Posted by Eric SanInocencio on Tuesday, August 4, 2009 at 4:44 pm

By now, everyone knows who Josh Willingham is. The Washington Nationals slugger etched his name into baseball’s history last week, connecting on grand slams in consecutive swings to enter the stratosphere of the National Pastime’s greatest achievements.

Willingham now shares something in common with Robin Ventura, Frank Robinson and Nomar Garciaparra, with that Herculean effort lifting a floundering franchise in Washington into the spotlight, even if only for one night. Not often in life do you get to say you are once removed from a Hall of Famer, but just 10 years ago me and Josh Willingham had plenty in common. Let me explain.

Before Willingham would grace the cover of every baseball website known to man, he was honing his skills in the rural pastures of Florence, Alabama. Back then, 1998 to be exact, Willingham was an up and coming shortstop recruited to be key part to the future success of the University of North Alabama.

UNA, a Division II school in the Gulf South Conference, was known for its National Championship football program, and was hoping to extend that trend of success to the baseball field.  Not that UNA hadn’t been successful already, boasting an impressive .700 winning percentage in the 1990s. Professional stars were born there as well, with three Lions reaching the Major Leagues before Willingham ever showed up to his first practice.

At that exact time, about two hours Southeast of UNA’s campus, another young and much less heralded middle infielder joined the ranks of a GSC team. All 5-foot-8 and 145 pounds of Eric SanInocencio stepped foot on campus at Montevallo, hoping to one day join the list of major league alums from the small college 30 miles from Birmingham, Ala. Not a long list, but Rusty Greer’s tenure in Texas was in its prime, and it had every Falcon (Montevallo’s mascot) thinking the leap was possible.

What I didn’t realize then, and know now, is that having a front seat to major league greatness was as far as I would get, and despite most people feeling disappointed in that outcome, I couldn’t be happier. It allowed me to see what everyone else did in Milwaukee  a decade before.

Willingham did was most freshmen entering college do, he improved as the season went along. His finished that 1998 year with a respectable .325 average, starting in 34 of the of 43 games which he played. He showed some power (.483 SLG) and a knowledge of the strike zone (.410 OBP), and seemed primed to become a key cog in the Lions attack for the following three seasons.

From my comfortable spot on the bench during Montevallo’s series against UNA, I remember thinking to myself that this Willingham guy was going to be good. Not only was he starting a majority of the time for a good program, but his size as a shortstop stood out.  I made a mental note to keep my eye on his progress, and the following season Willingham didn’t disappoint. He was ungodly.

Let these numbers sink in for a moment. .489 batting average, 15 home runs, .863 slugging percentage, and a 43-to-30 walk to strikeout ratio. For those without a calculator handy, that made for a .585 on-base percentage, and an overall OPS of 1.448. Despite the level of competition, that’s amazing. To top it all off, he stole 27 bases, so you couldn’t even intentionally walk him. All this as a shortstop. Wow.

By then I was a spot player, earning my first ever conference start against that very North Alabama squad. On that particular weekend it was too cold for offense, but that didn’t stop Willingham from lighting us up. Even with all the fireworks he made with his bat, what I remember most about him is how many times he didn’t swing.

In 1999 the book Moneyball wasn’t the baseball manifesto it has become now, and on-base percentage and plate discipline weren’t ingrained in the vernacular of every baseball fan.

Most collegiate hitters of that era lived by the John Daly mantra of “grip and rip”. For those of us whose families came from outside the United States,  we knew we “couldn’t walk off the island”. Power swings and aggressive mentalities were the rule of the day, and at Montevallo we actually had to run if we took first pitch fastballs for a strike.

Willingham would have none of that, exploiting the weaknesses of our staff with his keen batting eye. We had guys with good stuff, but no matter what, they never got him to chase. I remember thinking, “Man, if its is a hair off the plate, this guy won’t swing.”

He forced you to attack him, and then he responded by hammering anything left out over the plate. In four at-bats he might have swung five times, and ended up with three hits. He was a powerful yet efficient hitter, and we had no answer. No one in Division II did.

The accolades deservedly followed, with the then sophomore claiming First Team All-America honors. His .489 average was good enough for second in all of Division II, and any anonymity Willingham had in GSC circles evaporated. He capped that year off with a GSC Tournament MVP Trophy, and he was named to the Division II Baseball Championship All-Tournament team.

His junior year was down by his PlayStation-like standards, and he managed to only hit .420 for the Lions in 2000. By that point I was injured and didn’t even suit up against UNA, so its almost as if my memories of Willingham end with that miraculous 1999 campaign. His compact right handed stroke wasn’t a secret anymore, and any hopes North Alabama had of him finishing his entire career got slimmer with every homerun he cranked.

The draft was formality, and the question changed to his success as a pro. The Florida Marlins selected him in the 17th round of the draft, an he traded in his purple and gold of UNA for the teal and black of South Florida’s big league franchise.

He spent a few years in the minors, switching positions as the Marlins looked to find a home for his bat. Despite a drop in batting average from his college days, that trademark “not swinging” talent translated well, as he posted and OBPs of at least .382 in every stop along the way. Willingham was put at every position on the diamond during that stretch, even a short stint behind the plate in 2004.

The Marlins called him up later that year, and from that point on Willingham has made a nice career for himself. He’s clubbed 80 home runs for both the Marlins and Nationals, and has been one of the few shining stars for a Washington team that lacks offensive punch. This year has been his finest, with his .305 average and .420 on-base percentage leading or at the top of his team’s numbers.

His story has remained much like his personality until that memorable night in Milwaukee, when the whole world was forced to remember his name. The often reserved Willingham had flown under the radar despite his successes as a major leaguer. He often travels back to Florence in the off-season, and I even got the chance to chat with him two years ago during a GSC-TV football game.

That night we received word that Willingham was in the crowd. We arranged for him to join us for an interview on the sidelines, and he happily obliged and made his way down.

In the few minutes I had to prep him and get the interview set up, we were able to exchange a few pleasantries. Surely he didn’t remember a run of the mill infielder he played against over 10 years ago, but he did a good enough job making me think he did. Just seconds before he went on camera, I got in one final baseball question.

“Who’s got the nastiest stuff you’ve seen as a pro?,” I commented as he headed for the interview. The eagle eyed Willingham turned around, and threw out this gem to me. “Billy Wagner,” he said, “I have the hardest time laying off his slider.”