[AZTarHeel]

Sept. 9, 1999.

It's a unique date to begin with — 9-9-99. For Andrew Zarzour it will be forever linked with the day he was first called up to the Major Leagues (how cool - just realized it as I began writing this segment).

What a whirlwind day it turned out to be. He woke up thinking that naps, the morning's issue of USA Today and some vigorous conditioning with a few Triple A teammates would be his biggest agenda items (with maybe a trip to one of Albuquerque's notable Mexican restaurants in the mix as well). Suddenly, he was furiously packing a few bags and heading off to the airport to catch a flight to Los Angeles to join the Dodgers. The LA freakin Dodgers!

He arrived in the mid-afternoon and was amazed at just how fast life seemed to be in this huge city. During his 40-minute drive from the airport to the ballpark, Zarzour just stared out the window like a foreigner just arriving in a new country. Cars seemed to be zooming down the 110 and 105 freeways at a hundred miles per hour. His driver was hustling as well.

As Zarzour's car made the right turn onto Elysian Park Avenue, the young ballplayer lost his breath. There it was, Dodger Stadium, the 56,000 seat baseball castle that first opened its doors in 1962. Home of Dodger Dogs and Vin Scully's famous radio voice. The place where Kirk Gibson hobbled around the bases, pumping his fist, after the home run that beat the Oakland A's in the 1988 World Series. Zarzour was only seven years old when that game happened, and he vaguely remembers watching it with his dad on their small television in the kitchen. They both cheered after Gibson's hit even though at the time they had no attachment to the team.

A young 20-something man dressed in a Dodgers polo shirt greeted Zarzour as he got out of the car. He then gave him a quick tour of the clubhouse. Zarzour felt like he was on holy ground. He was scared to talk, breath, touch anything.

Finally, he arrived in the locker room. There, he was pointed toward his own personal space. And there Zarzour saw for the first time his name on the back of a Los Angeles Dodgers' jersey.

Zarzour thought he heard Handel's Messiah playing in the background ("Hallelujah! Hallelujah!") as her surveyed the uniform for the first time. Growing up, he had never really thought much of the Dodgers' simple scheme. He preferred the jazzier uniforms, like the purple and gold being worn by the Diamondbacks or the teal and black of the Florida Marlins. And of course, he loved Phillies red being a Philly fan.

But this uniform glowed. It was pure white, with "Dodgers" written in script on the front. Zarzour's No. 72 was tucked away underneath the team name on the front in bright red. The blue hat hanging from the pin inside the locker was almost a royal color, with an interlocking "LA" design on the front. His belt was blue. His shoes black.

Zarzour ran his fingers along the letters on the back — "Z A R Z O U R" — trying to tell if it was all real. A few months ago he remembers crying as he took off his Bunn High School jersey for the last time and saying goodbye to that special part of his life. That seemed like a world ago now.

"Hey there. You must be the Zarzour kid. Man you are tall," a voice interrupted from behind.

Zarzour turned and saw a squatty but powerful looking figure standing there dressed in Dodgers shorts and a gray T-shirt. He knew at once who it was, Paul Lo Duca, the Dodgers' back-up catcher. He was 5-foot-8 at best, but Zarzour was instantly amazed at how much punch Lo Duca seemed to pack in his compact frame.

"Welcome to LA, Big Z. Let me introduce you to some of the guys..."