A week before Adley Rutschman sent a baseball flying into the right-field sky above Camden Yards at 111 miles per hour—his first home run to hit the concrete of Eutaw Street on a fly, 407 feet away—a neighbor of his parents in suburban Oregon returned another home run ball.  But this wasn’t the standard, tiny white baseball you find in the major leagues or even Little League. Instead, it was a 12-inch circumference yellow Jugs ball, a larger, softer kind made for practice.

Years ago, Rutschman’s dad, Randy, a former college catcher and longtime baseball coach, would pitch dozens of them, night after night, in the driveway to young Adley, who’d smack them with a bat into the cul-de-sac in front of their three-bedroom house. Like an archeological artifact, this returned ball had dirt caked on one half of it and the fade of a decade or so of sunlight on the other. It was unearthed in the digging of a landscape renovation project four houses away.

“I’m giggling,” says Carol Rutschman, Adley’s mom, a longtime high school math teacher. “Because everybody finds the balls in their yard. It’s like a coveted thing—here’s another one, you know?”

Adley sent those balls flying everywhere. Only once did the ever-joyful future slugger foul a ball off and break the front door window. Mom often begged him to come in for dinner.

“I think on Adley’s tombstone, it’s going to say, ‘Just one more,’” his mom says. “That’s what he would always say. He would just want to hit ball after ball after ball.”

It’s almost too perfect of a story, an image of stereotypical Americana. The cute kid (in a cul-de-sac, for crying out loud) dreams about playing professional baseball one day, takes batting practice in relative anonymity from an available father while mom prepares supper. You could make this stuff up, but with Adley Rutschman you don’t have to. It’s all true.

Nature met nurture. Coaching and playing sports is in the Rutschman family DNA. Adley’s grandfather, Ad, still spry at age 91, is a legendary college football and baseball coach in Oregon—the only collegiate coach at any level to win national championships in baseball and football. Randy Rutschman was a college catcher and is a noted coach of the position in the Pacific Northwest. He deliberately did not force his son into baseball. It didn’t work. Throughout his childhood, Rutschman and his younger sister, Josie, enjoyed family “vacations” on road trips around Oregon with the George Fox University and semi-pro teams that their dad coached.

“There was an association from a young age: baseball, vacation. Baseball, fun,” Randy says. “Both kids.”

When he was eight, the same age at which he famously won a regional Pitch, Hit & Run competition in Seattle, Rutschman shagged fly balls with the college guys. At every age, he constantly asked his dad to toss him pitches to hit. “Randy always said yes,” Carol says.

By his early years at Sherwood High, Rutschman was throwing faster than 90 miles per hour off a mound. In fact, college coaches initially recruited the wunderkind as a pitcher. Only after Rutschman kept growing, to the 6-foot- 2, 220-pound specimen he is today, did he become a powerful, switch-hitting, and fundamentally-sound everyday-playing catcher. Pro scouts and agents came sniffing, along with college recruiters.

“You start to develop, figure out your body, your swing gets better,” Rutschman says now, “and then they’re like, ‘Oh, this guy can hit a little bit, too.’”

In April, sitting in the Orioles’ dugout a few hours before a game against the Boston Red Sox, Rutschman is about to hit again, in a real professional batting practice, the type kids watch from the bleachers. Given his background, some may argue his success to this point was preordained. But here’s the thing. There are hundreds, even thousands, of would-be Adley Rutschmans out there. Kids who come from an athletic pedigree, who dream of going pro, and are hyped at a young age. But only a tiny percentage come close to attaining what Rutschman has already accomplished.

 

THERE ARE HUNDREDS, EVEN THOUSANDS, OF WOULD-BE ADLEY RUTSCHMANS OUT THERE…BUT ONLY A TINY PERCENTAGE COME CLOSE TO ATTAINING WHAT HE HAS ALREADY ACCOMPLISHED. 

 

 

When I ask him how he’s dealt with the expectations, like being the top-ranked pro prospect for years, he explains: “It’s a process. It’s not natural. You have to work on it.”

