Have you ever had the opportunity to go back in time? I’m not talking about strapping into a DeLorean and waiting for lightning to strike. During the summer of ’96, I was able to go back to 1922. My former college baseball coach gave me the opportunity to join him on an exhibition baseball team, where we portrayed the 1922 New York Giants. Not only was this a way to play organized baseball for another year, it was a way to have fun traveling from town to town and teach and learn about the game I love.
Why the New York Giants? As my coach would tell you, the Giants are a forgotten team that had considerable success, notable players, and one of the greatest managers the game has ever seen. The team was rich with hitters and had several serviceable pitchers. This led them to the World Series where they beat the New York Yankees. Hall Of Famers littered the lineup, including: George “Highpockets” Kelly, Frankie Frisch, Travis Jackson, Dave Bancroft, Casey Stengel (who went on to become a sensational, and very quotable manager of the Yankees), and Ross Youngs. Kelly led the team and was in the top of the league with 17 home runs and 107 runs batted in. Irish Meusel, whose brother pitched for the Yankees, led the team with 132 rbi. Jesse Barnes, who won 13 games, pitched a rare no-hitter. While this team had no statistical leader in any category, they still dominated the league. John Mcgraw, the manager of the Giants, and led them to a 93-61 record. While McGraw was a great player in his own right, he twice led the league in runs scored and has the 3rd best on base percentage of all-time, he was more known for his managerial prowess. McGraw was accurately called “Little Napoleon” for his quick temper and strategic ingenuity. Frank Deford, a prominent sports writer once said of McGraw, “the model for the classic American coach—a male version of the whore with a heart of gold—a tough, flinty so-and-so who was field-smart, a man’s man his players came to love despite themselves.” Another honor, although dubious, was that McGraw is 2nd all-time in ejections, with 132.
Why 1922? This, like the Giants, was a forgotten period in baseball. It was only a few years after the 1919 “Blacksox Scandal”, so the nation was still learning to trust the game again, and it was before the 1927, where Babe Ruth clouted 60 home runs and officially ended the dead ball era. The league was full of great players like Rogers Hornsby, Ken Williams, Eppa Rixey, George Sisler, and Urban Shocker. It was sandwiched between World War I and The Great Depression, so people were looking for entertainment. Baseball games could provide just that, and the Giants led the league in attendance in 1922, almost achieving one million spectators. Baseball parks were the movie theaters and the malls of that time.
So why me, and what did I learn? This is more difficult to answer. The first reason I played, as stated earlier, was to continue to be able to play organized baseball. I regret this being the most important reason, because I was still more worried about my ability and effectiveness more than I was celebrating the historic significance of the game. As a pitcher on that team, I worked, in vain, to use a high leg-kick windup that was so common in those days. This involved throwing both hands high over my head and then raising my right leg as high off the ground as I could manage before driving towards home plate and firing my pitch. This made it incredibly difficult to have any command of the strike zone. Another challenge was to wear the period style gloves. It was individually fingered with no webbing. It wasn’t as much a glove as we know it but a pillow to lessen the pain of a line drive. The very first exhibition game I played in, against the Ohio Muffins, I attempted to field a ground ball. I have fielded thousands of grounders in my career, and I approached this one in the same way. That was until it went right through the fingers of my glove and left a nice bruise on my shin. I soon realized that I was going to have to adjust my way of doing things. The uniforms also took some getting used to. Players of today wear breathable jerseys that fit loosely and have short sleeves or no sleeves at all. The uniform of the 1920’s were 100% wool fiber and they were long-sleeved. At first, this wasn’t that big of a deal. Then came the dog days of summer and I gained a great appreciation for those poor players back then, who played all games during the day, and seldom had days off. Those jerseys were hot!!! The last major equipment adjustment to get used to, were the bats. While the Major Leagues have always used wooden bats, I, all through high school and college used aluminum bats. These were lighter, more shock resistant, and thinner handled. The bats we used as the ’22 Giants, were heavy, had very thick handles, and when a pitcher would jam a batter, he could feel the sting in his hands for the rest of the game. What made these games so special though, were the people who played them. It was people who loved baseball and loved its history. The