(Disclaimer: I know this post is incredibly long, but I hope that if you take the time to read it, you'll find it beneficial. If not, I sincerely apologize.)
Why I Play This Game,
I’ve woken up, put on snow boots and a skullcap and trekked to a residential road hours before the sun rises. I’ve stood on that residential road and looked upwards, as the slope of the pavement continuously increased up a steeper hill. Suddenly, I heard a whistle. My legs started churning, as quickly as they could. My skin burned at the frigidness of the conditions, with snow and sleet and ice howling by my cheeks. I reached the top of the mountainous road and jogged my way back to the starting point, where I’d quickly be instructed to do it again.
I proceeded to continue with this process until my legs no longer moved, until my body no longer could physically churn any faster, until my lips quivered with a shuttering chill. Then, I’d run up the hill again.
I’ve woken up, grabbed a Gatorade and a pair of sunglasses, and trekked to the beach. I’ve stood in the blazing summer sun, being saved only by a swift breeze coming off the ocean. I retightened my sneakers and took my shirt off. I took a quick swig of the Gatorade and placed it on the ground. I fastened my iPod holder tighter to my arm, and secured my earphones tightly. I picked a point, a milestone far off in the distance. A beautiful home, a boardwalk, a docked fishing boat. And then, I’d run. I’d run as fast as I could within my physical limitations, pacing myself only to ensure I could reach that destination. I’d go and go and go, with sweat pouring off all pores of my body. My breathing labored, my calves ached from the uneven texture of the sand. I reached to raise the volume of my iPod, trying to drown out the gasping breaths I had begun to take, as the distance loomed farther away.
All around me were families, young people, elderly people, pets. Whoever you’d envision enjoying a beautiful day at the beach was in attendance. They’d relax in their lounge chairs and reapply their suntan lotion. I’d keep running.
I’ve woken up, secured my toiletries bag inside the rest of my luggage, and entered the car. I uncomfortably positioned myself according to how well the seat fit my body, and patiently waited. I sat, and sat, and sat. Passing alongside the moving vehicle as the sun rose higher into the sky was a variety of sights…the majority consisting of a slew of trees and farms. I played with the radio, and played riddle games with the individuals accompanying me in the car. I anxiously readjusted my position on the seat and checked to see how much further it would be until my destination was to be reached. Eleven hours more. I opened up a book and began to read the first chapter when suddenly a tin of chewing tobacco was spilled all over the pages. Naps were out of the question. Studying was a laughable thought.
Back at home my friends were enjoying their summer vacations…working part-time jobs as caddies or camp counselors, sleeping in and socializing at night. I was stuck in a car, on a road trip to nowhere.
I’ve woken up, walked downstairs and found a dozen college students sprawled out on my living room floor. Empty kegs lay in the corner of the room, red solo cups scattered amongst the sleeping students. I found my way through the obstacle course of bodies, went into the kitchen, and grabbed a piece of fruit. I envisioned my house just a few hours previous. Hundreds of people filled the basement, raving to whatever pop music was in at the time. They were living the college life, partying amongst friends and social acquaintances. I was sleeping. I proceeded to leave the house and go to campus, where I was required to show up to help remove the infield tarp and rake the pitcher’s mound to ensure that the baseball field would be ready for that afternoon’s game.
After several hours of warming up, batting practice, stretching and throwing, the first pitch would be set to be thrown. In the distance I’d see a group of friends, some of whom lay passed out in my house, walking into the stands. They looked like zombies- having just awoken and still hungover. I had been up for hours.
I’ve woken up, chugged a glass of water and brushed my teeth. I walked into a waiting room and signed in, waiting to be instructed on which door to enter. I sat motionless in a hospital bed, with a gown on and my left arm shaved. I spoke with a traveling nurse for a few minutes, then an anesthesiologist. As the clock struck 7 AM, the orthopedic surgeon entered the area to take me into the operating room. I said goodbye to my father, and was instructed to count down from 10 once a peculiar looking mask was put over my face.
A few hours later, I found myself drowsy and in pain, laying on the other side of the institute with a heavily padded brace protecting my brand new left elbow. The nurse’s first words informed me that I’d be back pitching in no time. I went back to the hotel with my father and napped for four hours.
The game of baseball is brutal. It’s a miserable, disheartening, life-altering mental challenge that seesaws your emotions to the point of crumbling on a daily basis. The commitment that the sport requires is downright lunacy, and the scrutiny under which performers are held are downright illegal. I’ve lay in bed at 3 AM and cried myself to sleep for reasons I can’t even begin to understand, let alone explain. The game has beaten me down more times than I’ve ever wanted, and provided me with more depressing thoughts than any human being should ever wish for in their right mind. I’ve withstood more frustration than I ever dreamed I could, and certainly more than I’d ever wanted to withstand.
And yet, for whatever reason, I arise from bed during those early mornings and sprint those hills. I run those miles on the beach. I road trip halfway across America. I skip parties with my friends. I have a reconstructed elbow. I still embrace the process- the mind-blowingly difficult path that this game requires.
Some may call it work ethic, some prefer passion. Some may even call it an addiction.
I call it a lifestyle. A livelihood.
I wake up early to sprint those hills and run those beaches. I road trip and skip parties and attempt to salvage whatever is left of my hopeful playing career. I participate in these things without even a second thought. I do it because I have to.
I have to play baseball. I used to want to play baseball. Now, I don’t have a choice. It is part of my existence, part of my personality. I wake up each and every day looking forward to stepping on that diamond. To suiting up with my teammates, and making sure that we’re just “swagged” out enough to seem formidable on the field. I look forward to the hours of weight lifting and stretching, hours of recuperation and ice. I look forward to the gallons of sweat and melancholy of defeat.
When I step on the mound and hear the umpire say, “Play ball”…that is why I play this game. The euphoric rush that I receive from standing on that sacred plot of land with my eight other teammates is like no other. The freedom from all other aspects of life as I am fully engulfed in the romance of the game around me is second to none. The perfection of the artful nature of baseball is delightful enough to make me gleam with happiness and pride.
As I reach the waning years of my baseball playing career, I appreciate seeing those younger than me displaying the same passions. This game is humbling, despairing and beautiful…simultaneously. It takes a big person to play this game. It takes a person strong-willed enough to recognize imperfections in oneself and improve upon said realizations. It takes a person patient enough to wade through the failure and reach that pinnacle of a finish line. It takes a person mature enough to understand the intricacies and true definition of the word “teamwork”.
And yeah, it takes a person with a lot of little boy in them too.
As the summer moves forward and the signing deadline passes this evening, the focus will now quickly turn to the recruiting class of 2013. It is a stressful time, a time in which an individual can easily get lost in the overwhelming information they’re receiving, and find themselves drowning in the quicksand of the business of the next level. As a veteran in the grand scheme of things, I urge each of you- parent or player- to take a step back. Inhale deeply, and close your eyes. Appreciate where you are today and where you’ll be in the near future. This game moves way too quickly to take it for granted. And the memories...they triumph any misery you may come across along the journey.
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