In 2018, his Oregon State Beavers won the College World Series and by then Rutschman, a sophomore, was so feared a hitter that in one of the games he was intentionally walked with the bases loaded. Two days after winning a national title, he answered a bunch of congratulatory text messages, then asked his dad to throw him batting practice, already looking ahead to the next thing. Then he became the top overall pick by the Orioles in the 2019 MLB Draft after being referred to by analysts as the “perfect prospect,” given his skill behind the plate and leadership abilities.

Somehow, Rutschman has since met and exceeded every expectation others have had for him. So much so that his likeness—light brown hair and sharp blue eyes included—was recently made into thousands of Captain America-themed giveaway bobbleheads for fans at Camden Yards.

“He’s for sure that guy,” Rutschman’s good friend and teammate Terrin Vavra says of the superhero rep. “He’s in the trenches, he’s battle-tested, and he’s got a little bit of that look to him, too.”

The American hero image tracks for many reasons, both superficial and meaningful. Rutschman is a single, fit, 25-year-old man who wears an (orange and black) uniform and plays with joy and effectiveness in the dirt of the great American pastime. He vanquishes enemies (with home runs and throwing runners out at second) and is “driven to be one of the best in the game,” O’s catching coach Tim Cossins says.

But Rutschman also has a boyish lightness about him that’s infectious. He celebrates victory with his signature, genuine bear hug (often around gargantuan closer Félix Bautista), and he meets every pitcher on their way to the dugout after innings to offer encouragement.

“That’s not traditionally a thing that follows the protocol of professional baseball, for whatever reason,” Cossins says, “but it’s part of his leadership skills, and part of who he is, and it’s unbelievable.”

The catcher’s mitt is Rutschman’s shield, the bat his secret weapon, and seemingly everything he does is smooth—walking, talking, swinging, catching, throwing, even chugging. He did that last one, at a fan’s urging, a few days before spring training, while behind the second-floor horseshoe bar at Checkerspot Brewing near Oriole Park. In a team-organized “Birdland Caravan” event designed to build interest for the season, fans screamed across the room: “We love you, Adley!” “MVP!” “Chug a beer!” It had been a long day of glad-handing. So he took one down, without spilling a drop on his orange jersey or the floor.

After being drafted, Rutschman moved as quickly as possible through the O’s minor-league system. The pandemic is the only thing that managed to slow him. He finished second in A.L. Rookie of the Year voting in 2022 and hit .254 with 13 homers and 42 runs batted in.

Broadly speaking, Rutschman’s early-season call-up to the majors was the undeniable catalyst for the Orioles’ unexpected 10-game summer win streak that signaled the end of a moribund stretch of Baltimore baseball. It also marked an acceleration of the years-long organizational rebuild that officially began when the club drafted Rutschman four years ago. That plan, by the way, is in a new phase now, according to him.

“We’re going,” Rutschman says, meaning to better places, like, as of press time, the second-best record in all of baseball. “We’re going right now.”

Rutschman is soft-spoken and tends to lead by example, so when he speaks, you can’t help but listen carefully. This year’s Orioles roster, filled with twentysomethings and other top prospects like infielder Gunnar Henderson, is already getting used to winning in the majors and having Little League-like fun doing it. (See: the water-themed celebrations.) And there’s more young talent coming, like 2022 No. 1 overall pick Jackson Holliday, who’s already making waves in a minor league system that ranks among the best in the sport.

This is everything Rutschman—and Orioles fans—have wanted to see for years, and it’s reminiscent of the magical, glory days of the franchise back in the 1960s, ’70s, and early ’80s when the minors were similarly stacked, Memorial Stadium rocked, and three World Series were won.

When Rutschman talks more about this, and his place in remaking a professional baseball team into a winner, he is profound and revealing.

“When it first started,” he says, meaning the hype, “and you start to feel those expectations creep into your mind—maybe you get some anxiety—for me it was about identifying that those thoughts were there and trying to redirect them: ‘What do I care about? What can I control? And what goals can I make for myself to maximize this day?’”

To Rutschman, that means intense practice and repetition—every day. “This is something I told myself—if I maximize today and I maximize the next day and the next day, regardless of the results, if I’m not the number-one overall pick, if I don’t live up to other people’s expectations, at least I have no regrets because I put in the work, and I can live with that.”

 

“HE’S IN THE TRENCHES, HE’S BATTLE-TESTED, AND HE’S GOT A LITTLE BIT OF THAT LOOK TO HIM, TOO.”