highlight of my summer was the opportunity we had to play in the Old Crosley Field replica, which is located just outside of Cincinnati. The original Crosley field was home to the Cincinnati Reds from 1912 to 1970. It was a unique ballpark in that it had an uphill grade in right field that led to a giant scoreboard and clock. Being born five years after the end of the original field, I had always heard stories of it, but was unable to visit it. That is, at least until the day I got to play on it. The replica has the original scoreboard and the incline. We played agains a team that was exhibiting the 1919 Cincinnati Reds (who, coincidentally, won the World Series, leading to the Blacksox scandal). As we started warming up, about 500 fans started making their way to the seats. We only played seven innings that day, because the highlight of the event was the old-timers game that followed us. In one of the later innings, as I was on the mound, a barber shop quartet started singing. I stepped of the rubber and just took in the surroundings. I was on a major league mound in a major league park, albeit a replica. There were more fans than I had ever played in front of, there was a barber shop quartet, and a blue sky with absolutely no clouds. It reaffirmed my love of the game. As I came into the dugout for the last inning, I saw that my team wasn’t the only people in it. The former big leaguers had made their way to the field. I got a rare chance to spend time with players like Sibby Sisty, George Foster, Tim Burtsas, and Gene Garber. Garber actually spent some time with me talking about pitching. He challenged my pick-off move as a balk, and when I told him it’s only a balk if the umpire calls it, he laughed, patted me on the back, and shook my hand. It was a thrill of a lifetime. I know that I will never get to the major leagues, but for one day I was able to live out my fantasy. For one year, I was able to go back in time.
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Yesterday was my favorite unofficial holiday. You may think that I am talking about Valentines Day. While celebrating the love that me and my girlfriend have is fun, I try to treat her like it’s Valentines Day every day, so that’s not what I’m talking about. One might also think that I am talking about my birthday, since it was also on the 14th of February. Since I am now in my mid-30s, there is no longer reason to get as excited about getting older. The only things that I can now look forward to is I can run for President if I want, I will obtain more grey hairs, and I will inevitably take more pills in the following year. When I talk about my favorite unofficial holiday, while it fell on Monday, February 14th, I was referring to “pitchers and catchers report”. Teams in Arizona and Florida are starting to see their pitchers and catchers show up to camp for spring training. Hallmark does not make a “pitchers and catchers report” greeting card (although I think that would be a great idea), and there is no television coverage of this unofficial holiday. Even if there was, it wouldn’t be very interesting. Just a bunch of guys long tossing, stretching, and running. So why do I get so excited on this day? It’s simple. Its a sure sign that spring is on its way. It gives a hope of optimism. It’s the first few sentences of a brand new and exciting chapter.
It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. ~A. Bartlett Giamatti, “The Green Fields of the Mind,” Yale Alumni Magazine, November 1977
As I sit and type this, I look out and see the snow that has been covering the ground for weeks. I see the trees with no leaves and the lack of birds that are in them. But I know that in just a few short weeks, birds will be chirping, flowers will be growing and grass will be lush and green. I also know that throughout this country kids and grown men will cover portions of that lush grass as the roam the outfields for a fly ball. They will kick up clouds of dust as they take position in the batters box awaiting the next pitch. See, this week is the start of a brand new season. A baseball season. A spring season.
There is a famous quote that says, “hope springs eternal.” To a baseball fan, it’s more poignant with the words switched around. To a baseball fan, it makes much more sense to say in spring, hope’s eternal. In spring, starting when pitchers and catchers report, every team feels they can reach the World Series. Every team believes that with a few breaks, they have what it takes to be the best. And for the next month and a half, they will train and prepare like they are the champions. Each pitcher is fresh and strong and ready to throw the ball right through the catchers mitt. Every batter is excited and hungry to take as many swings as possible so they can reach the fans in the farthest corners of the outfield seats with their majestic shots. Every fan is telling other fans about the career best season that each one of his favorite teams players is going to have. Optimism is as prevalent this time of year as scarfs and mittens are.
