Bob Feller

Bob Feller died before this blog resurrected. We would have loved to write an obituary for him and all that he did for the Major Leagues, the Negro Leagues, and America when he gave up 1942-1944 to serve in the Navy WITHOUT A REGRET IN THE WORLD. His stats are still beautiful. His introduction of Satchel Paige, though not without controversy for his business sense in the whites vs. blacks games, made it possible for Paige to join him in 1948. Even more than that, it made it possible for Jackie Robinson to make it possible for Satchel.
After a partial season in 1945, he was 26-15 with 348 strikeouts and a 2.18 ERA in 1946. His WHIP was 1.158, and he was a mad man in all aspects of the world. Here was a guy looking to pick up where he left off, and dominate, he did. There was no Cy Young, so he couldn't win that, but he was 6th in the MVP vote. He lost out that year to Ted Williams who also was looking to rebound from the war years, and he was a little lower in ERA to Hal Newhouser, but all in all, was there a better pitcher that year? Detroit was in 2nd place at 92 and 62, while Cleveland was in 6th at 68 and 86. Let's put 26 wins a piece and Feller's 6 more losses into perspective. Feller had 38% of his team's wins! Newhouser was great with 28%, but let's do the math and figure out what a bad defense does.
Feller's losses that year:
2-3 (hard luck)
2-4 (borderline)
2-6 (deserved it)
2-8 (deserved it)
0-1 (1 stinking run for a no decision, at least?!!)
1-9 (deserved it)
5-7 (no decision)
0-2 (hard luck no decision)
0-1 (1 stinking run for a no decision, at least?!!)
1-4 (borderline)
4-5 (deserved it)
6-8 (lucky no decision)
0-4 (borderline)
1-4 (borderline)
0-10 (deserved it)
0-2 (hard luck)
0-3 (hard luck)
1-4 (borderline)
5 of those losses are clearly deserved.
1 no decision was lucky since it turned into a slugfest.
5 of those calls are borderline.
4 of those games were hard luck
2 more were just PURE Walter Johnson-esque betrayal (1-0 losses). This is a man who went 36 complete games and 10 shut outs over the year. Where is the love?
Unfortunately, he passed away on December 15th.
Today, another great player died.
And for that, we need to pay respect for our former greats.
No disrespect to Harmon Killebrew, who died today, but I wrote his obituary of statistics here when he was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Over the weekend, he went into hospice, and this afternoon, a great man passed away.
In honor of the 573 "home runs that Harmon had" and 1 MVP award, let the Baseball Project sing. Harmon made Minnesota proud from 1961 to 1974.
Hopefully, the tributes on MLBTV and the news will let other people know about this great Hall of Famer who put up a lot of jacks when they still meant something.

