Tonight is a big deal. Everyone who is from Ohio, watches basketball, or has ever heard of Lebron James knows this. Tonight is opening night for the NBA and our beloved Cleveland Cavaliers host the hated Boston Celtics. This marks, perhaps, the last possible chance for a Cleveland championship in any sport. It is, coincidentally, also the night that the Lakers receive their championship rings from last year.
Truth be told, the sports landscape in Cleveland has rarely ever been in the type of situation it is now. The Cleveland Browns hired a coach who the fans already hate. The quarterback everyone wants to start is on the bench and receives his mandatory once a quarter face time on TV while holding a clipboard. We traded away a chance at drafting a franchise player and also recently gave away our best receiver (however, that move was cheered by most brownie fans).
The Indians have recently finished up yet another disappointing season, finishing well below .500 and were out of the playoff race about 9 minutes into the season. We have now hired a new manager whose prior job was running the Washing Nationals, one of the few teams worse off then the Indians. To top all of that off we have traded away 3 all-stars in the past 18 months and now get to watch our two former Cy Young winners face off in the world series. (my heart silently weeps)
These two teams have consistently crushed the spirits of fans and yet we follow them because if nothing else we are loyal. For 2 out of the 3 big sport seasons every year we suffer, but then the end of October rolls around...
This basketball season offers a variety of elements that we simply aren't used to seeing in Northeastern Ohio. We have arguably the greatest player on the planet, the two biggest personalities in the league, an owner who openly says money is no object and backs it up, and a truly talented group of players surrounding Lebron. With this format it would seem that the Cavs are ready to compete for a decade at least. But if you follow the NBA at all you know the gigantic monkey wrench that can be thrown into this plan. Lebron is a free agent after this year and no one on Earth, himself included, knows where he'll be playing basketball next year.
If Lebron decides to leave his home state for the bright lights of bigger city the results could be literally the end of a city. Cleveland lives and breathes LBJ and without him I don't believe Cleveland will make it. That is how polarizing of a figure Bron Bron is. He has the ability to effect an entire city... just ask Braylon.
No one knows what the future will hold and throughout the year we will be pestered with the constant, "Where will he go?" questions. I don't know the answer, and I don't care. I'm going to take these next 7-8 months for what they are, a unique situation which we may never come across ever again. It may be cheesy but this year, I am a witness. He very well may end up staying in Cleveland. We could win the championship in June and Lebron could sign right then and there, giving C-town a reason to stick it to the rest of the country for once. But it doesn't matter because win or lose I'm going to enjoy every moment of every game with Lebron and Shaq and the rest of the crew. That way if Lebron does leave, I can tell my kids some day that I got to watch the most interesting season of basketball in the history of the league. Enjoy the game, I know I will.
And hey, if he does leave in June, so what... the world cup will be starting.... ole!
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
a moment of perfection
it's been forever since i wrote something... so here ya go. Not really a blog per say, more of a short story I wrote a while back. I made a few changes. here ya go
September sucks. It’s the end of summer. The nights are starting to get chilly. The country is getting ready to pack it in for the winter and there aren’t any enjoyable holidays in sight. Some might even say it’s the shittiest month of the year. However, just the opposite is true for aspiring, minor league baseball players and that’s exactly what Hobbs Carpenter was. Named for baseball’s “Natural” Hobbs was quite the opposite. He had spent nearly every moment for the past twenty-two years living, breathing, and dreaming baseball. However, unlike his movie counterpart, Hobbs’s success had not come easy. He had to work twice as hard as everyone else, was smaller than most, and had to walk on to his college team at little known Greensboro College.
No one ever gave him much of a chance and yet here he was, sitting in front of a locker in Yankee Stadium. As Hobbs was lacing up his shoes he couldn’t help but think about all the past situations that lead to this very moment; Becoming a division III All-American his senior year, consequently being drafted in the 21st round by the Kansas City Royals who were looking for a young, dependable centerfielder, and especially making it all the way through their minor league system in just two years.
