THE ELUSIVE GOAL

By Wayne Drehs
ESPN.com

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Click.

He couldn't feel it, but mid-swing he heard it. And the noise wasn't good. It told him the metal hooks on his hitting hand had opened. It told him that anything they had been holding -- in this case a 28-ounce Easton baseball bat -- had just become a projectile.

There was enough time to look up, but not to look away. There went his bat. End over end. Cutting through the air. Smacking off the wall. Crashing off the bleachers. Almost nailing a teammate in the head.

What was a blur for everyone else was a slow motion hell for Brad Hurtig.

Click. Thud. Ping.

His mouth opened. His eyes widened. The rest of him froze.

"I think I'm done now,” he said.

He was merely trying to hit off a tee. Just trying to accomplish something else that would blow everyone away. Instead, it backfired. And he wouldn't pick up a bat again for a week.

“It scared everyone to death,” Fairview baseball coach Andy Singer said, “Brad included.”

That was three months ago. Brad still can't consistently hold a baseball bat. He still can't climb into the batter's box, take a rip at a belt-high fastball and know full well that he won't take the pitcher's head off.

Yet before he walks across the stage and receives his high school diploma next month, that's the lone goal that still remains, the one thing that drives him athletically. He wants to get a hit in a baseball game.

It might not seem that important, considering all the 19-year-old has accomplished since a factory accident in June of 2002 left him a bilateral amputee. But he remains driven by the unfulfilled.

He can catch a touchdown pass. He can kick extra points. He can wrestle down running backs. And with the help of a customized lacrosse net that fits over the end of his left arm, he can catch, throw and play the outfield. But the season is nearly finished. Time is running out. And he hasn't even had an at bat.

“It might not be something that happens,” Brad said. “But I'm going to do everything I can to see that it does.”

The problem is this: A cable and harness that wraps around his shoulders is connected to the hooks that extend from Brad's arms and grasp the bat. When he stretches his shoulder blades, the cable tightens, opening the hooks and releasing the bat.

It's supposed to happen after he's made contact, when he wants to put the bat on the ground and hustle to first base. Too often, it happens mid-swing.

“There aren't many people in baseball who have attempted anything like this,” said Sam Santa-Rita, the prosthetist who obtained the device from a Texas company, then modified it in his office workshop. “Most of the people have lost only one arm. That's a big, big difference.”

Think former major league pitcher Jim Abbott. Or Chad Bentz, the Expos' reliever. Both were born with deformities, forcing them to pitch and catch with the same hand, hurriedly switching their glove back and forth during the action.

But while they've had their entire lives to learn how to play with their disabilities, Brad has had only 22 months. While they focused solely on pitching, Brad wants to hit. While they were able to field with one hand, Brad has none.

The head of a lacrosse stick is screwed into the prosthesis at the end of his left arm. The mesh webbing allows him to catch and throw like a game of backyard Jai-Alai. It's hardly conventional, but the Ohio State High School Athletic Association has allowed it.

Under OHSAA baseball rules, Brad can play the field and have a designated hitter bat for him. So that's what he's done, roaming the outfield for much of the year without making an error and occasionally appearing as a pinch runner, when he has stolen five bases.

“I'm not afraid, by any means, to put Brad in a situation with a tie ball game or something,” Singer said. “There's no reason to be. Fielding-wise, he's done a great job. He can always steal a base. But his hitting we hope to get better.”

After the bat-throwing incident during off-season training this past winter, it was back to the drawing board. Santa-Rita tightened the rubber bands that hold the hooks together. He asked a local welder to meld the hooks so they would better wrap around the bat. And he stressed to Brad the importance of not flexing his shoulder muscles until he had completed his swing.

There's been improvement. Brad can hit off a tee and hit a soft-toss without flinging the bat through the air. But he still can't hold on against live pitching. Without hands, he can't feel the bat. He can't sense when it's slipping. He can't feel when things are going wrong.

Instead, he listens for the click.

“It's a difficult process,” Singer said. “But we're working on it. He'll get there.”

And if not, Brad is prepared.

“I'll have to move on, I guess,” Brad said. “What else is there to do?”

Wayne Drehs is a staff writer with ESPN.com. He can be reached at wayne.drehs@espn3.com.