Carl Everett

We live in a culture that all too often lacks respect for life. For example, no sooner did my 86-year old neighbor pass away than one of those "we buy houses" people called his 82-year old widow and asked if she wanted to sell the house. She's a nice person, but she told him what was what, which is a good thing. That said, we're hoping for lightning and karma. They're more thorough.
In the end, they had clearly no respect or understanding what the meaning of life and living is (it comes down to 4 simple things: 1) Love and only love 2) Doing your best at something 3) Impressing the people who matter and 4) Experiencing the happy things in life.
This does not include: 1) Treating people like crap 2) Manipulating other people for personal gain 3) Getting so messed up that normal functioning is impossible 4) Committing crimes against people, businesses, or humanity 5) Forcing stupid views of life on humanity (even if it's allowed by a Constitutional amendment).
Thus, it's clear to see that there are some people out there in the baseball world that can use some serious help.
With that, Carl Everett and his dinosaur are back. When last we heard from Jurassic Carl, he was talking about the relative merits of Creationism, which for its purpose, does have some interesting science behind it, but alas, Carl was all about stating how "God created the sun, the stars, the heavens and the earth, and then made Adam and Eve. The Bible never says anything about dinosaurs. You can't say there were dinosaurs when you never saw them. Somebody actually saw Adam and Eve. No one ever saw a Tyrannosaurus rex."
It's one thing to quote science... another thing to just quote the Bible. For that, we can quote the
word of Giorgio - the potential to be just as absurd - slightly more entertaining.
Nevertheless, when your only good deed ever is breaking up a Mike Mussina gem with 2 out and 2 strikes in the bottom of the 9th, there isn't much else to say for you. In his nearly 14 years of MLB time, he hit 202 home runs for 9 teams and batted .271. This netted him almost $45million from 1993-2006. A pretty good haul for a guy who had a lot of talent but was regarded negatively on and off the field - religious conviction not included.
Last night, he didn't do much to change the world's opinion of him as he ended up in jail for assault and witness tampering, but it's all in a day's work when you're angry at the world.
Nevertheless, he isn't alone.
Also included in the list of people who need to understand the meaning of community is our good friend Elijah Dukes, who is also what can only be referred to as "an angry black man" (like Everett), was picked up for driving with a revoked license. Add this to threats and surliness, and we have a true idiot.
Yep... that's not changing his outlook in the world of post baseball.
And as for baseball as a whole, African Americans make up just 8.5% of baseball, which is its lowest total in years. Granted, we're not as flashy as the NBA or hard hitting as the NFL, but we're THEE major sport. It's not that problems don't cut across ethnicities, but to think of attitude problems presented from the inner city experience (Albert Belle, Lasting Milledge, and Gary Sheffield come to mind), there definitely seems to be more in the public eye (and perhaps this is a racist media, but if you're in the limelight, don't you think you would do what Jackie Robinson did (WWJRD)? And while this leads me to question if there is an unwritten rule where certain players are written off if their street sense makes them too little of a team player, I really have to wonder if this is just self-fulfilled prophecy of doom? After all, we're in an era of integration and acceptance. This isn't black cats on the field and spikes aimed high with slurs from the stands as things to be accepted.
But to wonder what is and what should be and how we got the way that we did, we only have to go back to the #4 game of the past 50 years on MLBTV and I think of Andy Van Slyke telling Barry Bonds what to do and getting the "international peace sign" for it. Have we divided back to the early 1950s again where only a few select African Americans get to play, and if so, who chooses the names? Have we created this situation with our socioeconomic divisioins or is there something else? If the MLB won't take this, why will the NBA and the NFL?
Granted, there have been tons of angry white guys in baseball... none more so than the violent racist scum Ty Cobb, and for this, he too was hated, but players wanted his bat in the game for their team. What does it say when players have talent and aren't wanted?
It's not that we're excluding all blacks or even all inner city blacks. Torii Hunter is a role model to the game (as is CC, Heyward, and Howard), but what about these guys past and present?
It's a sad world.
Here's to the good things that comes with all people playing the game right and living life to the max.

Frank McCourt

Today is my sister's 36th birthday, and with that, family is a good thing. Having people who care about you is a good thing, and in the words of Neil Young, "love and only love will endure." Whether it's a passion / hobby, friends who make a difference, family who is always there for you, or the love of a significant other, love is a good thing. I've come to realize that there are a few things that matter, and love is number 1.
Doing things that show pride in accomplishment is another thing that makes a difference. I would take this further and say that impressing other people whose opinion means something to us is another good thing. Finally, experiencing the good things in life, be they curve balls that drop 12 to 6 and make a batter look stupid, a stolen base that just gets in under the defensive glove that is trying to put an end to the offensive threat, a catcher picking a careless runner off of first base, a majestic home run, deep secluded waterfalls, twisting and turning slot canyons, sunsets by Crayola's 96 crayon box, endless mountains, or blossoming flowers (or whatever it is that makes you happy, the only things that matter are the things that make us happy (and don't hurt other people).
For this, it's sad to see that there is no love in the McCourt house any more. There hasn't been for a while, but as Major League Baseball takes over the Dodgers with promise of a lawsuit from Frank to keep their fingers and his now hated ex-wife's grubby paws off of his team, let it be said that there is no love lost out in Chavez Ravine. There's also no love lost for an ex-wife who was fired from her position with the Dodgers because of allegations of having an affair with her bodyguard, but alas... it's all in the perks of the position. I guess.
However, as a team that moved from a historic love when they played in Brooklyn and moved from loser status to second best status as Jackie Robinson led his team to runner up against the Yankees for the better part of a decade when they finally won it all in 1955. And then they moved to Los Angeles, and so began West Coast baseball...
But now... they look to be sold for a sense of better baseball management due to a $30million loan from Fox to make the team run in light of things not running because of the McCourt divorce.
It's a shame. There are great young pitchers. A Rhianna-less Matt Kemp is surging. Don Mattingly is making the team function to 3rd place .500 ball. The future is there, but alas...
When love goes wrong, nothing is good.

