Shawn Shroyer, baseball beat writer and sports columnist, is writing a series of articles about his experiences participating in open tryouts for the Kansas baseball team.

So, how does a baseball player recover skills lost during a three-and-a-half-year layoff from the game in just a week? Simply put, it can’t be done.

But I did the most I could last week to prepare for walk-on tryouts, which began this week.

I had actually been running since the spring to get in better shape, but it won’t matter how far or fast I can run if I can’t hit or field. As a left-handed hitting first baseman, I soon found myself praying to the prophet Ted Williams and the patron saint of first basemen, Keith Hernandez.

But the baseball gods help only those who help themselves. It was time to strap on the ol’ batting gloves and lace up my spikes.

Wednesday

The weather reports weren’t promising. All I wanted to do was to get off work and get to the Kansas Sports Center in Lenexa for some batting practice, and all Weather.com was telling me was that by the time I got there, it would be pouring.

Ever the optimist, I decided to test nature.

But the baseball gods had frowned upon me. No sooner than I began seeing exit signs for Lenexa on K-10, the rain began and became heavier by the minute. I arrived at the Kansas Sports Center just in time to see an employee locking up the batting cages.

One look at the sky told me this rain wasn’t stopping any time soon, and I cursed it.

Friday

Ted Williams always said that hitting a round ball with a round bat was the single hardest thing to do in sport. Yet, there was a time in my life when doing so came naturally.

So Friday afternoon I inserted my token into the pitching machine and selected the fastest speed setting. But even from the afterlife, Teddy Ballgame can humble hitters. I struggled just to make contact and took it down a notch for my next round.

Contact was still minimal in round two, and I gave a nice breeze to the family a few cages down. I took it down another notch.

To my chagrin, I didn’t look any better in round three. The only positive I found was that, like any good lefty, I could still get around on the inside pitch. But, considering how the eight-year-old boy across from me put my hits to shame, I almost wanted to try hitting right-handed for the first time since Little League.

I stuck with the same speed for round four and touched a few more pitches, but I could tell I was dropping my back elbow because all my hits were harmless pop-ups.

I was ready to work out the kinks in round five, but my last token was eaten. On my way to buy another token, the teenage employee who had been monitoring the cages walked by.

“Sorry you had to watch that,” I said to him.

He didn’t say anything, but his polite smile couldn’t hide his thoughts. The pity in his eyes stung even more than the blisters that formed on my right hand.

I bought one more token and ignored the pain the blisters caused when I swung. I had to finish on a good note. Finally, in round five, pop-ups turned into solid grounders, and I turned on an inside pitch, sending a line drive to the right. I didn’t hit the final pitch even though I desperately wanted to, but round five offered the glimmer of hope I needed.

Saturday

After my trip to the batting cages, I realized I wouldn’t be able to depend on my bat to make the team. I’ll need to flash some leather at first base.

My dad came to town from Shawnee at 10:30 a.m., and we went to Municipal Stadium at Hobbs Park for infield practice. For years while I was growing up in Mound City, Dad and I spent Saturday mornings practicing baseball, and I was glad we had the chance to do it at least one more time.

Municipal Stadium isn’t the nicest field in Lawrence. Cigarette butts, broken glass and a discarded pair of shoes littered the grandstand. The infield was rough, and a low spot behind first base was still muddy from the recent rainfall. But I’ve always enjoyed playing on old-fashioned diamonds, and if I could field grounders there, I should be able to handle grounders on Hoglund Ballpark’s grass infield.

As dad hit grounders to me, I was pleased to find that my fielding abilities hadn’t abandoned me. I’m right-handed in the field, which helps me cover everything down the line. I was surprised at how well I still could range to my right. I even made a few leaping catches on line drives to my right and chased down a couple fly balls over my head. Keith Hernandez may still be alive, but I felt his spirit assisting me.

I closed practice working around the bag. Dad and I turned double plays, and it felt incredible to stretch for his throws. As inflexible as I may be off the field, I’ve always been limber around first base. Dad finished off the practice throwing me short hops and balls in the dirt to either side of the base. I dug most of them. Nothing is more rewarding to a first baseman than saving his teammates’ errors and keeping unearned runs off the board.

This week, I’ll find out just how far along I’ve come. But, for good measure, be sure to say a prayer to the baseball gods for me.

— Edited by Matt Erickson