Devlin feature captures family

Bradley A. Huebner
Jul 8, 2017
6 min read

The son also rises

Savannah State's Matt Devlin shatters school records with help from stepfather

By Bradley A. Huebner Savannah Morning News

Want quiet and unassuming? Watch Matt Devlin after he hits a home run, notice the ritual. No chest-thumping, no slow trots. Nothing suggestive of arrogance, nothing drawing the focus to him.

Devlin isn't even the focus of his own home run ritual, his stepfather is.

"When I hit a home run, I peek at him to see how excited he gets," says Devlin, a senior at Savannah State. "I wonder what that's like to get that excited over somebody else's performance.

"I hope when I have a son, I can get that excited when he does well."

Devlin wonders why Andy Smotzer watches his games at all. Why would a stepfather invest so much in a stepson when the natural father hasn't been in the picture in nine years?

Smotzer sees Devlin as the son who never ceases to surprise. He's a magician with a new and ready card trick, ready to amaze.

Devlin was solid if unspectacular as a high school player. But he has become the greatest baseball player in the history of Savannah State University.

Devlin has set 11 school records. He led the Tigers to four straight conference tournament titles and their first NCAA baseball playoff berth Thursday in St. Petersburg, Fla.

"Since I've been here," says SSU coach Jamie Rigdon, "he's without a doubt the best player ever to put on a Savannah State uniform. I've been here seven years. I know in that length of time nobody even comes close."

Before then, SSU baseball was mostly terrible.

Before Savannah State, Devlin was mostly good and sparsely great. He batted .344 as a senior at Glynn Academy, but he didn't stand out the way college prospects do. He wasn't statistically impressive and his team never won any championships.

The summer after his senior year, with weeks remaining before the fall semester at college, Devlin had no concrete plans. A home run off Savannah Chain Gang ace Raymond Beasley -- now in professional baseball's minor leagues -- brought his moment of clarity.

Rigdon was umpiring the game behind home plate and offered Devlin a scholarship after the game.

"It was weird how it worked out like that," said Devlin.

Weird isn't the word. Devlin came to historically-black Savannah State from a private school that produced aristocrat golfer Davis Love III. Devlin himself is white.

Many of the white students he came in with at SSU are gone. Devlin tiptoed in so quietly that teammates took to calling him "Mute."

"I've probably had five conversations of more than a minute with him," says Rigdon.

Devlin wasn't star material. He was quiet but committed, there every day, a starter from the start.

He played in 187 consecutive games over four years. He holds nine career records, including hits, doubles, triples, and home runs. He's been a reliable run-producer, driving in 238 runs including 78 this season. His RBI average of 1.63 per game was fourth nationally.

When Rigdon got his 100th career victory this year in a 3-0 win, he called Devlin's three-run home run fitting.

At 6-foot-1, 185 pounds, Devlin has been a valuable left-handed pitcher, too, appearing in a team-leading 42 games.

He only got better after his first outing, but if he had become worse, he never would have pitched in so many games.

Devlin faced crosstown rival Armstrong Atlantic State in his first game, freshman year.

The first Pirate batter lined out hard to right field.

The next four belted home runs.

Welcome to college baseball, kid.

"This was also at Grayson Stadium," said Devlin, "which made it worse."

Rigdon went to the mound and told Devlin the next outing wouldn't be, couldn't be worse. They shared a laugh and turned the page.

"The next start he threw a no-hitter against Clark and ended up being pitcher of the year in the conference that year," said Rigdon.

The turnaround was monumental, but hardly Devlin's biggest. For that, you need to look into Devlin's window nine years ago.

Devlin is 13. It's Christmas time. Devlin receives a Christmas card from his father.

Merry Christmas. Happy New Year.

Love, Dad.

Signed in permanent ink.

"After that," says Devlin, "he kind of just disappeared. We don't really talk about it too much. I don't really get upset about it. I figure if he wanted to see me, he would make an attempt."

The irony of the Christmas holiday hovered heavily. The story of Christmas -- a father, God, gives his son to an earthly father so the son can make his lighted way in the world -- is too similar to what happened here.

A real Hallmark moment.

Devlin turned the page.

He had already begun bonding with his stepfather, Andy Smotzer. Smotzer married Devlin's mother Nancy, a nurse, when Matt was 7. Smotzer, too, was from a broken home. He had no children of his own before adopting Matt. And, like Matt, he grew up playing baseball, making it to the junior college level.

Baseball was his game, too.

"If you had to pick a son or pick a father, I don't think you could have done any better than we did," said Smotzer. "He's been a total joy in my life."

Smotzer worked in the security business. He was part of the Secret Service Uniform Division in Washington.

He guarded property more than people. When Jim Brady was shot in the assassination attempt on president Ronald Reagan, Smotzer was in California guarding Reagan's ranch. He later worked a shift guarding Brady in the hospital.

He always made time for his family. Smotzer pitched batting practice to Matt while mom and daughter Michelle, now 9, fetched balls. Baseball has kept the family close.

Smotzer drove to most of Matt's game this year, including a 680-mile trip to Kennesaw for a doubleheader. He and Nancy have always scheduled vacations around Matt's games.

In 48 games this season, Matt batted .411 with 11 home runs and a team-leading 78 runs batted in. He capped his career with a conference most valuable player award and a trip to the national tournament.

SSU went 77-19 the past two years, reviving a dormant program.

Devlin's done everything but get drafted into professional baseball. The Braves were rumored to be interested last year but didn't select Devlin despite his .414 batting average.

"I figured if they drafted me, they'll get in touch with me," he said, mimicking his take on his absent father. "I wasn't sitting by the phone or anything like that."

Turn the page.

Devlin has left something of a legacy behind at SSU. He's passed his experience on to the next generation of ballplayers.

This summer he talked former high school teammate Eric Andrews into returning to baseball. Andrews had led Glynn Academy in hitting in 1993, the last time he played. He's a reserve on this team.

"Matt has improved so much since high school, it's just remarkable," said Andrews, Devlin's roommate. "I wish I had done this right out of high school."

It's a regret Devlin doesn't have. He will graduate with a degree in criminal justice. He wants a career in law enforcement, like dad. Smotzer is a firearms instructor at the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center in Florida.

There are days when Matt instinctively knows why Smotzer is watching him play baseball, clapping loudly and proudly smiling.

Matt easily spots Smotzer's face in a crowd and zooms in to a Tarantino slow-mo as he rounds the bases. He's the un-natural, the light of the world flickering everywhere around him.

"Sometimes I wonder," he says, "if my birth father was around, would I still be in sports? Would he have put in the time that my stepdad did?"

He thinks about four improbable years at Savannah State. His statistics, his story. It should have been enough for the Braves and for his birth father.

He believes it was, and more. His pages of school records should be read carefully before being turned.

Matt Devlin did his part. The man who gave him life should know that and, Matt believes, he'd be glad to hear it.

"You should have stuck around," he says aloud to his birth father. "You might have seen some pretty good things."

Then his idea for how a reunion might play out.

"I'd walk up to him and shake his hand," Devlin said. "I wouldn't be rude to him. But I'd also ask him, 'Where you been the last 10 years? How come you didn't keep in touch?' "

(Editor's note: Our attempts to locate Devlin's natural father were unsuccessful.)