So when you start to get a little blue because of the cold or the snow or anything else, know that this is reason to rejoice. Baseball is now here, and soon, spring will be too. To all other baseball fans out there. I wish you the very happiest of Pitchers and Catchers Report Day.
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They say that people that can play, play: People that can’t, coach. As I get ready to turn 36 in a couple of days, I realize that my body could not take the abuse of playing baseball at a competitive level anymore. Actually, I’ve known this for some time. I haven’t played a game in years and only break out the Rawlings a few times each year. It used to be an every day thing that has now become a hobby. A flashback to my youth. Maybe that is why, as the years go by, I have a greater inclination to coach. To me, the only thing greater than playing the game I love is to teach others the discipline, enjoyment, life lessons, and love of that game. I hope to get that chance some day soon. Until then, I will keep collecting my thoughts, learning about the game, and looking for opportunities to share my passion.
Every good coach I have known, has a set of unflinching rules. These are the “commandments”, if you will, of his ball team. These are rules that are the foundation of winning. I am no different. However, I feel that these rules need to be taken one step further. There should be a life-lesson with every one of them. You play baseball for fun, but what you learn from it should help reveal the character inside. Here are my rules for the game of baseball, and the game of life:
1. Show Respect. This is all encompassing. You should show respect to teammates, coaches, opponents, umpires, fans, teachers, strangers, and the game. At the same time, you should do whatever you can to gain the respect of other people. “I’m not concerned with your liking or disliking me… All I ask is that you respect me as a human being.” ~Jacki Robinson. Respect is about doing things the right way. It’s about dignity. The life lesson in this is pretty simple. If you respect people, even your enemies and opponents, you will become greater for it.
2.Have Fun. Too many times, this rule is forgotten. Every player and team wants to win, but in every game, there is only one winner. But if you play hard and have fun, the losses might not be that bad. When they start the game, they don’t yell, “Work ball.” They say, “Play ball.” ~Willie Stargell, 1981. It’s a game, and it’s meant to be fun. We all have to do things in life that are hard and undesirable. Baseball should not be one of them. The life lesson, here, is about making the best of any situation. With everything we do, with every action, we are defined by our reaction. Too many times, we react negatively. If you can find joy and fun in what you do, life will be much, much better.
3. Practice The Right Way. Practice builds character, games only reveal it. Hank Aaron didn’t hit a home run the first time he swung the bat. Randy Johnson didn’t throw 100-mph the first time he gripped the baseball. While they had amazing gifts from God, they had to develop those gifts. If you practice with the intensity and drive that you play with, you will become a better player. Also, it is easy to practice the things we are good at and forget the things that we struggle at. This will not make you a well-rounded player. There should be a balance in all things. “If I don’t practice the way I should, then I won’t play the way that I know I can.” ~Ivan Lendl What we do in front of people is the show. What we do when nobody is looking is the practice. The life lesson here is simple: There are always things we struggle with. The only way we can ever get better is to practice the right way to do it. I am a Dad to two great boys, but I have learned that I’m not always good at it. So I practice being, doing, and saying the right thing to get better.
4.-Act Life You’ve Been There Before. An old coach of mine had us practice our home run trots. That may sound strange, and I thought it was at the time, but he was giving us a lesson. If, and when, we did get to feel the euphoria of hitting a home run, we should act like we’ve done it before. We should handle it gracefully. This doesn’t mean that you can’t enjoy your success. In fact, you should be proud of all your accomplishments. But don’t act like you’ve just won the World Series when you’ve just hit a home run in a game we are still losing. This is a part of rule number one. Be respectful of your opponents and the game. Bear Bryant is the one that gave us the quote, “Act like you’ve been there before.” He definitely knew what what he was talking about. We should do this with everything we do. We shouldn’t be surprised with any of our successes.
