Barry Zito offers Kendall Graveman more than video-game perspective

MESA, Ariz. – Hours before he'd try this again, before he'd pitch a few more innings for the Oakland A's, Barry Zito was in front of his locker, his chair rocked back a few inches, his cap on backwards, thin white wires leading to his ears. Overhead, taped side by side, one photo of his smiling wife and daughter, and another of his smiling daughter alone.

The three lockers to his right had been cleared by late-camp cuts. To his left, a broad doorway that led to the field at Hohokam Stadium or, were he to walk the opposite direction, home.

In a clubhouse that tends toward A.J. Griffin's guitar work, Billy Butler's full-throated observations and Josh Reddick's full-throated responses, Zito, going on 37, was the picture of serenity.

"I used to pitch as him in video games," Kendall Graveman said, not loud enough for Zito to hear.

Zito is the famous – some in San Francisco might say infamous – left-hander who'd won 165 games, a couple World Series championships and a Cy Young Award, who'd come out of his rookie season to win 17 games the next season and 23 games the season after that. That's, like, 13 years ago. When it seemed to just about everyone that it was indeed time to go home, Zito did, and then a year later he was sitting in the A's clubhouse surrounded by photos of his young family, waiting to try it again, working on a streak of scoreless innings that by Tuesday afternoon would reach 11.

It's a nice story. He's pitched well enough that were the A's to have him as their fifth starter or long reliever there'd be no reason to suspect seeping sentimentality. He came for the competition, to run out the rest of his career if his arm would have it, and maybe to satisfy his curiosity. Was he really the guy with the 5 ½ ERA? Was he done? Shouldn't he go find out? He ditched the cutter, rediscovered the curveball, found the time off had granted him a tick or two on his fastball and, who knows, he might be able to hang around a little longer. Somewhere.

"I only have so much control, you know?" he said after shutting out the Chicago Cubs for four innings. "I don't want to get caught up in that whole game. Just throw the ball. That's kinda where I'm at right now."

Graveman is 24, appears younger, is the son of a coach, talks to his father every single day, was drafted less than two years ago, has plans to tackle two more classes at Mississippi State -- Chem II and Machine Design – to nail down that Mechanical Engineering degree, and in his quest to break camp in the A's rotation, likely has succeeded. When last season began for him in the Toronto Blue Jays organization (he'd come to the A's in November in the Josh Donaldson-Brett Lawrie trade), Graveman's goal was to reach Double-A. In September, he debuted in the big leagues. A month later, he texted his fiancée: "Why am I so blessed?"

He stood Tuesday in the center of the clubhouse. He'd burned off a little energy already, and a full day of camp lay ahead. Last summer he'd turned a cutter into the effective third pitch he'd been looking for, thanks in part to his father, Gary, who'd supplied a seemingly endless stream of videos on the pitch, starting with Greg Maddux's. The result was the quick ascension from A-ball to the majors, and now he's the favorite to follow Sonny Gray, Jesse Hahn and Scott Kazmir in the rotation.

This is how the circle works. The best of Barry Zito is somewhere back there, probably. The best of Kendall Graveman? There's no way to know, but he's counting on it being somewhere up ahead. They can stand this close to each other, learn to like and understand each other, share the objective of good pitches at good times, and still Graveman will see nothing but time and Zito would be excused for wondering where the time went.

"No," Zito said, in fact. "I haven't had those thoughts."

He would be the first, then.

"When I walked into this locker room, I was not intimidated," Graveman said. "But Barry was one of the last people I spoke to."

Graveman at first simply watched Zito. In that, he decided, he could see the path to what he wanted out there for himself. He saw the same last September in Mark Buehrle. There are long careers, decorated careers, fulfilling careers, and there is a path to them. It's not in the biggest man, necessarily. It's not the biggest fastball. It's pitching to the very end of who you are, and chasing that for 15 years or until somebody says it's over.

"They were in my position a long time ago," he said. "You think, 'Where am I going? Where will I wind up?' All those things that run through your mind."

There isn't a clubhouse in the league that hasn't had the very same drift of time and opportunity. The game trundles forward. Some keep up. The rest wish they could.

So, Graveman shows up and finds out more about what he can do, who he can be. Zito wrings out what he can, and looks good enough doing it, and maybe he's discovering things too. For the thousandth time he was asked why he was doing this, why he was back. For the thousandth time he stifled a sigh.

"I like baseball," he mumbled.

Simple as that. It's why he's here. Why they're here.