On the greatest day of his life, J.D. Reichenbach was taking a test. The test was ordinary, nothing unusual for his Intro to Marketing class. But the then senior at Central Bucks East High School in Doylestown, Pa., sat at his computer with more anxiousness and hope pent up than his classmates could imagine.

Every few minutes he would steal a peek at the screen of a nearby computer. On it a list of names descended, the names of young men chosen to chase their dreams.

An arm capable of throwing a low 90-miles-per-hour fastball and embarrassing curveball had to be diligent. But it was hard to stay focused.

“Every so often I would just lean back in my chair and check,” he said. “Eventually, my name popped up, and I kind of freaked out.”

His name was No. 612 on the list, picked on the second day of the major league baseball amateur draft in the 20th round by the Los Angeles Angels. At that prodigious moment, reality hit Reichenbach.

There was already a scholarship offer from Elon University head coach Mike Kennedy. There was also the allure of what the Angels might pay Reichenbach to see if the boisterous left-hander could materialize into something most young kids on sandlots dream of becoming: a major league baseball player.

“We’re looking for a certain amount of money and if he gets that, we go pro,” Doug Reichenbach, J.D.’s father, told a Pennsylvania newspaper.

The Angels’ offer, a package of money for college and a signing bonus, didn’t impress.

“It was a lot more than I expected, but at the same time it wasn’t enough to make me go,” Reichenbach said.

So the pitcher is now at Elon, his curveball a weapon for Kennedy and the Phoenix, every pitch earning him experience instead of money.

He is a college student, not a proverbial, marquee starting pitcher. Even if he had chosen to sign with the Angels, spurring an education at Elon, he would be a minimum-wage minor leaguer, his future resting in his left arm and five fingers.

Baseball remains the last of America’s major professional sports without rules barring players from entering the draft out of high school.

It means nothing to a team to throw $13,000 at a high school player with the chance he may emerge as a dominant starter or fierce slugger.

But it means everything to the kid without a college degree or a guaranteed future.

Reichenbach sat down with a few teams before draft day to hear what they had to say.

In the familiarity of his home, he heard about life in the minor leagues, about living out of hotels with few possessions. He heard about guys getting homesick or full of pride and all the trappings on the road to a major league mound.

“I really appreciated when the Angels came in,” Reichenbach said. “They really laid it out and said it’s not an easy thing to do. If I were going to go, I’d be a guy that would be in the minors for a while just because I’m young. I mean, I shave twice a week. And it’s a hard road to haul.”

Reichenbach doesn’t look like a major league pitcher. His hair is unkempt, splashed with blonde streaks like an Abercrombie and Fitch model on top of a chiseled face. He stands with his hands in his pockets, fidgeting with his hat incessantly.

It’s odd to try and picture this freshman in a big league uniform. He looks more natural in jeans and a T-shirt, the pallor from exhaustion in the color of his face.

When his name popped up in the 20th round of the draft, calls came from everyone and everywhere, including Burlington.

“[Elon coach] Kennedy called me and was very congratulatory,” Reichenbach said. “But at the same time he wanted me to come to Elon.”

Kennedy’s plea was a small piece of wisdom. Reichenbach could take it or leave it.

But then there was the money, which can make any arduous road tolerable.

“The money factor was there, too,” he said. “That influenced [my decision] a lot. You try to balance a scholarship at a good school to possibly giving that up.”

Reichenbach chose the scholarship. In three years he will begin the road towards the majors, and he knows anything can happen in three years.

That anything almost happened last fall when Reichenbach got a tired arm, which left him wondering if he made the wrong choice to decline a chance to go to the pros.

“It was the first time I really questioned maybe this won’t last,” Reichenbach said, “maybe my arm won’t hold up for three years. That’s a chance you’re going to have to take.”

A fastball or sweet swing fades, an education does not.

“The way I look at it, I made my decision to come [to Elon],” he said, “and if anything it doesn’t work out. I’ll get my degree, and hopefully be in baseball some way, somehow.”

Back in Pennsylvania, where the winter bites harsher and quicker than in North Carolina, the snowy months are off-season for baseball players. Reichenbach grew up knowing every winter gave his arm a chance to get rest from whipping fastballs and slinging curveballs through the spring and summer.

So it was only natural when Reichenbach’s arm got tired this past fall.

“It was the first time my arm ever really bothered me,” said Reichenbach.

The ever shrewd Kennedy promptly shut down the freshman for almost two months to keep his 20th-round-arm healthy.

Reichenbach couldn’t showcase his stuff in the weekend Fall World Series with the Phoenix, instead manning first base as a coach. A tired arm is of no use to Elon’s baseball team, or the Angels.

And a tired arm will start to engender some doubts in the mind of a benign 18-year-old that just wants to stand 60 feet and 6 inches away from a major league home plate someday.

Reichenbach’s future is fraught with the chance one simple sling of the arm could vaporize a shot at the big stage in an instance. Once a player has enrolled in a four-year college, he must wait three years and be at least 21-years-old to be drafted.

For some it’s a lifetime to hope the extra hustle sliding into home doesn’t bring an ominous pop or tear of a bone or muscle. Many a hyped player has been drafted only to succumb to homesickness, injury or the superior competition at the next level.

A kid without a college education seems worth less than one with a slow and straight fastball.

Reporter: Brian Paglia - 05/03/07