best in penmanship.)
"I study it like a test before I pitch,'' he says.
The other book, he studies more regularly.
"It's something I haven't had the chance to talk a lot about,'' Woolard says. "But the past couple of years, I've been getting more and more involved with God and Jesus.
"It's been peace and contentment, no matter what else goes on. And I take that peace out to the field.''
Two books on an tidy shelf.
Two books from which, in a disorderly world, Glenn Woolard has been able to find order.
Glenn Woolard likes things orderly. "The neatest locker in the Southern League,'' proclaims his teammate, Brian Adams.
Woolard has spikes in a perfect row. He has clothes hanging just right. Everything in his place
He strives for nice and orderly, like this:
000000000000000000000000000
That's zeroes in a perfect row. Twenty-seven of them. Twenty-seven innings in which opponents haven't scored against him.
Woolard hasn't given up a run since July 29, with his stretch continuing through seven innings of nifty work Tuesday against West Tenn.
"This, by far, is the hottest I've ever been,'' he says. "I'm just enjoying it while it lasts.''
Consider this:
Counting Wednesday's 6-3 loss to the Diamond Jaxx, the rest of the staff has pitched well enough to play .500 baseball, but still allowed 61 runs since Woolard last gave up a run.
What gives? What's the magic?
"You know what he's doing?'' asks pitching coach Fred Dabney. "He's throwing strikes and disrupting hitters' timing. That's what pitching is all about. That's what you have to do to pitch in the big leagues.''
Woolard, 23, has been the ultimate good-luck story for the Stars, and indeed, the Brewers organization.
He came over the final week of spring training from the San Francisco Giants, who had made him a 10th-round draft pick out of Kutztown (Pa.) University, for which he was the NCAA Division II Player of the Year in 2002. He began the season at High Desert, then was shipped here in May, and he's been brilliant (5-0, 2.37 ERA).
He has also been a nice, neat - emphasis on neat - target for his teammates, some of whom have delighted in messing up his locker before he arrives for work.
Woolard is finicky in a clubhouse of frat guys. If Martha Stewart had a 92 mph fastball and a slider, she'd be Glenn Woolard.
To him, packing a bag for a road trip isn't a chore, it's a science. Everything is lined up just so on his bed, all to go in their proper places and folded as if right off a men's store shelf.
"Just because I'm too lazy to iron them later,'' Woolard pleads.
Let's go check out his locker.
On the top shelf, three pairs of spikes. A glove rests atop each of the two outside pair. Personal items on the second shelf, where a photo of his 4-year-old daughter Addie is taped. Below that, clothes are hung - including a jersey of his beloved Philadelphia 76ers - with the hangers all pointed the same way and the same distance apart. The colors of clothes must alternate, gray to blue to gray again.
"I don't know if it's O.C.D (Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder) or not,'' Woolard says.
"I'm just a weird guy, I guess.''
Does it carry over on the field?
Woolard makes a noise like air escaping a flat.
"Pffffffffff,'' he says, to begin his confession.
Between innings, he has to run toward the mound until the instant he bends over to pick up the ball. If the same ball had been used for a base hit in the previous inning, he tosses it out. Ditto if he gives up a hit.
He has the baseball tossed out. And other assorted things that are habits and "some are superstitions.''
Woolard's foundation is deeper than superstition.
On the second shelf of his locker, standing side by side, are two books.
One is a Bible.
The other is a notebook, a record of every hitter he has faced in the Southern League. (It is more than some consolation, as Woolard flips through the pages, to see that he'd earn a B-plus at best in penmanship.)
"I study it like a test before I pitch,'' he says.
The other book, he studies more regularly.
"It's something I haven't had the chance to talk a lot about,'' Woolard says. "But the past couple of years, I've been getting more and more involved with God and Jesus.
"It's been peace and contentment, no matter what else goes on. And I take that peace out to the field.''
Two books on an tidy shelf.
Two books from which, in a disorderly world, Glenn Woolard has been able to find order.