BASEBALL PLAYER OF THE YEAR: Honaker's Chaz Miller homespun

Mom in full catcher’s gear.

A backyard.

An apple tree.

Chaz Miller’s love for baseball is a tale that couldn’t get more homespun if you supplied extra yarn.

And those memories of that catcher’s gear and backyard apple tree bring a smile to Debbie Arwood’s face as she looks at her now tall, muscular 19-year-old son.

“He’s just a good boy,” she says. “Always has been a good boy. I always acted like I’d beat the girls off with a bat.” She laughs. “If I had to, I would.”

True, this story should be about Chaz Miller, who went four years on the varsity team at Honaker High School losing only one game as a pitcher – this past season against Virginia High.

It should be about his two state tournament home runs – a towering blast in the quarterfinals at Calfee Park – and another in what was the most important game of the year – the Group A, Division 1 title game against J.J. Kelly – part of a three-RBI inning for the senior.

Or his sub-2.00 ERA, over 80 strikeouts and a batting average of .400 with 34 RBIs – all helping him be named the Bristol Herald Courier’s Player of the Year.

But behind this baseball player is a strong woman.

A woman who had to do it alone since Miller was 3.

An at-home coach.

An off-the-field friend.

Someone who watched him pick apples off the ground in the backyard and hit them through the air with a plastic bat.

Someone who was let go from Lear Corp. after 17 years when the Lebanon, Va., plant shut down, and is now a prison guard at Keen Mountain to keep money coming and in and a health-insurance card in her purse.

“It’s very stressful,” she says.

A mother who is preparing for the only man at her house to pack up and move on to Milligan College.

She can’t mention it without her voice breaking. When she manages to push the words through quivering lips, her eyes look toward her son and she brushes black hair, with a few streaks of silver, off of her forehead.

“Awful, awful,” she says in a soft voice touched with a hint of mountain twang. “It’s just me and him. It’s been me and him since he was 3. He’s just my whole life.”

In Miller’s last year at home before moving on to college, Arwood got to see her son finally get something he wanted – a state championship.

That too she has problems talking about without her voice cracking, suppressing tears.

“It was just a dream,” she says.

And the dream for Miller ended with him standing on the place he loves – the pitcher’s mound.

“You’re in control,” he says. “You touch the ball every play of the game.”

With two outs and two strikes on what would be the last batter of the game, Miller shook off curveballs. He wanted to end the game on his terms. With his stuff.

“I want to be the one to throw you a fastball and challenge you to hit it,” he says. “If you hit it, hats off to you.”

With one strike keeping Honaker from an elusive state title, the one they called “Rubber Arm” during his Little League days (“He could just throw and throw and throw,” Arwood says) threw as hard as he could.

He finally got the strike.

A celebration ensued that started on the infield and spilled out of the stands that rim home plate at Radford University.

“It was so exciting,” Arwood says. “I was jumping and hollering.”

Miller found himself on the bottom of a dog pile with the weight of the whole team on top of him.

“The best feeling in the world,” he says.

Mom found herself lined up against the fence, cheering, wiping tears from her eyes.

“It was great,” she says.

The mound is also where Miller thrived. In four years on varsity, he only had that one loss to contend with.

“It was a rough one,” he says. “But you ain’t going to win them all, I don’t guess. But you bounce back and win the next one.”

In a 6-1 season, Miller finished with a paltry 1.82 ERA and 82 strikeouts.

He owes that pitching prowess to the late Doug Bailey, his former babysitter who coached him through his early days, taught him to throw the same curveball he uses today, and instilled a love of baseball in a kid who, despite being humble these days, referred to himself in third person as a child – calling himself “Boy.”

“Doug always worked with him,” Arwood says. “Chaz would say things like ‘boy tired’ or ‘boy don’t want to play’ and [Doug] would get so mad.”

When Doug was gone, mother was still there. Driving Miller to practice, playing catch every day after work in the backyard, first with just a glove, then a pillow under her shirt as he got faster and stronger. Finally, Arwood had to buy a full set of catcher’s equipment just to feel safe.

“I miss it,” she says. “That’s one thing I’m sad about.”

Arwood really doesn’t know what she’s going to do, though she’ll manage, she says. She’ll have work to take up her time, and her parents don’t live too far away. But there’s still going to be an empty space that will extend far out of Miller’s soon-to-be vacant bedroom and into her heart.

Just like Miller, she’s sad to see a wonderful high school baseball career end.

Just like Miller, she’s excited about college baseball.

Miller doesn’t talk about leaving Mom much, but admits he’s glad to continue his career on the NAIA level.

“I always wanted to be that Division I standout,” he says. “But reality hit me. There’s nothing wrong. As long as I’m playing baseball.”

And with the town of Milligan College, Tenn., not too far of a drive for Arwood, she’s anticipating what the future has in store for her son on the diamond.

Though the reality of the situation has hit her too.

“Boy,” she says, letting out a deep sigh and glancing back toward Miller. “I’m going to miss him.”

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