 

 

It’s not just his work ethic that makes him feel old school. Rutschman is something of a throwback to the pre-digital days when nobody considered chronicling their every accomplishment in public. As all players do, he typically gets to Camden Yards about five and a half hours before first pitch. He’ll have meetings with coaches to go through the scouting report, talk with the media, have soft toss in the outfield, and hit batting practice, which fans can see.

But perhaps the most important parts of his pregame routine are done in private. In the batting cages, whether beneath the seats at Camden Yards or on the road, Cossins and Rutschman practice various scenarios he could face in the game. Framing pitches. Blocking balls in the dirt. Gripping the ball in the glove in such a way as to maximize throwing accuracy against would-be base stealers. Players all practice to varying degrees, but Rutschman’s focus is “impressive,” Cossins says.

“He’s grading his work, his routines, his performances in the games, and that’s what makes him special. Once you get the gear on him and you get in the cage and you start sweating, that’s when you really get a chance to know him.”

The same goes away from the stadium, at the beach on the Oregon coast. Given the option to do anything during last year’s All-Star break (the last such opportunity he might have for a while), Rutschman didn’t choose to cut loose in a city with bustling nightlife. Instead, he asked a group of close friends from back home if they wanted to meet at his parents’ modest beach home. He was content staring down a Pacific sunset, then building a campfire, a longtime favorite activity. You didn’t see any of this on Instagram.

Rutschman’s had a smartphone since middle school but is mindful of not getting absorbed by it, a common issue among his peers (and everyone).

“It’s so easy to play the comparison game nowadays,” he says. “It makes everything that much harder.”

He’s occasionally appeared in comical TikTok videos with his sister and seems most active around Christmas. But when he posts something on Instagram, it’s usually a re-share from the Orioles’ account showing a final winning score, or a Bible verse of the day. Because Rutschman is genuinely religious. His parents brought him to church as a kid, but he really got personally interested in spirituality at Oregon State, where he visited regularly with a pastor and attended Bible study with teammates. Until now, he’s never talked about his faith in the media because he doesn’t want to force his beliefs on anyone, but when asked, he said it’s “probably the most important thing in my life.” He reads Bible passages for 10 minutes in the locker room before every game and just finished the Book of Psalms, and was starting on Matthew.

“When it comes to things like dealing with expectations, a lot of it stems from my faith and the idea that my purpose is for something bigger than myself,” he says. “Obviously, as humans, we’re not made to be selfless—we’re selfish individuals—but the more I can be focused on my teammates and others around me, that takes a little bit of the pressure off of myself…It’s the backbone of everything, every decision I make.”

On the field, Rutschman is already considered one of the best catchers in Major League Baseball, and he’s not even done with his first full season.

“He makes it look really easy,” says Orioles Manager Brandon Hyde, a former minor-league catcher himself. “There’s not much I don’t admire.”

It’s possible Rutschman ends up in the Hall of Fame with a bird on his hat one day or at least a slew of records, though there’s no guarantee—of anything. Injuries can derail a career at any moment, and business decisions are a reality in pro sports. As of this writing, some fans are clamoring for O’s management to sign Rutschman to a multi-year contract extension before he even thinks about free agency in 2029. To this point, O’s General Manager Mike Elias declined get into specifics but said, “Anybody that sits here and watches Orioles games on a nightly basis can sense the impact he’s having and the value that he’s bringing. He’s 25 and getting better still.”

And Rutschman told us, “I really like Baltimore.”

Yet confidence and good times can be fleeting. Rutschman’s first Eutaw Street homer also busted a 0-for-19 hitting slump, serving as a reminder: While it may look like baseball—and life—comes easily to him, none of it actually is easy.

“Life has a way of creeping in and finding new ways to create a negative self-image, self-talk, self-thoughts,” he says.

Sometimes, the cause of anxiety or stress is obvious. Other times, it’s slippery. Rutschman had just such a moment of uncertainty last May during a road trip to Boston, eight days after he made his major league debut. Everything should have felt great. But something was gnawing at him. Maybe it was the slow start he was having at the plate, maybe it was the pressure.

