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To: La Enchiladita; dennisw

Austin American Statesman. Austin, Tex.: Jul 1, 2002. pg. B.1

(snip)

People who know Sutton say he's a good match for the job. He grew up in Texas, speaks Spanish fluently and spent eight years prosecuting cases in Houston.

But in other ways, Sutton cuts an offbeat figure as U.S. attorney. The district's yawning main office in San Antonio, with its tall, narrow doors and dictator-sized balcony, almost swallows Sutton's 5-foot-6 1/2-inch frame. His sharp blue eyes exude a boyish love for adventure, brightening when he talks about surfing in Central America and charging up active volcanoes for a look at lava.

"He always reminds me of a kid who was afraid of missing something," said Bill Moore, a friend and prosecutor who worked with Sutton in Houston.

Before the law, Sutton's passion was baseball. He doesn't display his trophies or wear his championship ring from his days of playing for the University of Texas Longhorns. But the prosecutor, now a father, still relishes the game.

"I love to hit a baseball. And I love to hit it right at a pitcher's head," said Sutton, who faced such pitchers as teammate Roger Clemens. "If you can knock 'em down, it's even that much better. . . . As a hitter, you want to be feared."

A valuable player

Sutton grew up in Houston. His father was a doctor, his mother a "force of nature" who taught her son to try everything and not to fear failure. The family spent weekends on a ranch in the Hill Country, where Sutton and his younger brother explored caves at night and hunted. Running together, the boys learned how to catch rabbits by hand.

Sutton dreamed of playing baseball. His grandfather, Johnny Keane, had managed the St. Louis Cardinals to victory in the 1964 World Series.

Sutton grew up to be a scrappy second baseman, but he lacked a strong throwing arm. For three years at UT, he rode the bench. But he kept practicing. Riding home on his bicycle, he would stop at a chapel to pray for patience and guidance.

Finally, just before the 1983 NCAA Central regional tournament, Sutton got his shot: Coach Cliff Gustafson put him in left field to fill in for an injured player.

Sutton racked up hit after hit and won Most Valuable Player for the tournament. His clutch batting earned him a starting position in the College World Series. Sutton was crucial to the Longhorns' national championship, Gustafson said.

"Everything he hit had eyes," Gustafson said, meaning the balls fell safely amid the opposing players. "He sparked us."

But Sutton's Cinderella story expired after graduation.

"Most of the scouts were handing me a law school application," he said. He gave up his dream.

After law school, Sutton worked at the Harris County district attorney's office. Swamped with cases, the young prosecutor immersed himself in trial work. He was aggressive and tough but fair, former colleagues say. He also had a touch with victims' families. In eight years, Sutton said, he tried more than 60 cases, including three for capital murder.

"There's nothing better than having sweet old ladies on a jury coming up to you and hugging you and telling you they're proud of what you did," he said.


28 posted on 01/27/2007 5:53:03 PM PST by calcowgirl ("Liberalism is just Communism sold by the drink." P. J. O'Rourke)
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To: calcowgirl; dennisw

Talking about wanting to hit the pitcher in the head when he hits the ball, that is plain stupid. Professionals don't think that way. First of all, that stops the game. It could start a brawl. Last, but not least, the pitcher could be killed or disabled for life. Plain stupid. And no substitute for a line drive down the inside of the base line.


29 posted on 01/27/2007 7:30:20 PM PST by La Enchiladita (People get ready . . .)
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