"Lift your bat off your shoulder."
And the irony is that it is exactly the non-batting cage ambience that allows Darrell Couey to keep his cages open.
Couey dropped out of truck driving after injuring his back and had been looking for a place to open a batting cage. In 1992, he struck a deal with the building's landlord.
"The only reason I survived here is this building sat empty a long time," he said.
Batting cages used to dot the suburban and rural landscape of this country. However, much like bowling alleys and drive-in theaters, the value of the land increased to the point that cage operators couldn't afford the rent. Add in the cost of insurance and it takes a whole lot of love and creativity to make the business model work.
Some places combine cages with other sports, such as miniature golf. But Couey, a gruff-voiced 62-year-old with wispy gray hair, gray beard and glasses worn low, prefers to keep his a baseball-only operation. The equipment sales help a little, as does the glass case with candy in it. And he started a fall baseball league in Petaluma in 1993. That expanded the baseball season and, by extension, the batting cage season.
"June 15 is when Little League is over," he said. "That's when these places die. You get four months that you do a decent business."
Couey said the league, which has a full range of age divisions, has also helped local players improve their skills.
"Here's what they get -- an extra 20 games, come in here once a week with their team for extra hitting, practice twice a week outside," he said. "That's five out of seven days they're doing something baseball-related.
Jonny Gomes, now of the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, played four years in the fall league as did several minor leaguers, Couey said.
And that's what matters more than business models to the kids swinging away on a summer evening. Scott Mayer and Weston Bryan, both 11 and from Petaluma, have been taking their cuts at the Athletic Edge for about four years apiece. Both will play in Couey's fall league as well.
"(I'm) a lot better," Bryan said.
"Oh yeah," agreed Mayer, adding that, "usually once a week our team (comes to the cages) and I'll come by (on my own) sometimes."
The only question is what happens to the cages when Couey decides to retire - a day that might be coming around in the next few years.
"I wouldn't just sell it to anybody," he said. "If and when I retire, I'm going to find a guy who really loves baseball."
By this time, the cages had gone quiet and little sluggers were filing out, heading to the car with their dads. No, the building doesn't look like your normal batting cage. But Couey is your classic batting cage operator.
This article appeared on page F - 5 of the San Francisco Chronicle
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