After a Sunday afternoon game at Fenway Park with time to kill, he went to see a movie alone. (Top Gun: Maverick, if you’re curious.) Afterward, on the 30-minute walk back to the team hotel, Rutschman’s mind was racing. “Where was this overwhelming sense of fulfillment and happiness that I was seeking when I set this goal [of reaching the majors]?” he wondered. And then it occurred to him. He was seeking external answers to an internal problem. “It’s classic, ‘Oh, I thought if I had more recognition or a bigger house, whatever, that I’m going to somehow be happy,’” Rutschman says. “And then you find that does not equate to happiness.”

Thoughts racing, he decided to call one of his best friends, former Oregon State teammate Zak Taylor, now a mental performance coach in Oregon who dealt with extreme anxiety when he played baseball. Rutschman told him everything he was feeling and later shared what he figured out on Taylor’s podcast, “The Perspective Project.”

“For me to get a sense of fulfillment, I need to feel like I’m making a difference in other people’s lives,” Rutschman concluded.

What he maybe didn’t realize at that moment was that he already was, just by being who he is.

Opening day for the Orioles this year—Rutschman’s first—was back in Boston, and he put together an epic, history-making performance in a 10-9 win that set the tone for the entire team and season. He homered (on his first swing) and went 5-for-5, the first major league player to do that since 1937. A week later, before the O’s home opener against the Yankees, Rutschman slowed at the I-95 toll plaza on his drive to Camden Yards. In a car next to him was a group of four fans, including one wearing Rutschman’s No. 35 jersey, who recognized him, waved enthusiastically, and smiled.

“It got me excited too,” he said.

This is the full breadth of the Adley Rutschman Experience. Fans embrace him. He embraces them right back and acknowledges the expectations they might have, but none are more important than his own.

On a Saturday morning in February, at a bowling alley near the campus of the University of Maryland, you would have seen this in action. There, at another stop on the team’s preseason tour, when he walked through the front door of the Bowlero as his name was announced, a female college student wearing his jersey loses her breath when he waves and points at her and her sister. From there, Rutschman visits each of the 40 lanes, poses for pictures with dozens of small groups, throws a few bowling balls, and shakes probably more than 100 hands. A grandma asks for a hug, and Rutschman obliges. A mom gives him her 1-year-old boy in a black Orioles T-shirt to hold for a picture. He hesitantly accepts. A gray-haired fan points toward an O’s pennant on the wall, showing the years of the club’s previous World Series championships, and he insists this team win one.

Rutschman smiles and replies: “We’ll see what we can do.”

A few weeks ago, Orioles manager Brandon Hyde spoke to us by phone from his home in Illinois (where he used to work for the Chicago Cubs) and—especially considering the snow falling outside his door—he said he was already picturing the images of spring training.

Ah, sunny Florida. Baseball all day on beautifully manicured fields. The crack of wooden bats. Technology like motion-capture video cameras capturing pitchers’ every throw. And, generally speaking, all of the things that will go into year two of the Orioles’ ballyhooed rebuilding project.

“After the first of the year, your mind always starts racing,” said Hyde, 46, who has been coaching in major league organizations since 2005 and is now in his second season as O’s manager. “You start thinking about spring training and the season a lot. So I’m definitely ready.”

There’s a lot to think about this year, as hope springs anew.

A generous group of 66 players has been invited to the team’s preseason facility in Sarasota this year. The new front-office regime, led by former Houston Astros scouting director Mike Elias and director of decision sciences (real job title) Sig Mejdal, now have a full season behind them—one with 108 losses. They’re just now really putting their stamp on the organization.

The big picture includes stocking the Orioles’ minor league rosters with talent. Catcher Adley Rutschman, last year’s No. 1 overall draft pick, is the most notable.

And it means building for the future, like when this offseason Elias traded second baseman Jonathan Villar and pitcher Dylan Bundy, who had been one of the longest-tenured O’s, for pitching prospects.

Rebuilding also means figuring out what to do with the second overall pick in this summer’s draft, as well as investing in an analytics operation and international scouting efforts in places like Venezuela—which were behind the times under previous front-office leadership.

And doing all that while, hopefully, putting a respectable team together on the field in the present.

“We’re looking at this season through a player development lens,” Elias said during a recent interview for a story slated for an upcoming issue of Baltimore, “but we also want to have a good atmosphere at the major league level.”