Jackie Robinson

64 years ago today, Jackie began to make all of the bad stuff go away. It didn't vanish over night, and he didn't do it alone, but on his shoulders, a huge weight was dumped, and with the help of Branch Rickey being willing to take a chance where no other man before him ever could, he made it count. For 3 years, he held his tongue. The biting killed this strong, but proud man within 25 years, but had it not been for his sacrifice, where would any of us be today?
Jackie did it before MLK Jr. and Malcolm X. He did it with non-violence like King, and he did it with the sense that all he wanted was a chance, pass or fail, and he did it without responding in racist kind like Malcolm X.
Jackie did it before the Civil Rights laws of the mid 1960s. He did it before America got all giddy about Obama saying yes we can because if it wasn't for Jackie, there would be nothing to do.
There would have been no Michael Jordan without Jackie Robinson. Instead, we'd still be in the era of tiny basketball shorts and a very sedate game - nothing like the era that would create Jordan - the outstretched arm of Julius Erving slamming one home with afro extended in a new style for a new time.
There wouldn't be Muhammad Ali trash talking his opponents while having the guts to lose his whole sports participation for his stand on Vietnam.
There wouldn't have been Jim Brown or Arthur Ashe. There wouldn't have been the Williams sisters or Tiger Woods.
Tommie Smith and John Carlos wouldn't have raised their fists skyward in the Olympics if not for the work of guys like Robinson (and Joe Louis and Jesse Owens). Hank Aaron, Willie Mays, and Frank Robinson wouldn't be in ourhallowed halls of all time great baseball players if not for Jackie Robinson's trailblazing suffering. In fact, Aaron might have finished his life as a caricature of himself while playing an Indianapolis Clown his whole life. Whatever we would and wouldn't have, we certainly wouldn't remember Satchel Paige and Josh Gibson the same way if Jackie Robinson hadn't made it to the major leagues instead of both of them. Walter Payton wouldn't have set rushing records and Wilt Chamberlain wouldn't have scored more points in a game than some teams do in the modern NBA. Had Jackie Robinson not suffered the onslaught of endless hordes of racist players, owners, and fans, Curt Flood would have never been able to be "well paid" in his time of segregation and mistreatment at the hands of Major League Baseball.
We'd be missing a lot of great athletes, entertainers, and politicians that have added to the accomplishments of the world, for better and for worse, but who were who they were because they had a chance - instead of being excluded in racist bullshit.
And last night, we wouldn't have had a celebration for Ryan Howard, a man who in spite of his many swings and misses (less this season so far) is a pillar of class and respect and love for the game. And while the Reading Phillies might have lost their home opener 5-0 after 7 really good 0-0 innings, it was the little figures and the 500-pound life size garden gnome that brought the fans out and kept them there for 7 innings of defensive and pitching greatness - 13 strikeouts by Akron and 12 more by Reading.
We might diss on him for the money he makes and what he doesn't do, but the fans love him. They love him a whole lot - at the time of writing this, there are several bids for his garden gnome that was given away (3500 of them in total) that are almost $50 after less than 1 full day.
And maybe it's because we're making bank on the figure, but frankly, it's amazing to see the love and desire that the figure is commanding. Last year, it was considered the best Minor League promotion of the year, and it went for over $100 in some cases on Ebay. This year, it stands to do just as well.
And for that, we have nothing but kudos to Mr. Howard for being who he is, but frankly, he owes a great debt to Jackie Robinson - especially on this day.
And for that, we feel a little tinge of soul with the greatest hits of Stax Records playing behind us... contemplating the legacy of all of those great people of color who got to be because Jackie hit a ball and scared the hell out of opposing pitchers while taking long leads off of bases.
Like James Brown said, "I've got soul... I'm superbad."
And so was Jackie.
In his words:
"A life is not important except in the impact it has on other lives."
Look at all those people who Jackie inspired.
"The right of every American to first-class citizenship is the most important issue of our time."
Look at all those people who owe our eternal respects to this man.
"The way I figured it, I was even with baseball and baseball with me. The game had done much for me, and I had done much for it."
In the words of Buck O' Neil and Hank Aaron... much better than I could say it.
Rest in peace, Jackie Robinson - my hero, numero uno.

