Detwiler comes into own at College World Series

OMAHA, Neb. -- By the time Steve Detwiler came to the plate the fourth time Wednesday night, he had a stadium of friends.

The Fresno State outfielder had already homered twice and doubled. He had a tendon in his left thumb that was completely torn, had been since a game April 1. He'd already chiseled his images -- his trot, his smile, his high-fives at home plate, his scream at second base -- into the foundation of this place, which has seen so many College World Series moments.

Rosenblatt Stadium has never seen a champion like this.

Fresno State, a team that wouldn't have made the postseason without winning the Western Athletic Conference tournament, a team with 31 losses, is the 2008 NCAA national champion.

It is one of the greatest upset stories of American sports, no doubt -- Fresno State 6, Georgia 1 -- somewhere in the middle of Villanova basketball and The Miracle on Ice and Jim Valvano's desperate search for someone to squeeze.

As the noise rose shortly after 9 p.m. local time, as the cameras steadied and people with microphones started to sort out athletic history, Detwiler ran back and to his left and he made the last out.

And as the celebration began, he put the ball in his back pocket.

Hard to believe there was room in there, what with the game and the title and immortality already tucked away.

That was the first word Steve Detwiler ever spoke as a baby, not "Mom" or "Dad," but "ball." He was a baseball junkie from the beginning, running the bases backwards in diapers, yelling "Jose Canseco! Jose Canseco!" his favorite player.

Detwiler grew up a fat kid, no other way to say it, short and 40 pounds past plump. He took a verbal beating every day. Years passed, and the kids at Sun Valley Elementary in San Rafael, Calif. never let up.

The couple friends Detwiler did have picked on him, too. His little sister, Samantha, called him "Bubble Butt" and, compared to the other names, it was almost cute.

It sounds funny now, but they say that's why Steve Detwiler smiles so much, why he's 24-hour friendly, why you'll see Southerners give up on college football before you'll see him make fun of another human being.

His parents weren't here to see their son cheered for simply walking to home plate. Robert Detwiler works construction. Lori Detwiler approves mortgage loans. They had already flown from San Jose to Omaha, then back, twice, and the Bulldogs finally made it so far they literally could not afford to miss any more work. Robert's buddies had chipped in to buy him the second plane ticket.

On Wednesday night, they watched the game from a bar near their home everyone calls, "The Saloon," with so many friends you'd have sworn it was New Year's Eve, except louder. The place was drenched in Bulldogs red.

His little sister, who just graduated from San Rafael High, was on a senior trip to Mexico for most of the College World Series. She found a restaurant with a TV that could get ESPN and she would yell, "Mi hermano!" and the locals looked at her like she must be insane.

"Look at his eyes," she would say, "Those are my eyes."

When his name was announced in the eighth, the fans in Rosenblatt Stadium gave Detwiler a huge ovation. The tendon he tore has rolled up and will have to be replaced with one that doctors will take out of his arm. He put off the surgery until the end of the season to keep playing. When he swings and misses, the pain is awful, but it didn't hurt much Wednesday. His single in the seventh, making him 4 for 4.

Two games ago, he was a name on a roster, a guy who'd made a catch running into the right-field wall, but was hitting just .190 in Omaha. He couldn't even keep a sacrifice bunt away from the pitcher.

Two games later, he was on the all-tournament team. Fresno State scored six runs Wednesday. Detwiler drove in all six.

The fat boy didn't stay fat. In fact, starting in sixth grade, Detwiler grew so fast that his knees ached. He would be walking along and have to sit down in the middle of the street because it hurt so much. By the end of junior high, his body caught up and so did his personality. Teammates called him "Hollywood," because he always had to be noticed.

It must have been easy for all those friends in that bar to dress up in red and cheer for the Bulldogs because that's the color and mascot for San Rafael High, where Detwiler was a star.

His first car was a white 1969 Cougar, but he got it painted maroon, the school color, with a hint of sparkle. It was the biggest piece of junk you've ever seen -- no air conditioning, no heater, the roof leaked. It would be 35 degrees out and he and his sister would have to drive to school with the windows down so the windshield wouldn't fog up.

Lord, he loved that car. He wanted to take it with him when he went to Fresno State but the thing couldn't even make it back and forth.

One weekend night back in high school, students from a rival school drove to the Detwilers' house and poured puke on that car. The next morning he came out, looked at it, smiled and said, "At least they're thinking of me."

Little did he know that on a hot night in Omaha, sports fans across the country would be doing the same.

(Contact Matt James mjames@fresnobee.com.)

(Distributed by Scripps Howard News Service, www.scrippsnews.com.)