Chad Bentz was born without a fully developed right hand. He appeared in 40 major-league games over the past two years.

Charles Rex Arbogast / The Associated Press

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Chad Bentz repeated the action of countless pitchers on sun-splashed early spring afternoons for 150 years.

Over and over again, the 25-year-old lefty threw from the stretch under the watchful eye of White Sox coach Art Kusyner at the Kino Sports Complex. But something was different.

There was a sleight of hand deal going on. Almost like magic.

Bentz had his glove on his right hand after he threw a pitch. But at the same instant, the ball seemingly materialized in his left hand without any transferring movement. Ten pitches later, a witness still could not detect the ball going from glove to hand.

That is the trick Bentz developed like clockwork since he was a kid. It was a necessity. He was born without a fully developed right hand, which features only a full thumb and stubs for fingers. One door was closed to him, but another opened. Bentz made the adjustments to reach the majors, a la his idol, Jim Abbott.

Like Abbott, who also lacked a normal right hand, Bentz cradles his glove on the end of his right hand while he delivers a pitch. As the ball hurtles plateward, he transfers the glove to his left hand to be in position to field.

Then the glove is switched back to the right hand almost seamlessly.

Sitting at a picnic table outside the clubhouse after his workout, Bentz laughed when asked how he pulled off something that appears Houdini-like.

"I guess I just catch it, and I guess I put it on my stomach and roll it," he said. "I don't even really know how I do it. Once you do it a couple of thousand times, it's a regular thing. I get to do it every time I throw a ball."

One day, Bentz said he hopes the glove-and-ball movement blends into the flow of a game, and he's merely asked about how he pitched. But now, he's a latter-day Abbott wannabe. So he spends much of his non-workout time explaining how he has overcome it.

Even ESPN came calling recently for a "SportsCenter" feature.

Bentz does not consider himself a disabled person. Kids can be cruel with those who are different, those who are not part of the lunchroom clique. But no gibes affected Bentz.

"Kids are kids," he said. "I stopped caring and started laughing about it if somebody would say anything. Probably around 12 or 13, I couldn't care less what people said. It wasn't a problem for me anymore.

"I'm glad it happened. I think God made me this way for a reason. I think it would be boring if I just was catching and throwing, no switching."

Now Bentz is just another southpaw hopeful who has to make it on merit.

"I don't really think of it at all anymore," he said. "There's nothing I can't do on a baseball field. If they want me to hit, I can hit. I can field my position just as well as anyone else. I'm just like any other left-handed pitcher trying to get guys out. My hand doesn't even play a role in it."

But Bentz has more trouble fighting the Sox numbers game. A nonroster invitee who appeared in 40 games the past two seasons with Montreal and Florida, he will need a sensational spring to snare the second lefty's job in the bullpen.

White Sox manager Ozzie Guillen will not cut him a special break because of Bentz's physical status. But that will not stop Guillen, who batted against Abbott, for pointing to Bentz as an example of the power of overcoming obstacles.

"He's showing the rest of the players, 'I don't need to be the way you are to be in the big leagues,' " Guillen said.

"You can tell your kids, look at this kid at the big-league level where people are completely healthy and complete in body. They can do it."

Bentz never did things the easy way in other respects. One of only three Alaskan-born players to have made the majors, his high-school team had to fly from the mountain-and-sea locked state capital of Juneau to play opponents in Anchorage, Sitka and Ketchikan. They were overnight trips. Bentz actually enjoyed the change of scenery.

Now he is willing to help others who are far less fortunate. He has instructed all the media relations personnel of his teams to make him available to talk to the disabled or anyone in need. He will answer the call, if asked, to talk to veterans who lost all or parts of limbs in Iraq.

Long after he began pitching in his unusual manner, Bentz was introduced to Abbott, who completed the inspiration that Bentz drew from afar while watching Abbott on TV when he was young.

"I'd be happy if I could have half the career of Abbott," Bentz said.