5. Have Confidence, Not Cockiness. There is a fine line between confidence and cockiness. Confidence is knowing you can do something. Cockiness is telling people about it. You have to believe in yourself. You have to know that you can do anything you put your mind to. But it is much more important to show people that you can do it than tell people you can do it. “You have to expect things of yourself before you can do them.” ~Michael Jordan.
6. Visualize It. Use visualization to improve performance. First, decide on a specific goal. Second, close your eyes and imagine yourself succeeding at this goal. Third, make the pictures in your mind as clear as possible with vivid detail. Lastly, feel what it feels like to be successful. Do this, especially in pressure situations. Before each at bat I ever had, I would use the on deck circle to visualize myself succeeding at my ensuing at bat. It gave me that extra shot of confidence I needed to approach the at bat the right way. “Imagination is everything. It is the preview of life’s coming attractions.” ~Albert Einstein. Even today, I use visualization to help me prepare for tough situations.
7. Use Your Largest Muscle The Most. Even though the brain isn’t a true muscle, it acts like one, in that we can exercise it, train it, and make it stronger. You’re brain is the most powerful thing you have. On the baseball field, it should be used in everything you do. Before each pitch, every player on defense should know exactly what to do if the ball is hit to them. Likewise, if you are on base, know where every defender is positioned. “A man is not idle because he is absorbed in thought. There is a visible labor and there is an invisible labor” ~Victor Hugo. In life, it is so important to think. Think before we both act or speak.
8.Apply Pressure. Some of the best teams I’ve ever seen become great because they put pressure on the other team. This can make the difference between being mediocre and great. I will never be very upset if you fail because of aggressiveness. Trying to take that extra base will make the defense make a perfect throw. As a pitcher, challenging a batter will put the onus on him. As a hitter, being aggressive and trying to drive every ball will make the defense tense up. “Daring ideas are like chessmen moved forward. They may be beaten, but they may start a winning game.” – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. I firmly believe that “controlled aggression” will allow you to achieve more than what seems possible. This is in life as it is in baseball.
9. Fundamentals are the Foundation. It is fun to make the dazzling play, the diving catch, the remarkable throw, but those chances don’t come very often. It’s much more important to make the average play. Have good fundamentals and make all the routine plays, and the extraordinary will just happen. Don’t give the opposing team more than three outs in an inning. “The key to winning baseball games is pitching, fundamentals, and three run homers.” ~Earl Weaver. In everything we do, there are fundamentals that are involved. If you can master the simple, everyday things in life, then everything else will become much easier.
These are my rules. At least the ones that I feel are the most important. I try to live them every day in everything I do. I would expect nothing out of anyone that I wouldn’t expect out of myself. I can’t wait to put these rules into use with young men. The thought of shaping a baseball player and a person is both humbling and exciting. Hopefully, soon, I will get that chance.
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What comes to mind when you think of professional baseball players? Those enormous contracts? The inflated egos? What about the huge amount of money a family needs to spend to see a game? All of these are valid points. After all, it is rumored that Albert Pujols, the hard-hitting first baseman from St. Louis, is about to sign a 10-year, $300 million dollar contract. Let me say that again: A $300,000,000.00 contract!! That is a sum that I can’t even fathom. That is larger than the gross national product of Samoa, Dominica, and Tonga. He would be the 158th richest country. While players and contracts like Pujols gets the notoriety, only 18% of minor leaguers ever make the majors, and an even smaller percentage make the ridiculous kind of money that we are talking about. There is another group of professional baseball players that most people hardly ever think about.
After my three year college baseball career, I was fortunate enough to spend a summer with an independent rookie league team called the Newark Bisons. They played in the Pioneer league, and faced teams like Kalamazoo Michigan, Richmond Indiana, Johnstown Pennsylvania, and Chillicothe Ohio. Being in an independent league meant that they had no Major League organization to back them. There were no bonus babies. These guys, ranging from 18 to 24, left everything they knew, from all the corners of the country, and came to Newark Ohio to play the game that they loved for about $400 a month. They lived with host families and relied on the generosity of area baseball fans to help them with daily living. This was done in hopes that, just by sweat and luck, a scout would see them and they would be signed as a free agent. There were those that made the sweat and the luck pay off. D.J. Carrasco, Brendan Donnelly, and Jason Simontacchi are three players that had some success in the majors. Brian Schmack also made it to the majors. He spent the summer of ’95 with the Bisons as well. He was signed by the Chicago White Sox as an undrafted free agent. These guys were the exception, not the rule.
