It started by chance. I’d spent four and a half years in minor-league baseball before getting a “real job” in commercial real estate. But I still had friends in baseball. One was Ricky Lee Adams, who was playing for the Giants. While I was visiting him at Candlestick Park in 1985, some of the coaches said they had sore arms and asked if I’d throw batting practice. I had a blast and just kept showing up. They paid me $20 a day. Now whenever they’re going to face a left-handed pitcher, I’m there. I’ll leave my office and drive up to the stadium, or perhaps fly to wherever they’re playing. It’s often very last-minute. After the batters warm up, they’ll ask me to hurl specific pitches at them in the batting cage. That’s my favorite part. Giants slugger Barry Bonds would ask for curveballs, sliders and changeups. He worked harder than anybody else. It’s an experience I’ll never forget.

To stay ready, I work out in the offseason, doing bodywork, plyometrics, yoga—just keeping active. The funny thing is that if I go out and weed in the backyard, I can barely stand up the next day. But I can throw for four days in a row and be fine. I throw an 80 mph fastball, and now I stand 10 feet in front of the mound. If I get to the point where the players are close enough to hit me with their bats, that’s when I’ll know it’s time to retire. But even then, I’ll still show up for the Giants. They’ve become like family to me. Maybe I’ll sell cotton candy.

I don’t take any of this for granted. Every year, I feel that I have to prove myself, to show the team that age doesn’t make that much difference. Whenever they need me, I’m there. It’d be so easy to say, “I don’t want to do it today.” But I’ve learned that if you are persistent and positive, you can surprise yourself. —As told to Andrea Atkins