In the meantime, before we start thinking about deep playoff runs and reliving the glory days of 2014, there’s a lot of games to be played. To be precise, 162 a season plus nearly two months of spring training games and practices—which are just kicking off. Pitchers and catchers, and a few other position players like the team’s most established and visible figure, Trey Mancini, arrived in Sarasota this week.

Other names are likely off the casual fans’ radar, but some may crack the lineup at some point this season—particularly infielder Ryan Mountcastle, left-handed pitcher Keegan Akin, and California native pitcher Dean Kremer, who was part of the trade that sent Manny Machado to the Los Angeles Dodgers in 2018.

“I think you’re going to start seeing some of our farm guys break through to the big leagues,” Hyde said.

And there’s others who got seasoning at the top level last year and are back for more, like outfielders Austin Hays, Anthony Santander (subject of the U.K. Boy Scouts’ fan club), and infielder Hanser Alberto.

There’s plenty of big questions, too. Most notably, who will be the team’s starting catcher, how will the O’s pitching hold up, and what does Chris Davis look like this year? (Please don’t boo him on Opening Day, people.)

As for the highest-profile of prospects, that’s Rutschman, who this time last year was in college at Oregon State. But he’s already becoming a visible face of the O’s rebuild. In roughly a month last summer, the O’s promoted him twice up the minor league system, and he impressed with the Aberdeen IronBirds and Delmarva Shorebirds. Over the last week, he was part of the O’s preseason caravan across the Baltimore area, engaging with fans and even serving drinks, to the best of his ability…

Rutschman recently got the TMZ treatment (he looked slightly peeved, do these guys even introduce themselves?) at Reagan Airport in Washington, D.C., and told the paparazzi he wants to play in Camden Yards as soon as possible. Elias said he’s been very impressed with Rutschman, and is looking forward to having him at spring training.

“I think it will be nice for the big league staff to get a look at him, but also it will be good experience for a young guy like him,” Elias said. “He still has the entire minor league career ahead of him. There’s ups and downs and every pick is different, but we’re excited to have him. He’s got a great head on his shoulders.”

Elias has done this before, being part of build-by-numbers and scouting projects with Houston and the St. Louis Cardinals. His previous employer, the Astros, of course, have become the subject of scrutiny and attention—even beyond baseball—for a sign-stealing scandal during their 2017 World Series-winning season and the early part of 2018.

Elias and Mejdal were both part of the organization at the time. But as we reported a few weeks ago, neither were mentioned in major league baseball’s report that punished the Astros’ general manager, Jeff Luhnow, and manager A.J. Hinch, and set off a media firestorm that seems to only be intensifying as the preseason begins.

Asked if he knew about the situation when he was in Houston, Elias told us, “My work and focus was with the Astros’ was the minor leagues, the international scouting department, the domestic scouting department, and I’ll leave it at that,” he said. “It’s an issue that I’m glad baseball is rectifying.”

Out of a nearly empty Camden Yards and into the familiar humidity of a Baltimore summer night stepped Manny Machado, conqueror of his former home, in pursuit of a pre-planned victory feast: a pile of crabs from L.P. Steamers. Can’t leave here without them, he said earlier, “so we’ll be having some of that tonight.”

He came, we saw, and—in the San Diego Padres’ 8-3 win over the Orioles, a game that marked Machado’s first visit since being traded away nearly a year ago—he homered, a 455-footer to centerfield, the longest of any of the 100 he’s now launched into the stands here. “Was it?” he said in the visitor’s clubhouse afterward, when told of the record distance. “I guess it’s good to be back in Baltimore, hitting in this park.”

How do you put words to it? A heartbreaking homecoming might be appropriate. None of the announced 21,644 in attendance, most of whom gave Machado—the closest thing the Orioles have had to a Hall-of-Famer in two decades—a standing-ovation before his first at-bat, wanted to see him ever acknowledge the crowd wearing No. 13 in a road gray uniform. (At least he’s not a Yankee.)

And nobody knows how last year’s trade deadline move—engineered, we were told, because the O’s weren’t able to afford the type of monster contract that Machado eventually signed in free agency ($300 million for 10 years)—will look in hindsight. But, for now, none of the prospects the O’s received from the Los Angeles Dodgers in exchange for Machado, the former franchise cornerstone—a four-time All-Star, two-time Gold Glove winner at third base who will turn 27 next week—are in the majors.

