July 17, 2009 — A long time ago, (I shudder to think how long) an acquaintance of mine was having a bad week. We weren’t particularly close, at one point we’d been peers and competitors. She’d been on the bubble for a couple of seasons, trying to make the U.S. Team. It wasn’t easy for her. The competition was tough and she was pretty much on her own—working odd jobs in the offseason, sleeping on people’s couches, chatting up team coaches, looking for sponsorships.
Suddenly, she burst into tears, “I’m thinking I’m never going to make it. I’m wondering if I should just quit?”
I was caught off guard, and had to think over what she’d just said. I’d retired just the season prior. One of the hardest decisions of my adult life, . . .still. I had come to the point in my career when I needed to enter big money competitions in order to progress, as a legit athlete and marketable figure. I was a long, long shot. It would take luck as well as hard work if I was going to make any sort of mark beyond regional acclaim. The problem was, I simply didn’t have the funds. I managed to hold back the tears while I called my equipment sponsor. I thanked him for supporting me and told him to give away my slot. I hung up the phone, and sobbed.
I struggled to come up with something positive to say,”Hey. I’m sorry you’re having such a tough time. Um, geez, . . I can’t really tell you what to do.”
I mean, what could I tell her? We knew the odds. And I should point out, her talent exceeded my own by light years. I had no illusions about that reality. I was never good enough to be in her position. Perhaps even, it was still too fresh for me to be philosophical about my own loss. I’m sad to say I don’t remember being much help.
As time went on and I spent more time away from the field than on it, I came to find the words I’d been at a loss to provide in that crossroads moment. A message tempered by experience—mine, hers and dozens of young athletes over the years—and for me, a rather simple one.
Don’t ever quit because you’re afraid of failing. As much as it hurts to be told you’re not good enough, it’s nothing compared to the pain of wondering whether you might have been…Your friend in baseball.
July 17th, 2009
July 04, 2009 — I was chatting with a friend of mine about the perceived versus actual lives of professional athletes, and she made a comment that struck me as particularly interesting. A Navy wife of 10 years, the constant packing/moving and frequently absent spouse were things she shared in common with the baseball wife. While she was making connections, I was thinking contrasts, such as her husband’s job including considerably greater personal risks than a torn labrum or strained hamstring. Not to mention, no one gets rich from their military career.
Later, I recalled my own experiences with military personnel. Way back during my college days I had a dorm-mate, our “middle-aged freshman,” who was among the last to have served in Vietnam. He was a Green Beret. He was smart, funny and a fine athlete. I recall he and several dorm guys entering an intramural rugby tournament, although their most notable accomplishment of the day was sending three team members to the student health center.
A conscientious objector at one point in his life, he tried to reconcile his change of heart by becoming a special ops medic. One quiet evening over a few beers, the two of us found ourselves immersed in a conversation about what close combat was like, . . .after your service revolver rounds had been spent. Or how it felt to have survived multiple, harrowing battlefield encounters with your best buddy, only to watch him killed by a careless (and remorseless) driver during a weekend leave in Bangkok. These were topics he’d chosen to write about for his English composition class; he seemed to realize the therapeutic value of finally processing these long-buried memories. I suspect it was also easier for him to talk about them with a woman (who did her best to not flinch), rather than the teenage guys in the dorm.
I also remember how the “GI Bill” during the 1980s and 90s offered an attractive form of financial aid for low-income students. Without the Navy, another dorm-mate of mine could not have afforded his undergraduate and medical school education. Back then, he and many other young men and women were able to fulfill their duties for the most part without enduring enemy fire or extended, overseas deployments. As we know, all of this changed on September 11, 2001.
These personal moments spent with people I like and care about got me wondering, . . .how do military families deal with a loved one getting summoned to active duty in places such as Afghanistan or Iraq? Who pays the utilities, insurance or rent while the household provider is away? What happens when a family member comes home in not-quite-one piece and unable to work? How do families cope with the ongoing trials of an “invisible injury,” such as post-concussion syndrome (PCS) or post-traumatic stress syndrome (PTSD)?
And so I have a favor to ask of you, dear readers, on this Day of Our Independence. Would you visit the USA Cares website today? They can use your help, whether it be in the form of goods, time or cash. Or please consider purchasing a special edition “Ordinance Bat” from iFungo; 50% of the profits go to USA Cares.
Bonus offer: Bring your iFungo Ordinance Bat receipt and show it to me at the ballpark, and I’ll throw in two Box Seat tickets ($27 value) for the July 24th Pioneer Day game/fireworks show. I’m easy enough to find—section 7, row 2, seat 8, right next to the Bees dugout.
And lastly, as you are settling onto the grass for BBQ and fireworks, or if like me you are heading to the ballpark, please take a moment to pray for the safe return of our military men and women, as well as for the health and happiness of their families. . .Your friend in baseball.
July 4th, 2009
June 17, 2009 — The Father’s Day Giveaway essays are posted, and it’s quite an engaging selection. Now for the fun part. Ashley is asking for your help in picking the winner. Please take a visit and get your vote tallied by midnight, June 18th (Thursday)! . . .Your friend in baseball.
June 17th, 2009