It was still hard for Hobbs to believe how he’d gone from a no name, late round draft pick to one of the top prospects in the minor leagues. He had played all over the country for the Royals Affiliates in Arizona, Idaho, North Carolina, Delaware, Iowa, Nebraska, and finally Kansas. Who could have imagined that a kid born without any special athletic abilities could ever make it to the major leagues? Every once in a while a player will come along who, for all his life, makes this game look easy. These guys can run like run like Mays, track a ball down like Mantel, hit like Teddy ball game, and throw like Clemente all the while making it look effortless. Hobbs was not that guy. Every swing he took looked painful, every step, heavy. While some prospects swings brought to mind thoughts of Griffey, Edmonds, or A-rod Hobbs’s looked more like David Eckstein. While these setbacks may have frustrated other, weaker willed, athletes, it only motivated Hobbs to work harder.
So here sat Hobbs Carpenter, the pride of Knightdale, about to start his first major league game in centerfield, and in Yankee Stadium no less. The patch of grass that had created the legendary names of Mantle, DiMaggio, and Williams now had a new face patrolling; a new kid to help enshrine. He had ripped to ball to all fields during batting practice and was picking up the ball extraordinarily well of the bat in the outfield. He knew that this was going to be a good night, even allowing himself a moment of overconfidence when thinking, “These guys are about to meet a star.” This certainly was his first of many proud moments to come and no one could take it from him.
While most rookies who have recently been brought up tend to sit around and enjoy the amenities that a major league locker room can provide, Hobbs choose to get out to the field as quickly as he could. He wanted to take in every moment of that first evening under the lights; the crowd pouring in, the field preparations, the national anthem and the first pitch. After all the pregame niceties had been put in the books it was finally time for the action to begin.
Hobbs would be batting seventh and so it was pretty clear to him that he wouldn’t be making it up in the first inning. He spent those first few batters trying to find out if the pitcher was tipping his pitches or if he was struggling to throw certain pitches for strikes. As expected the Yankees set down the first three in order and so it was time to make that first jog to the field. As he took that first step out of the dugout he couldn’t help but remember what his father had told him the night before.
“Hobbs,” he said over the phone, trying to mask the pride he was feeling, “you’ve worked all your life for tomorrow night. You’ve spent countless hours honing your game for this one moment. You’ve sacrificed spring breaks, summer nights with friends, and after school events just to get those extra swings in the cage. You’ve earned every accolade that has ever been given to you but just remember that this truly is a dream come true. Every day you’ve told me about how you always wanted to run out onto a professional baseball field and play the game you love in front of thousands of screaming people. Now that time is at hand. So when you jog out to that historical piece of grass in centerfield…don’t forget to get chills. You’ve earned em.”
His dad knew what he was talking about. As he jogged out to center his entire body was covered with goose bumps. When he reached his spot and started to warm up with the left fielder he was greeted by a chorus of boos and mocking jeers from the New York faithful. He couldn’t help but smile and laugh. It’s customary that visiting players try to ignore the home fans because it will only throw gas on their fire knowing that the player is paying attention to them. Hobbs could care less though, it was his first professional evening and he let them have their fun.
When the pitcher had taken his final warm ups and the ump gave him the go ahead it was time. Hobbs bent over slightly at the waste, hands resting softly on his knees just as they had done thousands of times before. He was relaxed but ready to pounce at a moments notice. The first two batters hit soft ground balls to the shortstop, who made the plays with routine ease. The third batter however made solid contact on an awful change up, sending it screaming past the left fielder and short hopping the fence. He ended up with a two out double leaving a man on second for the clean hitter.
The first two pitches of the at bat were balls on the outside of the plate putting the clean up man in a great hitting count. Hobbs knew this guy was a gap to gap hitter and prepared himself to be on the run. As the pitch was delivered he tensed up ever so slightly as the heckling continued. Sure enough the batter drilled a line drive towards the left center gap. Hobbs got a great read on the ball, as he usually did, which enabled him to have a chance at making the catch. As the ball appeared to be going over his shoulder he leapt towards the outfield wall and onto the warning track. Just as the ball was about to hit the ground he closed his glove and corralled it at the last moment.
Hobbs got up quickly and winked at the bleacher bums as he tossed the ball to a fan in the first row. Even the home fans gave him a few subtle cheers, showing appreciation for the web gem he had just produced. Hobbs at saved a run for his team and made an outstanding play on his first major league attempt. He could imagine the commentators on the radio, “What a catch by the rookie! This kid is as hard nosed as them come!”
