Spring Training Diary #2: The Designated Hitter
Last year nearly killed me. The lower back started barking in early June, so I popped a few more Advil every afternoon. Made it through the season. Team was pretty awful after August. Packed up the apartment after the year ended, had the exit interview and flew back home to Boise in October. What did I find?
My wife Jody was in a hotel room with her real estate guy. I guessed something was up. Kept getting credit card alerts, but was too busy finishing the season to look into it. After I caught her, she was over-the-top sorry and begged for my forgiveness.
Said she wanted to try counseling for a month, like it was my problem. I wasn’t about to lose half of everything in a divorce, so found this counselor. Old bald guy named Vincent. Crazy eyes. Real intense, like he was trying to find your soul, but with a soft voice. Threw me off. Every time he’d just sit silently, staring into me, real freaky. Told me the only way to get to a better place with Jody was to express my feelings. So I told him she was a cheating you-know-what and asked, how the hell could I trust her anymore? Vincent’s response: “……and…?”
“And WHAT?” I’d shout. I never liked the idea of trusting people. My parents didn’t trust anyone but family, and even then, not most of the family. We talked some about the past. About how Jody’s dad ran off when she was young. How she hated being lonely when her mom had to work at night. How her neighbor’s friend’s dad was creepy. She admitted he’d touched her in a bad way. She’d never told me that. I felt bad. But the cheating wouldn’t leave my mind. I never did that to her, even when I was tempted. Never. Jody never wanted to move to Texas. Refused. Wanted to stay near her mother in Boise. Probably should've guessed it was bound to happen at some point. It’s hard when you live separately. A face on a phone isn’t enough sometimes. That’s why I started meditating. I know. Baseball players are big jocks, they aren’t supposed to meditate. But so what? I tried it and liked it. I listen to quiet nature sounds and get peaceful. Stops my mind from wandering to sex or booze.
I’ve been a ballplayer since I was eight and my dad bought me an Easton bat and took me to the cages. Showed me how to time the ball, keeping my hands back. He was a big high-school prospect who hurt his knee right before his senior year.
After making a name for myself around the northwest summer circuit as a teenager, I was drafted right out of that same Boise high school where Jody eventually became a school nurse. I was 6’4” when I turned 16. Never touched a book I didn't like, including the Bible.
If I’m lucky I’ve got a year or two left. I’m in Dallas from late-March through September, sometimes early October. I’m an old fella, trying to appreciate the rituals this time around. Another training camp for the designated hitter. I don’t miss first base. That’s where they used to put me. Too slow for the outfield. Too clumsy and slow for third base.
As I worked my way up through the minors, I got pretty good at scooping balls in the dirt. The coaches helped me get flexible. It’s all about getting low and the footwork. That used to be my specialty. The scoop. Needed to be good at something. My arm was never cooperative. Always dreaded having to throw to the plate. For a lefty first baseman, there’s no more difficult throw. I’ve been all-bat since 2018 and the bat keeps me in this game.
Had my best year in 2019, they even put me on the All-Star team. That blew my mind. A lumbering old fool like me, among all those studs. That year, I finally got over 30, finished with 34 big flies, drove in 112. I remember because last game of the season I knocked in four more to get over 110. We had a nice run that October. That’s when the big payday came, thank goodness. End of that deal, my agent warned me I might be done. First the back. Then the wrist. The first two years slipped away, but I finally got healthy in 2022 and bounced back. Shortened my two-strike approach. Started piling up doubles. Showed just enough in that walk year that I got this current deal which runs out in October.
Been in so many trade rumors I stopped paying attention. Told my agent to let me know if it was serious. He called in January. Thought I might be sent to Pittsburgh. No thanks. Beautiful stadium, but too many young guys and that humidity ain’t nice. Our stadium down here is temperature-controlled, and it’s nice to sit in 70-degree comfort throughout the Texas summers.
Sitting here from this empty dugout with this crappy coffee in hand, yapping to you. Kind of strange to look out at that emerald green grass in this morning sun. Look at that dew rising up like steam, before the desert heat takes over. That grass I don’t need to worry about anymore. My living is made in the dirt. Batter's box and base paths.
Skip told me I'm probably looking at a platoon now. Said I’ve probably lost full-time at bats unless I hit well against lefties this spring. All these platoons. Gotta share the ABs with the young guys. Lefties always gave me trouble. Bunch of weirdos with funky angles.
We got this big rookie everybody's talking about, you know, he’s on all the lists. Reminds me of when I finally made it up to the bigs. I was 23 and naïve as hell. 2010. Maybe this kid’s faster. A better eye than I had back then. He’s probably got my job by the end of this year. Try not to think about that. Right now, just gotta prove I still belong.