J.D. Scholten doesn’t work in Washington, but on Saturday night, he delivered for constituents on the hill.
Some 90 minutes after getting a call begging him to leave the music festival where he was volunteering and help his local nine, the 44-year-old Iowa state representative took the mound for the independent-league Sioux City Explorers and fired 6 2/3 two-run innings.
“I can’t even describe it,” says Explorers manager Steve Montgomery, who falls silent before referring to Kevin Costner’s 40-year-old erstwhile ace who throws a no-hitter in his final career outing in 1999’s For Love of the Game. “The only thing that comes to mind is Billy Chapel. You can’t wrap your head around what you’re witnessing. At 44! I’m thinking, I’m only six years older than this guy! What he was able to do, what he was able to supply us, is immeasurable in all of professional baseball.”
It was also Montgomery’s last choice. The Explorers play in the American Association of Professional Baseball, a league that is not affiliated with Major League Baseball but does partner with it, and therefore it respects a series of restrictive roster rules. When Sioux City’s bullpen covered 13 innings between Thursday and Friday, and then its scheduled starting pitcher, Jared Wetherbee, showed up before Saturday’s game against the Milwaukee Milkman not feeling well, Montgomery tried not to panic.
He tried a few guys he knew who had pitched in college and summer collegiate leagues, but they were all out of town for the Fourth of July. By then it was 3:30 p.m. The game was scheduled to start at 6:05. Montgomery remembered that he had recently run into Scholten, who led the University of Nebraska in ERA his senior year and then played professionally in the early aughts, with Sioux City and abroad. They remembered each other from back then; Scholten, a 6’6” righty, had been playing in a town league and had offered to cover some innings for Montgomery if he ever needed the help.
On Saturday, Montgomery needed the help. Out of better ideas, he called Scholten—who did not answer.
Montgomery started running through the position players in his head, trying to figure out who might be able to stand out there and throw strikes. He submitted his lineup card with a question mark in the starting pitcher’s slot. Scholten took a break from cleaning up trash and stocking water bottles at the local Saturday in the Park music festival and called Montgomery back.
“I need you to start tonight,” Montgomery said.
After Scholten ascertained that this wasn’t a joke, he got someone to cover the rest of his shift and made his way seven miles south to Lewis and Clark Park. (“In my mind, I’m like, you couldn’t have responded to my email before I lifted?” Scholten says, laughing. “You couldn’t have let me know yesterday, before I threw a bullpen? A thousand things. You couldn’t have let me know before I had a beer?”) They signed him to a $1,400-a-month contract, fitted him for a uniform and sent him out to the bullpen to warm up—where the jokes began. Several Explorers agreed to vote for him—some even to campaign for him—if he threw a complete game shutout. After Scholten finished warming up, he turned to head to the field and saw the rest of the pitching staff lined up facing him. He looked around quizzically.
“This is a Republican bullpen,” pitching coach Bobby Post explained. “They all want to get five from you. And since you're a Democrat and used to handing out a lot of stuff, you can just go down and tap their hands.”
The latter-day Jim Bunning cackled and took the field, where his Billy Chapel impression got off to a bad start: The leadoff hitter singled up the middle, stole second, advanced to third when the throw went into centerfield and scored on a sacrifice fly. The next hitter singled on a ball right under Scholten. All of a sudden the bases were loaded.
“They had a left-handed hitter up and I'm like, if I can get this guy to hit my sinker, I think I can get a double play with this,” Scholten says. “And that's what happened. And then from that moment on, I just was like, O.K., let's go.”
Scholten hadn’t quite yanked off his campaign button and walked in off the street. Along with most of the rest of the world, he had fallen down a couple of YouTube rabbit holes during COVID-19 lockdown; his gave him access to pitching breakdowns that had not existed 10 years earlier, and he decided to refine his mechanics and give himself a chance at a comeback. The Iowa Legislature is in session only from January until the spring, at which point he was free to structure his days however he liked. His day job—he’s an analyst at a law firm—is fully remote. He’s an avid baseball fan; his campaign website lists, along with improving public education and expanding Medicaid, eliminating MLB blackouts as one of his priorities. So he started pitching in that town league, for the Lions Pub Warriors, and he found that even in his mid-40s, he was pretty good.
Among the changes that had entered the game since he last pitched for the Explorers, in 2007, was the proliferation of TrackMan devices; Scholten mostly ignored its readout but was pleased to learn that his fastball sat in the mid-80s and touched 89 mph.
Montgomery kept asking Scholten how he was feeling, and Scholten kept saying fine, and somehow there were two outs in the seventh inning and the Explorers were up 11–2. Scholten had thrown 100 pitches when Montgomery came out. Scholten argued for a minute, then acquiesced when the skipper explained that he wanted his new ace to get an ovation. The 1,013 in attendance, plus all the Explorers, roared as Scholten strode to the dugout.
“I’ve never experienced anything like that in my life,” he says. “I’ll always remember that.”
He’ll need to get the stars out of his eyes soon; he’s starting again on Thursday. He didn’t join the team on the bus to Fargo, N.D., though. District 1 suffered some flooding a few weeks ago, and he has to meet his constituents at a resource fair first.
This article was originally published on www.si.com as Iowa State Lawmaker Makes His Pitch in a Pinch.