Howard Cosell

In life, there are 3 legitimate arguments to the Jackie Robinson story (and by legitimate, we mean that there were issues regarding what it meant in the historical context to all those who surrounded him), and they are:
1) Branch Rickey was all about making money. Sure, there was altruism, but he knew there was money to be made with blacks in baseball in the same way he knew that minor leagues would bring money (and a winning team). That said, when every owner and player of his day went out of their way to keep things segregated, Rickey fought for integration.
2) Jackie Robinson wasn't the best African American player in his day. Had he not died of alcholism and drug addiction related issues, Josh Gibson could have been first (or Satch or Monte or Judy or Cool Papa or Rube or Buck (Leonard or O' Neil) or Martin or (this list could go on and on)...), but none of these men had Jackie's ability to be cool under pressure and take one for the team (with beautiful wife sitting there with her back to the wall of abuse to make sure that all the things that she could keep from getting to her husband stopped short of his ears).
That being said, if U2's "Pride in the Name of Love" was the anthem for King, then this song by Woodrow Buddy Johnson and Count Basie is the anthem for Jackie.
3) The arrival of Jackie meant unemployment and devastation to African Americans employed in the Negro Leagues. To this, the integration and movement towards civil rights was seen as more important than baseball teams, and perhaps it was - except when it puts money in pockets to put food on the table.

If you look closely, you see there is no mention of Malcolm X's feelings about Jackie not being angry enough. Frankly, Mr. Little can stay toasty in Hell with his divisive feelings that filled his life for years and years while campaigning with the Nation of Islam.

What is important is the meaning and celebration of my hero numero uno - Jackie Roosevelt Robinson.
The anthem and pride for Mr. Robinson is surely not Arts and Entertainment's Biography on Jackie. The anthem could very easily be Ken Burns original 9 innings of Baseball and what is said throughout the course of Branch Rickey's beginnings to Jackie's death. The beauty and the evil are both there. The tears and the cheers are there. On A+E, it's "whited" out. For instance, throwing stones at the racist kids who threw them first is seen as Jackie being a trouble maker. Images and descriptions of racism are watered down with scenes from the movie of Jackie's life where he plays himself. Sadly, the second rate acting and the weak script kill much feeling for all of the great things Jackie did. While there is footage of the man in his day and the things he accomplished (stealing home in the World Series, winning the trophy for Brooklyn), it's too little, too late.
Perhaps the only redeeming part was Howard Cosell getting teared up thinking about Jackie Jr. having died in a car crash after drugs rattled his life until he got clean. There was a mention made to Cosell not wanting to say anything from Jackie and Rachel's conversation at the funeral regarding the need for privacy, but in eluding to the pressure of being a junior... and the pressure of being Jackie Jr... we can only imagine the scars of Vietnam, Civil Rights, and what baseball did to his father that took their toll on the son. To this, I never knew Cosell, but in watching, I wonder just what I would think of the man who campaigned with so many great African American sports stars in an effort to bring them closer to the lives of white America (and I wonder what I would have thought after he made his "monkey run" comment)?
And so we learn many things, but if we watch this video - especially before seeing Mr. Burns' masterpiece, we'll never know the true Jackie.
And for that, A&E would have blood on its hands.