But, if you would ask anyone that played in that league, they would tell you that it was worth it. Most of them would tell you it was the time of their lives. They weren’t in a mega-stadium in front of 50,000 fans, and they didn’t have suites in the nicest hotels in the biggest of cities. What they had was camaraderie, community, and of course baseball.
I will never forget the players I met that season. I don’t remember all of their names, but their stories are etched in my mind forever. Starting out the season, my main duty was to be the team trainer. By the all-star break, I was throwing batting practice and working with the pitchers in the bullpen. I stayed in the bullpen for the rest of the year. When I think back to all the places I’ve ever been, it’s hard to remember a place that was more enjoyable than the bullpen at Don Edwards field, in Newark Ohio, on those warm summer nights. The crowds never exceeded a few hundred people and the only press was the local radio station and maybe a reporter from the newspaper. However, if the weather was bad, the reporter would talk to the radio guys after the game and write the story from their perspective. This was midwestern baseball at its funnest.
The field at Don Edwards Park hosted the yearly Babe Ruth League World Series. It was a very nice field…for 14-16 year olds. For adult men, who could hit the cover off the ball, it was not so great. The light stands that surrounded the field were high enough for the young players that played there most of the summers before, but when a major league pop-up was hit at a Bisons night game, it turned into an adventure. Everyone, from the players to the umpires to the crowd would watch the ball rise majestically into the night sky. At least until it was higher than the lights themselves. Then it would just disappear. A weird hush would fall over the diamond in these situations and everyone would just stare into a black sky as if waiting for Haley’s Comet. This white and red comet wouldn’t be spotted until it had almost landed somewhere in the infield. At this point, players would dive, shield their face, or point and yell, which never resulted in an out. The fans would hoot and holler, and the baserunner would usually have an infield double. Immediately following the play, it was inevitable that the manager of the team on defense would run out and argue with the umpire that this wasn’t fair. To no avail. After the game, said manager would then seek out the front office people of the Bisons, and complain vigorously about the field, the lights, and the bush league organization that it belonged to. I always thought this was funny because, well, this was the bush leagues.
I remember the players most, though. I remember making a deal with Triny Rivera, who was from Texas, that if I would take him to some prime fishing spots, he would buy my fishing license for me. We spent many an off day or game day mornings at a local pond or a local river fishing and talking. We talked about everything from our childhoods to fishing and even some baseball. He was one of the nicest people I have ever met. Unfortunately, he was let go half way through the season. I’m not sure where he is now, but I would be willing to bet that he is holding a fishing pole. There was Aries Leonard, who was from Hawaii. He would complain if the night time temperature ever dropped below 60. I’m so glad he didn’t have to play here in the winter. All he knew about Ohio when he got here was the Buckeyes and Cedar Point. During the three day all-star break, he, and his girlfriend who had flown in, made the trip to Sandusky. The smile on his face when he told us about the coasters was huge. Mark Zamarripa was a pitcher on that team as well. We would spend nights after games going to restaurants and talking until the early hours of the morning. His, was an interesting story. He went to Garfield High School in East Los Angeles. This is the same school that James Escelante taught Math. You may remember that name. The movie “Stand and Deliver” was made about him. Mark told me countless stories about this teacher and what it was like to grow up in inner city Los Angeles. The transition to Newark Ohio was very surreal to him. It wasn’t just the United States that produced Bisons. Jose Nery came from, I believe, the Dominican Republic. He spoke little English, but had a smile that could light up a room. The only problem was that he didn’t have the right paperwork to work in the United States, so he trained with the club but only got into a handful of games. We used to toss before the games and then I would rub down his arm with atomic balm. I was his good luck charm, he would tell me. Jose had an arm like Paul Bunyon. He was clocked, in one practice, at 98 miles per hour. I can testify to that, because as we were tossing one day, we decided to really loosen our arms and throw hard. For me, that meant hovering around 75 miles per hour. For him, that meant breaking the webbing of my glove and giving me a bruised chest. I would usually sit by Jose for most of the games. We could speak the language of baseball even though our native tongues were different. I learned some Spanish from him, which, regrettably, I’ve forgotten, and he learned some English from me. I even taught him how to do the “OH-IO” chant.