Before the game, occasionally flashing a smile, Machado entertained reporters with a trip down memory lane—saying names like Adam, Schoop, Markakis, Davis, Hardy, and Buck, and recalling the excitement of the Orioles’ 2014 playoff run. He explained the “weird” nervousness he was feeling being back where it all happened.

“It’s just different,” he said, speaking in the same room behind home plate where he was introduced to the media nine years ago as an 18-year-old shortstop. “It was always coming into that same clubhouse, walking into that same door, parking in that same parking spot, taking the same route to the baseball field every day. It was just all different today.”

And he talked briefly about his frustration with how things ended with the Orioles, being kept “out of the loop,” he said, as the trade with the Dodgers was finalized by the previous front office regime before the All-Star Game break last July.

“I didn’t make the choice. It was made for me,” he said. “When you’re here for so long in a place you call home, you see the same faces every day, the same people, it grows on you. To leave like that halfway through the year kind of sucks.”

He later signed a few autographs down the third-base line, but not many. Then, shortly after 7 p.m. on a steamy 88-degree night, he stepped toward home plate, waving to the fans, some still wearing his old orange-and-black jersey, as they cheered for nearly 40 seconds and a video montage on the centerfield scoreboard showed highlights of Machado’s seven-year O’s career. He touched his right hand to the bill of his navy blue Padres batting helmet to say thanks.

It didn’t quite match the theatrics and adoration of Adam Jones’ sendoff, but “it was awesome,” Machado said. “The fans, like always, didn’t disappoint. I’ve seen it for many, many years, how they’ve gone above and beyond for us, and they did it today. The whole experience playing here brings back a lot of good memories. It’s special and something I’ll never forget.”

The O’s stadium staff even played video of The Play—Delmon’s Young bases-clearing double against the Tigers in the 2014 playoffs—as the Padres took the field for the sixth inning, and Machado put his arm around San Diego star rookie shortstop Fernando Tatis Jr., and pointed to the scene, like he were saying “This is what it could be like.”

Nostalgia, though, eventually met reality. In the third inning, Machado smacked his massive home run on the first pitch he saw from O’s starter Jimmy Yacabonis. And in the bottom of the third, Machado came the closest he did to flashing signs of that Brooks Robinson-like defensive brilliance, tagging out an audacious Dwight Smith Jr. when he overran third base following a hit down the right field line. Machado added an RBI single in the fourth, finishing 2-for-4 at the plate.

His skills, of course, nor his sometimes boorish behavior were never questioned. The business of baseball ultimately sent him away, an unfortunate truth in a modern-day professional sports era where money is usually valued more than loyalty, and change is a constant.

Case in point: As Machado exited his pre-game press conference, exasperated by the 15 minutes it took and the expected queries, he asked a Padres public relations staffer, “Do I even have time to get in the cage?”

Yes, he did. In fact, he had to wait. At almost that very moment, a 21-year-old kid by the name of Adley Rutschman, a switch-hitting catcher picked No. 1 overall by the Orioles in the MLB Draft three weeks ago, was on display in a special batting practice session organized by the team as part of his introduction to Baltimore.

The coveted prospect, wide-eyed and widely considered the Orioles best since Machado, took his first smooth swings. And on the third soft-toss pitch he saw, Rutschman sent that tiny white ball onto Eutaw Street, as if to say as one narrative was ending, another was beginning.

If Adley Rutschman is as wise and humble as his grandfather (“When are we going crabbing?” the old man asked his 21-year-old grandson after the Orioles drafted him with the coveted No. 1 overall draft pick on Monday night), we’re in for some good times for the next decade or so. If all goes according to plan.

On first impression, speaking as the main attraction at a press conference in a land far, far away in Corvallis, Oregon, where Rutschman made a name for himself playing at Oregon State University, the kid sure sounds mature beyond his time spent living, and three years attending college.

That’s good news when his fresh, rosy-cheeked face is the new image of the Orioles rebuild.

