The End?

When something is with you for as long as you remember, it really becomes a part of your identity.  Growing up, playing ball in the back yard was just something I did.  It was like eating dinner, or going to bed… it was just part of my daily routine that I didn’t even think about.

When I was about 9 years old is when I first realized I was pretty good.  Everyone wanted to play catch with me on my little league team because I could throw the ball farther than anyone.  From there, I became a pretty good little leaguer, and then a very good high school player, and dabbled in some college ball.

Growing up, I always envisioned myself making the big leagues.  Not because I wanted the millions of dollars, or the women or the recognition.   It was just all I wanted to do.  I lived baseball. I breathed baseball.  I would sleep and dream baseball.  I was baseball.

In High School, my team came within 3 outs of winning the state championship, only to let it slip through our fingers.  That night still haunts me in my dreams.  Late at night, when the demons come, I envision us winning…celebrating… only to remember that it was just a figment of my imagination.

After college, I started playing in the ‘semi-pro’ leagues.  Wood bats, pro rules, good competition (usually).  This brought me back to the fun of the game.  I wasn’t trying to ‘make it’ anymore… I was just playing because I loved it, and I was better than almost everyone I played against.

It wasn’t that I was bigger, or stronger, or faster.  I didn’t have the fastest fastball, and I didn’t hit Ruthian homeruns.   I just was able to do everything well, and consistantly, because I had done it forever.   I was always able to make the smart play, or get the important hit.  It came naturally to me.

I remember distinctly the day this ended.  It was in January of 2008.  I was pitching off of an in-door mound to some guys who were taking batting practice.  I was throwing as hard and as accurately as I ever had…which was a mistake, because it was the first time I had thrown all year.

Later that evening, I noticed that my arm felt… different.  It felt heavy and sluggish.  I had never felt this before.

Flash forward to today… almost three years later.   The last three years have been a series of arm injuries.  Pain and general discomfort have made the last few years more and more difficult to play, and I have become less and less effective.

Baseball is still fun for me, and always will be.  But it has gotten to the point where, barring major surgey, I don’t think I can do it anymore.

Is this the end? Maybe.   Maybe I’ll fill in here and there.  Maybe I’ll play softball.  Maybe I’ll even half-ass my way through a few more seasons.   But the little kid inside of me, who played ball in the back yard, has just hung ‘em up for good.

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