The Knights' Joltin' Joe 

Watch Joe Borchard take batting practice, however, and you'd think it was a superball. Missile-like arcs spray from his bat like artillery fire, regularly denting the mosaic of signs affixed to the outfield wall of Knights Stadium, or else coming to rest in the cool grass behind them, kicking up divots Phil Mickelson would be proud of.

Then again, this is his job, hitting baseballs, one that made him a multimillionaire at the age of 21. A 6-feet-4-inches switch-hitter with power from both sides of the plate, Borchard's variously been compared to Mickey Mantle, Dale Murphy, and Mark McGwire. He's young, good-looking, and speaks with a mix of refreshing candor and count-on-it cliche that would be the envy of any seasoned pro.

So what the hell is he still doing in Charlotte?

Joe Borchard's tale is not a cautionary one. After signing with the Chicago White Sox for a $5.3 million advance as the 12th overall draft pick in the 2000 draft -- a figure Baseball America claims is the largest bonus ever given in professional baseball -- Borchard says he bought himself a new car, maybe a few appliances. Paid off his parents' home loan. He can't remember. No wild parties, certainly, no midnight trips to Vegas. "Just everyday life stuff," Borchard says, shrugging his shoulders. "I bought a car, which was the only major purchase I made immediately."

No jewelry? No bling-bling?

He smiles, shows his calloused hands. "Um, I don't wear any jewelry whatsoever, so that wouldn't have helped me all that much. It doesn't really do anything for me."

"Joe is a hard working individual," says Charlotte Knights VP and General Manager Bill Blackwell. "His is not a loud and boisterous voice in the locker room, but he plays hard and others see how tough on himself he can be. Joe gets along very well with the other players and is just one of the guys. If his bonus situation has ever been a problem, it was before he got to Charlotte three years ago. I have never even heard it mentioned."

"He drove a very modest Ford Explorer or Expedition when he was here," says Curt Bloom, a broadcaster for the Double-A Birmingham Barons. "Joe being from a very humble and blue collar background, never ever gave the impression he had the big contract."

Borchard is from a blue-collar background, but this isn't a Horatio Alger story, either. Borchard's German ancestors, among the first settlers in Ventura County, California, in the 1850s, all hunkered down where Joe grew up: beside the Santa Clara River, the county's main nautical feature. All men of large physical stature, it should be noted. What's in the water there, you may ask? Hard work, balanced equally by hard play.

"I grew up on some farmland in Camarillo, California, which is about 50 miles northwest of Los Angeles," Borchard says. We didn't own a lot of land, but we had a farm. My dad (Joe Sr.) worked for a company that takes care of orchards -- strawberries and tomatoes.

"I helped out whenever I could. His company was pretty big, so he had all the help he needed. But whenever I could, and I was available, I'd help out.

"My mom (Janice) was supportive of me all the time. Cookin' huge meals for me every day, working two jobs to keep us goin'. My dad was always throwing batting practice to me, catchin' football passes, playing basketball or whatever it was. He just loved watching us play. They both did. I had an older sister (Julie) and a younger sister (Jill) that played softball, so we kept our parents pretty busy."

So this is the story, then: Boy comes from athletic family, is taught how to switch hit by the old man -- himself a switch-hitting outfielder and a 1969 draft pick of the Kansas City Royals -- plays football and basketball and baseball since the age of eight, does his homework, says Yes Sir and No Ma'am, and idyllically whiles away the day in his little sun-drenched Mayfield-by-the-sea.

All good guesses, but all wrong. Joe Borchard's story is this: How do we fight the expectations others put on us? Better yet, how do we fight the expectations we put on ourselves?

Considering his frugality (and his fragility -- spring training injuries probably contributed to his being in Charlotte this year), Joe Borchard could quit baseball right now -- at 26 -- and probably never have to work a day in his life again. Some people would say Borchard is living a dream, playing a kid's game and getting paid for it. But all that money can seem like a curse to a guy who doesn't care so much for material possessions. When money is what you're known for, and it doesn't necessarily matter a whole lot to you, you tend to stress about whatever messenger brought you fortune in the first place. You swing at that sinkerball in the dirt, the high-and-tight fastball around the letters on the front of your jersey.

Especially if that jersey still carries the name of a minor-league city.

Listen to sports writers, and they'll tell you it's only a matter of time before Joltin' Joe Borchard gets a full-season shot in The Show, his lantern jaw plastered on the sides of the noisy old buses making their way down Wentworth and Lakeview and Halsted in Chicago. Only a matter of time.

However, time, like a knife, cuts both ways. Most folks work with an eye on the clock, always mindful of quittin' time, measuring their days and their lives by the hands of the Westclox on the wall.

Joseph Edward Borchard? He tries like hell every day to keep his eyes as far away from ol' Big Ben as humanly possible.

By almost anyone's definition, Joe Borchard is a born athlete. At 21, he hit .333 with 19 home runs and 76 RBIs in 66 games during the 2000 college baseball season for Stanford (50-16), which reached the College World Series for the third time in four years. He's played in the Rose Bowl as a starting quarterback (former Panther Randy Fasani got the job when Borchard signed his deal with the White Sox), a position he nabbed after coming off the bench to throw five touchdowns against UCLA in a scoreboard-blitzing 42-32 shootout.

