Second Time Around

Had it been New York or Chicago, that would have been one thing. But last June, when the Rochester Red Wings' manager told Glenn Williams to board the next plane for Phoenix, the command hung in the air like a bad curveball. "I was like, Phoenix is in our league?" Williams recalls. Then he made the connection: He was being summoned from Triple A by the Minnesota Twins in time for their series against the Arizona Diamondbacks. An Australian, Williams was signed by the Braves in 1993, and since then, like Johnny Cash, he'd been everywhere, man: Danville, Eugene, Macon, Dunedin, Syracuse. Now, a few weeks before his 28th birthday, he'd finally made the Show and his weekly salary of $1,800 improved tenfold. "It was the moment," he says, "that every minor leaguer is always dreaming about."

Uniformly, Williams's managers and teammates describe him as a "great guy," a tireless worker, a genial personality, an asset to the organization. To them, his call-up confirmed that faith is rewarded, that Providence is more than the town next to Pawtucket. But in reality, sports are often strikingly bereft of karma. For as often as we hear about "Cinderella stories" and "deserving champions," an even break is hard to come by. Michelle Kwan pulls a muscle on the eve of her last Winter Olympics. The Colts lose a playoff game weeks after the son of their beloved coach commits suicide. Karl Malone and John Stockton never win an NBA ring, while Dennis Rodman owns five. In sports, bad things happen to good people. Good things happen to Barry Bonds.

In camp with the Twins this spring, Williams is again competing against that cosmic law. Oh, things started off well enough for him last summer. He can recall his first big league at bat with stunning precision. Walking to the plate in the sixth inning to pinch-hit, Williams gave himself a pep talk: "You finally got the opportunity; you can't be nervous or scared." On the first pitch he slapped a fastball off the hand of the pitcher, Shawn Estes. Motoring to first base, he thought, If I'd always run this fast, I'd have been in the majors way before now.

He made it safely and (cue music) suddenly could do no wrong. A week into his call-up, Williams was starting at third base. When his parents and his wife, Laila, flew to watch him play against the Dodgers--7,500 miles away; L.A. was the closest team to Sydney on the Twins' schedule--he had two hits. A .242 career hitter in the minors, he would look up at the stadium scoreboards and giggle when he saw his average was .450. It was all so dizzying that Laila started making a scrapbook filled with box scores for Glenn to read on the flight home after the season. He could digest it all then.

In Williams's 40th at bat, he smote a single that brought his average to .425 and extended his hitting streak to all 13 games he'd played. Then, taking a lead off first base, he dived back to avoid being picked off, landed awkwardly and dislocated his right shoulder. As he left the game he stifled his tears, sufficiently self-aware to realize that his Excellent Big League Adventure might just have ended. He was sent to Fort Myers to rehab, then had surgery and ended the season back in Rochester. If he were ever feeling crushed, he never let it show. "Know the good part about rehabbing in the rookie league?" he says. "I got to be sort of a big brother to the young guys."

On Feb. 15, Williams left Australia for the Twins' camp in Fort Myers. He whiled away chunks of the 24-hour odyssey reading his journal. His shoulder is healed. His confidence is surging. But he's a nonroster invitee, and he knows that his last big league at bat may have been his final big league at bat. "If that's it, hey, I would've loved to have played more, but I got 40 at bats and had so much fun," Williams says. "Why be bitter, you know? I'll just try my best and leave the rest to fate."

Fate? Sorry. Unfortunately, in sports the fates can write some pretty nasty scripts. Otherwise, on his return trip to Australia, Williams's scrapbook would be so thick, he'd have to check it at the gate.