Troy Maxson

February is African American history month, and for that, one has to look at the black experience to see what baseball has been (the segregation of an entire race since Moses Fleetwood Walker), what it had to go through (the discrimination and resistance to Jackie Robinson), what it was possible that it could achieve (Hank Aaron, Willie Mays, and Bob Gibson, to name a few), and to what it is becoming (a shift to the NBA and NFL save some really great young talent like Jason Heyward, CC Sabathia, and Ryan Howard).
We have gone from the days of teams being worried about fielding an all black outfield to teams that can't field African American players (Houston's 2005 World Series team is a perfect example). And while there is color on the skin, it's from darker skinned players that hail from the countries that lie south of the American border. And while Martin Dihigo represents a somewhat similar and somewhat different experience, his Cuban heritage lacks resonance with the African American world of today.
For that, we go to the dramatic works of August Wilson to find Fences, the tale of Troy Maxson, a former Negro Leaguer who hit home runs like nobody other than Babe Ruth and Josh Gibson, but who was unable to play because of his skin color. Where Buck O' Neil felt that he was right on time, Maxson is spiteful for coming along way too early. He has gone so far as to push his son Cody out of a football scholarship so that sports can never do to him what they did to Troy, and for that and many other misguided things that he did, he's a larger than life idiot. He cheats on his wife and knocks up his mistress, who later dies in childbirth, leaving Troy's 2nd wife Rose to care for the baby and live in a loveless marriage. He fights for the right to drive a garbage truck despite not having a license and figures that nothing will ever become of it because it's so easy.
And for this, it's impossible to like him as a person. I felt the same way about Satchel Paige after reading the tales of his womanizing. The man could pitch like a machine, but I don't have to like the man off the field (in fact, his kids came to hate him as well). But alas, such is the biography that Mark Ribowsky wrote and that I came to sluggishly move my way through (Don't Look Back).
But with the August Wilson experience, the pain is all eventually gone and the mother makes the son go to the funeral, thus paying his last respects to his father and hopefully burying him instead of carrying him on his back forever.
And for that, perhaps there is meaning, but I can't say that it moved me the way that I hoped it would save a few lines such as:
She asked me when I met her if I had gotten all that foolishness out of my system. And I told her "Baby, it's you and baseball all what count with me." You hear me, Bono? I meant it too. She say, "Which one comes first?" I told her, "Baby, ain't no doubt it's baseball... but you stick and get old with me and we'll both outlive this baseball."
And with that, I think of my wife and how she "puts up with" my baseball infatuation and how lucky I am to have her, and it makes me realize that there are good things in life and they're more than just a game, but the game is nice.
I think about what it means to be a hero or a role model and I realize that if we don't have the ability to care for other people and treat them well, then we might be a good enterainer, but we're not much else.
It's just a shame that so many people, historically in reality and in fiction, can't do the same. Perhaps, it's time to focus more on the real than on the fake and get in the real game.

Hilton Smith

My wife and I watch a lot of shows like Pawn Stars and American Pickers. Today, we were watching Auction Hunters, which is a lesser knock off show that seems to fill that desire for antiques and what the stuff in the basement is worth. Obviously, the History Channel shows are much better than Antiques Roadshow, which is dull and filled with characters that have none of the charm of Frank, Mike, or Chum Lee.
In the end, you either have star power, or you have the hope of people bringing in interesting merchandise.
Today, some guy brought in a collection of Negro Leagues merchandise complete with Jackie, Hank, + Satchel. My wife informed me that I would have been drooling if they brought them in for me to consign. She's right. When it was appraised, the Negro Leagues expert said that the Hilton Smith autograph would have fetched big cash - $400 - if they had someone who knew who he was, so in remembering him, but not really remembering him, I looked him up, and here's what the Major Leagues Hall of Famer did:
In 1941, he went 25-1 for the Kansas City Monarchs. In the words of Crash Davis, that's a career. Hell, in each of his 12 years with the Monarchs, he hit 20 games won. Granted, it's hard to figure out all of the stats from the days in the Negro Leagues due to poor transcribing and accumulation of said statistics, but with that alone, he's awesome. However, he played in the shadows of Satchel, and as we all know, Mr. Paige was larger than life and left quite a shadow.
Nevertheless, he pitched in 6 East - West All Star games and whiffed thirteen batters in these shows to show off his "swagger" as one of the greatest pitchers of his day.
Against the white teams that the Negro Leagues stars would play against to show how great they could have been had mixed competition been allowed, Smith went 6-1.
When it was all said and done, he was a scout for the Chicago Cubs. As a result, even though he never made it to the Major Leagues, he made sure other people did.
Even more importantly, he worked as a teacher, sharing his life with young people, who could benefit from his knowledge and experience.
Does that make his autograph worth $400? Considering it was packaged with other autographs, pennants, and memorabilia, I would say that the $175 it fetched at auction was quite nice and it made the gentleman who gave it up to earn money for a missionary trip to the Ivory Coast all the more happy when he got $1200 after the auctioneers took 20% off of the original $1500 paid for all of it.