There were more players and memories from that one summer in Newark, but to tell them all would take too many innings. But I won’t ever forget them. The fans, the manager and coaches, the players and even the umpires. It was Americana at it’s finest. I only regret that Norman Rockwell wasn’t around to paint these images into a picture.
So the next time you watch a Major League baseball game, think of the players that never made it that far. Think of the ones that played for pennies on the dollar simply because the loved the game. And if you get a chance to catch a minor league game, do it. You might not see the polish of a Major League organization, or the natural skills of an Albert Pujols, but I promise you that you will never see anyone work harder than those boys will. They are hungry and young and just looking for a break. Who knows, maybe you will get to see a Brian Shmack. Or maybe, you will just be fortunate enough to see a good game, with good entertainment and a fly ball disappear into the night sky.
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People ask me what I do in winter when there’s no baseball. I’ll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring. ~Rogers Hornsby
I can empathize with Roger Hornsby. Winter usually lasts twice, even three times as long as the other months. I blame this on the fact that there is no baseball to be played this time of year. I don’t necessarily go into a baseball lacking slumber however. I still try to stay abreast of the latest goings on, especially my favorite team, the Cincinnati Reds. With the help from the world wide web, this is a much easier task now. I can just log onto the Reds website (www.cincinnatireds.com) and get the updates as they happen. By doing this, I am usually filled with joy. For a fleeting moment, I am able to escape the winter cold and darkness and transport myself to a lush green field with the smell of leather and peanuts in the air. It also helps that during the winter, the Reds are still hopeful of a World Championship. This is my diamond shaped oasis in the middle of a snowy desert.
On November 15th, 2007, however, finding comfort in the Reds website did not happen. In fact, it brought sadness and grief. On that day, Joe Nuxhall passed away. I didn’t think it would effect me that much. I’ve always liked Joe, but I’ve never met him and I also understand that death is just part of living. But on this day, I felt a true loss. As I reflect on the sadness of that day, it was more about an end of an era. Almost an end of an innocence.
Joe Nuxhall had many roles in his life. He was first and foremost a father and husband. He was the youngest baseball player to have ever played in the Major Leagues, when on June 10th, 1944, he pitched 2/3 of an inning. He was 15 years, 316 days old. The thought of standing on a Major League pitchers mound at age 15 is almost absurd to me. I do realize that he was only in the bigs because of the war and the downsizing it did on the talent pool. But still, he was good enough to be there at that age. What must have been going through his mind? He should have been thinking about pitching against the Middletown Middies and not the St. Louis Cardinals and Stan Musial. He was big for his age and threw harder than most adults could. But like so many youngsters, he was wild. He retired the first batter on a ground out but yielded five walks, a hit batter, two base hits and five runs. He didn’t make it out of the inning. He did, however, find a place in history.
Many people know That he is the youngest player to have played in the majors, but they don’t realize that he also held the Reds record for most appearances by a pitcher, and still holds the left-handed record for appearances to this day. He was voted to two all-star games, and led the league in shutouts in 1955. It’s always struck me at how even though he was beat around his first game, and at such a young age, he didn’t sulk, pout,or give up. He worked in the minor leagues and successfully returned to the show.
Still, Joe Nuxhall wasn’t done. Soon after his retirement from baseball, he began broadcasting for the Reds. He had no formal experience, but his knowledge of the game, his kindness, and his mid-western speak made him a natural. He stayed in this capacity until his death in 2007.