According to a draft analysis by Baseball America, he was rated among all draft-eligible college players as the second-best athlete, power hitter and defensive player in the 2000 draft, and also as having the second-best arm strength. A five-tool athlete, in baseball scouting parlance: speed, average, power, arm strength, and defensive ability. The total package. A scout's dream, even if he wasn't exactly a hidden gem, thanks to his well-publicized achievements. All in one laid-back, aw-shucks container. What was not to like?

Well, there's the little matter of Moneyball, Michael Lewis' 2003 bestseller, which has revolutionized the way many teams think about picking players. Lewis's tale of Oakland A's manager Billy Beane and his de-emphasis of traditional measuring sticks in favor of using on-base percentage to judge hitters has made yesterday's big heroes -- the power hitters -- suddenly less appealing to management.

Beane, a former player, was said by scouts at the time to have one of the greatest baseball bodies they'd ever seen. Like Borchard a five-tool player, his jersey hung on him like Paul Bunyan wore a flannel. Unfortunately, Billy Beane was also one of the biggest busts of all time.

"When I got to high school, I started doing some (good) things on the field, and people started approaching me," Borchard says. "Scouts started talking to me, and colleges were calling about me playing football for them, so I started to think that I might be able to do this for a little while. Do this for a living, if I was lucky." He makes eye contact, looks away. His is an equal mix of pluck and "aw shucks," a guarded confidence grounded in consistent achievement. For such a physical specimen, Joe Borchard spends a lot of time in his own head, though he keeps the trap door shut. You've heard the phrase "shut your trap?" Joe Borchard knows that the mouth is a trap that only ever catches one thing -- the person doing the speaking. If given his druthers, he'd rather let his play do the talking, thank you very much. Rather swing it than sing it.

"I was drafted by the Orioles in the 20th round out of high school, though there wasn't even a whole lot of talk between the two sides. It was a bit of a formality, really. I wanted to go to college, wanted to play football and baseball.

"When I was recruited, it was understood that I wanted to play football and baseball, and they were very accommodating. It was one of the main reasons why I chose to go to Stanford. (Football coach) Ty Willingham (now the head coach at Notre Dame) was a two-sport athlete in college, and so was very cool with the whole thing."

Asked about his favorite college memories, and football comes up pretty quickly. Borchard excitedly describes the scene in Pasadena's Rose Bowl in 2000, a game in which Stanford was defeated 17-9 by Wisconsin behind 200 yards rushing from current New York Giants running back Ron Dayne.

"You talk about an atmosphere that was incredible," Borchard says, his face lighting up. "You had 100,000 people in the stands, and millions of viewers watching everywhere. They get a lot more coverage now in college baseball than we did even five years ago, but you don't get that atmosphere in college baseball like you do in a major bowl game. It was amazing!"

Football was, and is, very important to Joe Borchard. Asked if he would consider a Drew Henson-like switcharoo -- the former New York Yankees farmhand and two-sport college star decided earlier this year to give football another try, signing with the Dallas Cowboys -- and he quickly shoots down the idea. If you know Joe Borchard, you know that adjusting to playing NFL football after three years off -- even if given the opportunity -- would be akin to taking the easy way out. His thoughts are back to baseball before the din of the packed football stadium clears from his mind.

"I don't think about football," Borchard says. "I just...the thing that I'm just frustrated about at this point is that I gave away so many at bats to my own frustration (over the last couple of years). I don't want to be frustrated about making outs or playing poorly. Those things will happen, of course, and are part of the game. What would frustrate me now is if I became disheartened by a certain chain of events. That would frustrate me. If I look back on it and say "I wish I'd have handled that better' or "I wish I'd kept my composure better in that situation.' And I think that's the most important thing. When you're dealing with external things, it makes this so much more difficult. I've struggled with it in the past, and it hasn't helped me a whole lot. The most important thing is understanding what's important right now. And right now I'm playing baseball at the Triple-A level for Charlotte, and I need to be the best I can be at this level."

He is clearly uncomfortable talking about all this, rubbing his calloused hands over and over like a craftsman who's not used to talking to an outsider about his craft: What can I tell you? I just go out there and do it. Like he'd much rather be shagging grounders or hitting fungoes than thinking about all this. Thinking about all this is what tripped him up in the first place. You almost feel guilty for bringing it up.

"So, do you just try and take it one at-bat at a time?"

He laughs. "If there's a cliche in this game that you could ever wear out, that's the best one. There's no cliche that has any more truth in it than that one."

At this point, Joe Borchard knows he's only an injury away from The Show. And with Chicago's all-star outfielder Magglio Ordonez upset about his contract situation and considering a test of the free agent market, the future is now. Borchard's been on a tear recently, hitting the home runs he's become known for, but also doing the little things: playing good defense, moving the runners over, taking walks to first base instead of strolls back to the dugout after striking out. Problem is, he's been in the majors before, and he knows that injuries can cut both ways. Red-hot in spring training with the White Sox earlier this year, Borchard was sent down due to a number of nagging injuries that he just couldn't shake.