Addie Joss

The first time I saw Almost Famous, I was with my ex-girlfriend what feels like a million years and a million lifetimes ago. I don't remember thinking much of it at the time, but I came to love it shortly after she left. It wasn't pining over her. I can really only think of 2 incidents of pining over her in the time that she left - the first time was the first time that she was gone and it was just myself and her cat Tornado. She left us both. She had to have him, and she seemed happy to tag along into my life, but then when she got there, we realized that we were from different worlds. At that minute, it was just myself and the cat and it felt bizarre and depressing to be in that spot. Eventually, I had her take the cat, which she begrudgingly did.
The second time, I was in the midst of the depressed summer of 2002 after we broke up in April and I had too much time with my loneliness, and I went to drop off mail that had arrived for her at the apartment that we shared, but that was now only mine. In all the things the things that she did and didn't do in that time, it took me to change her addresses for her by returning stuff to the sender and posting the right address to forward things to. That time, I suggested we get together to talk, but we never did, which was a good thing. She got her mail, just like she got a box of stuff that was once hers. I always thought that she would come back for her Christmas stuff, but that was just wishful thinking. Our only Christmas together was miserable. In the end, I gave it to the woman who oversaw the apartments for her kid and threw away what she would never want. It seemed so wasteful at the time, but alas, sometimes, it's for the best.
In the movie Almost Famous, Elton John sings "Tiny Dancer," which is one of the greatest songs ever. At the time in March of 2001, I can remember listening to it and liking it, but I didn't really claim it as one of my own until it played at the right moment of my life - hiking back from Delicate Arch in Utah. It was in the same fateful walk that Elf Power's "When the Red King Comes" played. They were both mine. I never think of the ex girlfriend or things belonging to her other than Dave Matthews and The Barenaked Ladies, which I can differentiate from her in that other than when I consciously force myself to, I never think of her. There's no reason to. We never had anything much in common and our greatest moments were things that I've pretty much done with other people or that weren't that memorable to begin with - at least in the way that almost 9 years makes a person forget what happened.
However, I do think back to Almost Famous because I love the quote that is at the end where William Miller, the Cameron Crowe character asks Russell Hammond what he likes about rock music. The answer is "to begin with everything."
I think that I could answer the same thing about baseball. Everything. The game never disappoints me. If Aaron Boone hits a home run over the Green Monster in extra innings and I'm up until the wee hours hoping that the Red Sox make it to the World Series in 2003, then it's just a moment in communal misery that still says, "we'll get them next year."
If I choose to go to bed after the Arizona Diamondbacks can't score in the 8th inning of Game 7 of the 2001 World Series and it looks like the Yankees will 4-peat, then I can wake up happy when I see ESPN's headline that a bloop single wins and it's instant jubilation and the need to make Yankees fans suffer.
For me, baseball is everything... the trajectory of a long fly ball to deep center field in the St. Louis night. August 30, 1998, marks a change in everything that I am and that I will be. It signals that I have come to the promised land, and I have seen my burning bush. My heart is not hardened, but it is actually made light because I have been shown direction in life by the plague of locusts (well, Mormon crickets) that have descended on the desert north of Fallon, Nevada. From North Nutgrass, Stillwater Reservoir, Foxtail Lake and all of the other water that lies east of Route 95 heading south into Nevada's heartland, they swarm and die against my windshield and the hood of my Ford Escort. Uncle Tupelo's music plays after I refuel my car with gasoline and my body with Coke and iced animal cookies. Good stuff. I am to teach. I am to go about my journey and become something more.
For 12 plus years, I have prepared and done just that. Every time that I think it's time to get out, something rescues me and keeps me moving forward. Every time that I think it's not going to work out, something keeps me moving forward. Like much of my life, I have proceeded forward in spite of my mistakes and the turmoil of life, but I have kept going.
In reading about my baseball heroes, I see tales of lives that were destroyed and ended before they could fully realize what they might have been. I have seen great careers cut short of being the greatest. Bob Feller and Ted Williams gave the early parts of their career to military service for their country. Christy Mathewson did as well, but his was to an earlier war, but all the same, he trained and swallowed mustard gas. He was never the same. Roberto Clemente hit his 3,000th hit and died in a fiery airplane crash trying to get relief supplies to Nicaragua. Jackie Robinson gave his life to the stress and turmoil of integrating the Major Leagues with the players of the Negro Leagues so no more African Americans would have to lose out to what might have been. And Addie Joss died of spinal meningitis not 3 years after pitching a perfect game and a no-hitter. He was 31. He could have been great.
So many people could have.
And yes, they are immortalized in hallowed grounds on Lake Oswego. I can see them there. I can remember their lives and what could have been.
I sit here now and think of what could have been in my life. Where once I taught high school kids, I moved on to college students and adult education. I said that I would never go back, but here I am now, ready to go back and be great again, to feel the things that I once loved about this all over again. To feel the mix of history, literature, and writing all come together into something special for me and to make them something special in students as I once did. To feel comfortable in my skin and my classroom. To exorcise the demons of failure once and for all.
It's time to think that my life is ready to be.
If I have baseball to thank for that, then all the better for the ghosts of the past are still powerful and still have much to teach us.