There are several reasons that Joe Nuxhall was and is so endearing to me. He always had a smile. Every interview or appearance I ever saw he was smiling this big, goofy smile. He was also very human. Even though I never was able to meet him, he seemed very approachable. But also, even though he wasn’t the best player of his day, he wouldn’t get mentioned in the same breath as Spahn, Wynn, Koufax and the like, he was completely content with the mark that he had made. He felt lucky to be playing the game that he loved and making a living at it. He felt lucky to be playing in Cincinnati, and he never forgot that he was a Cincy kid. Even during his broadcasting career, he didn’t strive for perfection. He would often get so excited that a ground ball double play to short would resemble a hodgepodge of grunts, and conjunctions and at the end, “Got him! Double Play!” A home run wouldn’t be described by him, but he would be yelling for the ball to get out. He would be helping it along so he could do whatever he could to help the Reds win. During the slower parts of a ball game, and yes, even I admit there are slower parts of a baseball game, he would talk about his tomatoes that he was growing or him and Marty Brenneman would talk about Elvis, an inside joke, or a player from years gone by. And I, for one, loved it! It was as if I was sitting in the red seats in right field and listening to a sage old fan who was sitting next to me. Joe had a passion for the game, and helped shape the passion that I have for it as well.
See, Joe was an “every man”. He was humbled and moved to tears when they unveiled the statue of him in front of Great American Ballpark. He met with buddies at the local Bob Evans every morning to have breakfast and discuss the days current events. He laughed with others and at himself. He reminds me a lot of my Dad. Their age, their demeanor, their beautiful way of looking at their life with fulfillment and not regret.
It’s a little melancholy, now, to listen to a Reds game on the radio. It’s still great to hear Marty’s voice, but it’s just not the same without Joe. Nevertheless, time marches on. And when I hear the last out of every ballgame that I listen to, no matter if “This one belongs to the Reds” or not, I end it myself by saying the phrase that Joe Nuxhall made famous: This is the ole’ left-hander, rounding third and heading for home. Good night, everybody.
Many people have asked me who my favorite player is. That’s always been a tough question to answer. I’ve always liked the game more than the individuals who have played it. I admire the fact that a young rookie, making his first major league start, can go out and beat a Sandy Koufax on any given night. There have always been players that I’ve felt more of a connection to than others though. Paul O’Neil was the closest thing I’ve ever had to a real “Hero” because I had the chance to sit and talk with him one-on-one. His generosity and his humbleness won me over. And because I’m a Reds fan, and he wears number 19, I’ve become a fan of Joey Votto, as well. But I don’t hang on every breath these players take. I would never follow them on twitter so I know what they had for breakfast. To me, they are baseball players, and that’s it.
There is a player, though, that I have been captivated with. If you would have told me that I would be so enamored with this guy nine or ten years ago, I would have laughed. His name is Josh Hamilton. For those of you who don’t know him, I’m going to tell his story. For those of you who do, it is worth rehashing. Hamilton was the #1 draft pick of the Tampa Bay (Devil) Rays in 1999. He was just out of high school and signed the biggest bonus ever given at that time. As for his baseball talents, saying that he was a five-tool player was not giving him enough credit. Sure, he could hit for power, hit for average, run, catch, and throw, but he had more. He was an all-american kid from North Carolina with rugged good looks and charm. He was going to be a modern day Mickey Mantle. Josh’s pro career got off to a very good start. He was promoted quickly through the organization and succeeded wherever he went. Something that set Josh apart from his teammates was the fact that his parents quit their jobs and moved to Florida with him to coach him off the field about baseball and life. In 2001, while they were leaving the Rays spring training complex, Josh and his parents were in a car accident. While none of them were seriously injured, Josh hurt his back. His parents also had some injuries and went back to North Carolina to rehabilitate. This left their son, 19, by himself for the first time in his life. He also had no baseball to turn to either, because of his ailing back. Josh started spending more and more time at the local tattoo parlor where he could get new ink and leave his troubles behind. Invited to go out with the tattoo artist and his friends one evening, Josh drank