“I always pride myself on how I carry myself every day, the things that I can control,” he said. “My grandfather likes to say, ‘Control the controllables.’” We’ve heard a sports psychologist or two say the same exact thing as grandpa, who is Ad Rutschman, 86, a legendary football coach back home in Oregon.

“That’s exactly what you need to do as a baseball player,” said Rutschman (pronounced Rutch-man). “There’s so many things that are out of our control. For me, I play hard every day. I’m going to give my best effort. Maybe I’m not doing it offensively one day, but that doesn’t mean I still can’t help the team win defensively. That’s how I view it.”

Get to know the name, and the person, O’s fans. Yes, help is on the way. “It’s a true honor to be selected No. 1 overall,” he said. “It’s one of those things you dream about.”

Even with skipping his senior year of college (he’s been drafted as a junior), Rutschman might not take the field at Camden Yards for a couple years. That’s the expectation even for a guy who has a ton of baseball potential, a 6-foot-2, 215-pound switch-hitting catcher who is a front-runner to be named college baseball’s top player after hitting .411 this season. He’ll start somewhere in the Orioles minor league system.

But, who knows? With how practically everyone is talking about him, he might arrive at the major leagues sooner. In addition to the seemingly uncanny composure, he sure has the skills and the pedigree. His father, Randy, was a college catcher and is now is considered one of the foremost youth teachers of the position in the Pacific Northwest. Rutschman feels like a baseball purebred.

“The perfect prospect,” former MLB general manager Steve Phillips said of him this week, one of the highest compliments of many good things said. Baseball America, the leading scouting publication of the sport, has called him the best prospect since Bryce Harper.

Rutschman is the type—chosen with the 1-1, as baseball insiders like to say, first pick of the first round of a draft in which more than 1,000 other players were selected this week—who could one day be a household name around these parts, much like Manny Machado or Adam Jones. Depending on who you ask, he could develop into a better player than either of them.

He’s proven his wares in college and improved over time, helped by a summer stint in the Cape Cod league (Think Freddie Prinze Jr. in Summer Catch) after a freshman year in which he hit .234. The next season, in 2018, Rutschman batted .408 and helped the Beavers to a College World Series title, as the series’ most outstanding player with 17 hits. They called him “Clutchman.” Then he starred for Team USA last summer, where he hit with a pro-style wood bat, compared to the metal ones they use in college.

To give you an idea of his athleticism, he was even a kicker on the Oregon State football team as a freshman, and set the Oregon state record with a 63-yard field goal in a high school game. Can we schedule a friendly competition with Justin Tucker right now, please? Rutschman may end up playing some first base for the Orioles, too. The only knock on him is his speed.

Just last week, while he played again in the NCAA tournament, the opposing team, leading by three runs, decided to walk him with the bases loaded and allow a score, instead of taking the risk of Rutschman belting a hit or home run and scoring more. That’s an absolutely unheard of thing to see your opponent do, an ultimate sign of respect. “It is pretty surreal,” he said.

And, aside from his skills on the field, he seems like someone who would be great to take home to mom and dad. His Instagram page appears to show a well-rounded, respectable guy doing regular things, like quoting lines from Chevy Chase’s Christmas Vacation. In a nice coincidence, he won’t even need to get familiar with new colors, as Oregon State wore orange and black.

“Adley is a future fixture for this organization,” new Orioles general manager Mike Elias said. “The amount of work that’s goes into what he’s done and becoming the number-one pick is not something that’s ordinary. I met Adley this winter and was immediately struck by him and impressed by his maturity and leadership. We’re very excited about what this is going to do for our future.”

Rutschman is the first pick made by Elias, who likely will have another No. 1 overall pick to work with next season, based on the way this year’s going. The ability to pick the best prospects from across the baseball landscape is a key part of the Birds’ plan, and what made this leadership regime successful in previous stops like Houston, which won a World Series, and St. Louis, which did too. This is the business of winning, after all.

Which brings us back to grandpa, who had a bit of advice for the kid who may sound mature beyond his time, but who still can’t hold a stick to 66 more years of experience. “The first thing you do is bury the first million bucks in the backyard,” was the message for when he signs a lucrative contract.

Before all that, though, Rutschman has got finals at Oregon State to finish next week. “I’ve still got some school to do,” he said. “That’s going to be rough.” Then we’ll be happy to give him a warm welcome to Baltimore.