Dan Plesac
There are interviews where I’m steering the ship, and then there are ones where I just hang on and try not to ruin it. Talking to Dan Plesac was one of those. The man’s stories—his debut at Yankee Stadium, the first save in SkyDome history, striking out the final hitter ever in Veterans Stadium—felt like flipping through baseball’s greatest hits. But what really got me was how much heart he brought to it all. The nerves. The awe. The smell of popcorn. The fans. The understanding that every mound, every park, is sacred ground if you’ve loved the game long enough.
You had a long career—three-time All-Star, now a broadcaster. When you look back, what stands out?
It feels like another lifetime. I remember my first game in 1986 at Yankee Stadium. That run from the bullpen to the mound felt like nine miles. I was nervous as hell. Rick Cerone just said, “Whatever I throw down, you throw it.” My heart was beating out of my chest. You can’t prepare for what it feels like to stand on a big-league mound for the first time.
You faced Rickey Henderson and Don Mattingly in that debut. That’s a wild start.
I’ll never forget that. I grew up in Indiana, and so did Mattingly. He got in the box, and all I could think was, “Holy shit, that’s Donnie Baseball.” Then Rickey Henderson steps in—same guy I drew in art class years before. Suddenly, I’m facing the drawing come to life.
You also closed out Veterans Stadium in your final season.
Yeah. 2003, Phillies-Braves. I’d already told Larry Bowa and Ed Wade I was done. I wanted to just take it in—the popcorn, the crowd, everything. But Larry called down: “You’re getting in this game.” I hadn’t stretched, hadn’t played catch. I went in, and when I struck out Keith Lockhart for the final out, I almost cried. I came in with a strikeout and went out with one. That was it. The baseball gods had it planned.
And your first save was the first ever in Toronto’s SkyDome.
Unreal. When we got there, the outfield wall wasn’t even up yet. The roof, the hotel, that jumbotron—it was like baseball from Star Wars. Sold out crowd, but they weren’t hostile. Everyone was just in awe. I kept the ball, not realizing it would end up in the Blue Jays’ case as the first save in SkyDome history. At the time, it meant nothing. Later, when I’d go back as a visitor and see my name on the scoreboard—“First save in SkyDome”—it hit different. The significance grew over time.
That’s what I hear from a lot of players—you only appreciate it later.
Exactly. You understand how hard it is to get there, stay there, and do well. I don’t miss pitching, but I miss moments—like standing against the Green Monster in Boston thinking, “This is where Fisk hit that home run.” I used to keep a “pearl,” a perfect BP ball, and give it to a kid. Once, in Boston, I gave one to a dad and his kids. Years later, that dad wrote to MLB Network saying I was their favorite player. That’s what it’s about—connection. That’s what I miss.
That’s beautiful. You were also there for Bo Jackson’s famous All-Star home run.
Yep, 1989 in Anaheim. I was sitting in the bullpen when Bo led off with that rocket. You just heard this collective “Holy shit!” He was larger than life. And when Nolan Ryan came in—his first time back pitching in Anaheim—the place went insane. He walked in slow, jacket over his shoulder, the whole crowd roaring. As a pitcher, that was goosebumps stuff.
You’ve been around so many legends. What was it like walking into your first All-Star clubhouse?
Surreal. My locker was next to Dave Righetti’s, my idol. There’s even a baseball card of the two of us—“Classic Relief.” That’s the only card I ever cared about. My first All-Star Game was in Oakland, and that place—man, it was chaos. Loud, wild, like a college football atmosphere. For a few years, it was the most intimidating park in baseball. When you walked into the Coliseum in the Canseco-McGwire era, you knew you were in for it.
You’ve seen the game evolve, the stadiums change, even watched your nephew Zach pitch in the majors. Does that bring it full circle?
Totally. Watching him pitch is more nerve-wracking than pitching myself. You just want things to go right. And when they don’t, you realize how hard this game really is. From Yankee Stadium to SkyDome to Veterans Stadium—I’ve had the best seat in the world.
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More from Dan Plesac
NOTE: The above was edited for clarity and length.
You can read the full transcript here.