"I was battling some injuries all throughout spring training and the first part of the season," he says. "I was battling back spasms in my upper back, to the point where I couldn't even lift my arms. It seems like once I started feeling better physically, things just started to happen on the field as well. It started falling into place a little bit."

Which is just the way the White Sox want it. What they also want is to not talk about Joe Borchard or his prospects, believing that the less press Borchard reads, the better (the White Sox front office didn't return calls for this story).

When Chicago Sun Times staff writer Chris De Luca called Sox GM Ken Williams in May for a story on Borchard's struggles, Williams declined comment -- sort of.

"In his own best interests, knowing the article you are doing, I'd prefer if he doesn't read this stuff," Williams told De Luca. "He needs to have fun on a day-to-day basis. The only issue is for him to relax. The more he reads about timetables and swing analysis, the harder it's going to be.

"I understand it's a legitimate question, but I don't care," Williams continued. "The only thing I care about is Joe Borchard and what's best for him."

Of course, Williams also would like to see some return on his investment in Borchard, whose signing was spearheaded by the General Manager after seeing impressive batting practice displays. To this day, no number one pick has ever received a signing bonus as big as Borchard's, much less a number 12 pick. Williams' consistent negative replies to queries seem to suggest the only person feeling more pressure than Borchard is the GM himself.

For his part, De Luca, contacted at his office in Chicago, likes Borchard's prospects, whether with the Sox or packaged in a trade.

"Joe eventually will play in the big leagues," De Luca says. "I'm not sure he will be a star. He has a big swing that leads to a lot of strikeouts. Though the Sox have played him in center field, Joe is a corner outfielder. He has been prone to injuries. I've seen Joe play, and I think he needs to shorten his swing to have success in the majors. Joe has the looks and personality to be a star in the majors, but he hasn't consistently shown big-league talent. He is a power threat, but needs to improve his overall average. Switch-hitting outfielders will always be popular."

Borchard says he hasn't heard so much as a peep from Chicago, which is pretty much the way he likes it these days. He says he's taken Williams' advice to heart, and scans the sports pages as little as possible. Plenty of people have predicted Joe Borchard's future before, and, to a man, they've all been wrong.

"I haven't heard anything. It's not really in my hands, I guess. It's one of those things that -- when it's right -- it'll happen. The more I get wrapped up in that kind of stuff, the more it affects my play, so I just try to distance myself from it as much as I can. It's not easy to play baseball every single day. It's easy to let negativity creep into your head, that little bit of doubt. I've learned that if you go into every game with an extreme amount of confidence, you'll be OK. And I think the longer you play, the better you get at this. Every single day, you have to perform. An 0-for-4 can quickly turn into an 0-for-10. It's natural for someone to start thinking, "When am I ever going to get a hit again?'

"Sometimes it feels like I have no chance, and that's the difference between baseball and football. In football, there's always that new game to get ready for, that new slate.

He smiles. "You just don't have time to reflect on it so much."

Joe Borchard stands at the plate, waving his bat in small semi-circles above his head. He gives off the same intimidating aura as a Dave Parker, a Ted Kluszewski. Menace. Potential energy. A lumberjack getting ready to take his swings with a piece of wood, instead of at one. He singles meekly to left-centerfield, what golfers call a "worm-burner." Arriving at first base, he doesn't smile, doesn't chat with the opposing first baseman. He looks like a guy who has just won honorable mention in a contest he expected to win.

The next batter grounds one to the shortstop, who sidearms the ball to the second basemen, nabbing Borchard by a step for the third out of the inning. Borchard slides anyway, pops to his feet, dusts off the red clay from his jersey pants and kicks the bag. He pauses for a bit, gathers himself, and heads over to short rightfield, where he is given his glove and cap by a teammate, who smacks him on the rear end with his ball glove. Attaboy Joe. We'll get "em next time, baby.

At the plate again a couple of innings later, the pitcher grooves a fastball into Borchard's wheelhouse. It's a pitch that has no movement, and for a good hitter, the closest thing possible to hitting off a batting tee. The quick-twitch fibers in his arms ripple as he makes a split-second decision to swing. The ball meets the bat with the kind of wooden report that normally is followed by a "Timberrrr!" -- it really does make a different sound coming off of some people's bats -- and, not two seconds later, the white orb caroms off the advertising signs behind the left field wall. By the time the ball lands, Borchard is past first base, head down, focused on the promised land -- home plate. He looks natural, in his element. His trot is no different than a Mark McGwire, a Lou Gehrig, a Jim Thome -- quick, understated, and completely devoid of flash. He is a businessman doing his work. He is free, in a state of suspended animation.

This is what Joe Borchard longs for. The soft, pillow-like cushion of touching every base directly in the center. The roar of the crowd quieting the demons in his head, the numbers changing on the scoreboard, a stock ticker of one person's career going up.

He is at peace, finally. He's Joe Borchard, and -- if only for a few seconds -- nothing in the world can trip him up.