his first beer. And then another, and then another. Pretty soon, someone laid down lines of cocaine and offered it to Josh. He wanted to fit in, so he accepted. This was a start of a spiral out of control. He eventually started using drugs every day. He started showing up late to practice and was finally admitted to the Betty Ford Clinic by the Tampa Bay organization. It didn’t help. Over the next few years, he alienated everyone and everything that he loved. Baseball, his parents, and even his wife who he had met and dated while he was sober for a few months. He had squandered his signing bonus and didn’t know what to do next. He turned to the only person who hadn’t quit on him, and that was his Grandmother. He banged on her door at 2a.m. one morning and she let him in. She took care of him as if he were an infant. She knew that there was a lot of good in him. She hated the sin but loved the sinner. Hamilton wasn’t finished with drugs quite yet though. He went out, one day, and bought some crack to smoke. Taking it back to his Grandmas house, he locked himself in the room she gave him and proceeded to smoke it. When he came out, he saw his Granny and the disappointment on her face. She was about to give up on him too. He went back into his room and fell to his knees and prayed. He really prayed. For the first time in his life, he said, he didn’t demand anything in his prayer, he just sought God. And God answered. He walked away from his addiction and turned toward Heaven. He slowly mended the relationships that he had broken over the past several years. His parents, his wife and kids, his Granny, and lastly, baseball. He got in shape and in 2007, for the Cincinnati Reds, he made his Major League debut. It was April 2nd against the Chicago Cubs. When he was introduced as a pinch hitter, he received a 22-second standing ovation. A few days later, he made his first Major League start. He promptly hit a home run. He followed that with another home run the next day. He went on to have a very productive year even though he spent a couple stints on the disabled list. He was then traded to Texas where he has flourished. In 2010, Hamilton won the American League MVP.
While I am sure that Josh Hamilton’s story will be made into a movie, there is no way even the best writers in Hollywood could have given us a better script.
Hamilton is not a player that I tend to gravitate towards. At least not the player he was when he was signed. I’m usually enthralled with the underdog, overachiever type. Josh was anything but that. And when I found out that he had lost his baseball career because of drug abuse, I had no sympathy what-so-ever for him. In fact, I was pretty offended by him. I would have given millions of dollars to have what he had, not to mention receiving millions for it. Or so I thought. Not until his story went full circle did I realize that he was just a pawn in Gods great plan. Looking back, I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have everyone tell me how great I am, and at 19, end up alone in a strange place with nothing but time and pain to deal with. He was hearing from people in the Rays organization that the bonus they spent on him was being wasted. I can’t imagine the pressure he felt. But something that Josh Hamilton and I have in common is this: We have both tried to live for and by our own pleasures. We both learned that there is a better way. Hamilton, like I have done, gave his life over to God. He realized that by his Grace and his commitment to us through Jesus Christ, there is no better way.
Once he made it back to the Bigs and to the All-Star games and MVP awards, he could have very easily credited his hard work and self-resilience. But that would have been a fallacy. Instead, he knew that through no other way, except the Lords way, was he able to succeed. He knew that he was lucky to be alive let alone playing the game that he loved. Hamilton also took it one step further. He used his new found success as a platform to bring more people to Christ. What I love most about this story isn’t the baseball success that Josh has had. It would be just as touching if he became a janitor, a car salesman, or whatever. He still was able to give himself up for God and to also reconnect with his family. He became the father and husband and the son that he needed to be. But that wasn’t enough for God. God decided to make him a “prophet” of sorts. He thrust him back into the limelight of baseball and let him excel. He used it as his own personal rooftop. He shouted about his relationship with Jesus and his eternal salvation. He told this to reporters, to fans, and to teammates. He told this to anyone who would listen.
I am not a Josh Hamilton fan because of his five-tools that he possesses. I am a fan because his story is bigger than the game of baseball. His story, God’s story for us all, is more important than anything any of us could ever comprehend.