He got back in to the dugout and the pitcher slapped him on the back as he said, “thata boy rook. Keep doing that shit and you’ll be here to stay.” Hobbs was due up fourth that inning and so his focus really began to set in. The first hitter ripped a double down the right field line on the first pitch and the second quickly grounded out to the third baseman. Hobbs was on deck with one out and a man on second. His first official at bat was quickly approaching. He rubbed pine tar up and down the handle of his bat. He needed it for the grip because he didn’t use batting gloves or any wrap on his bat. “If tar was good enough for Ted Williams, it’s good enough for me,” he’d always tell anyone who questioned him about his curious preparation rituals. He took a few swings with the donut on the bat and then patiently waited as the batter in front of him struck out on three straight fastballs.
As he was walking towards the plate the fallen hitter before him told him to watch for the high heat. He nodded and walked slowly towards the batters box. Just before he stepped in he heard something he’d been waiting for his entire life. The famed Yankees PA announcer Bob Sheppard, “The Voice of God”, saying his name. “Now batting, numba 12, rookie centafielder, Hobbs Carpenta.”
Talk about a rush. Hobbs froze in place, stunned at how amazing that sounded. In fact he stood with one foot out of the box for so longer that ump finally asked him, “You ever gonna step in here kid or are you just gonna stand there with that shit eating grin on your face all night?”
Hobbs laughed and stepped in. The pitcher spit his chaw out and came set with the first pitch. He threw a ball just below Hobbs’s hands that nearly hit him. He looked at the pitcher who tipped his cap and spit once again. Hobbs smiled. This was a rite of passage. A pitcher’s way of saying he respects the young kid but this is his plate and don’t forget that.
The pitcher came set again and delivered a loopy curveball towards the outside corner. But Hobbs had seen Field of Dreams far too many times to fall for this trick. He sat back, waited for the pitch to get to the back of his stance and sent a rocket towards the right fielder. He was on a dead sprint from the moment he left the box. Gone were the heavy steps of the kid who was a bit slower than the rest. He ran with grace and determination as he rounded first base. Without a moments hesitation he headed towards second base. As the throw came in Hobbs dove head first towards the base and reached the base just as the ball hit the glove.
But something didn’t feel right.
As Hobbs dove towards the base the shortstop tried to block the low throw and unintentionally drove his knee down onto Hobbs shoulder. Hobbs couldn’t feel a thing but he could tell something was definitely wrong. He was unable to move his throwing arm. The trainer came rushing out and told him to lie still. Hobbs tried to tell him he was just fine but the look on the doctor’s face told him otherwise. It was at this moment that Hobbs lost it. He knew he’d never play baseball again. Not at the professional level, not at any level. He had torn his rotator cuff in two completely and severely dislocated his shoulder and elbow. No amount of hard work could bring him back from this devastating injury.
The stadium was dead silent as they helped him off the field. The fans wanted to clap as is customary when it is revealed that a player is all right after an injury but this was different. There was something in the air that let everyone know that this would be star was not going to be ok. The pin drop quiet was almost like a solemn moment of silence for a career that would never be.
As quickly Hobbs Carpenter’s dream was being realized it had shattered just as quickly. All those hours of blood, sweat, and tears meant nothing anymore. No amount of time could bring him back from this. His career was over. From that day on Hobbs refused to watch baseball, talk baseball, or even coach. As he grew older people asked him why he had strayed from the game that had brought him so much joy throughout his. His response was always that he didn’t feel qualified to teach a game that he could no longer play. He kept his pain buried deep inside his heart until one day his father finally asked him, “Hobbs, I know how baldy you’ve been hurt by this sport but I honestly think that coaching others might ease the sting that we all know you’re feeling. Why not give it a shot?”
Hobbs’s response was justifiable. “Pops”, he said, “to be that close, to work that hard for so long and to have it all taken away from me; I know it’s selfish but I just can’t share my knowledge after that. For one, to know that I was so close to making it would just make me push my players far too hard and drive them away from the game. Not to mention the fact that I just don’t think I have it in me to look at this game in a positive light any more. How could I teach kids to love something that is going to be taken away from them eventually? Players spend all their time working on this game and then one day it’s just over. Be it because of age, declining abilities, or injury soon enough everyone has to hang up the cleats. I know life’s not fair and that this is just another explanation of that but I just simply can’t imagine putting anyone else through the pain that I felt. I’m sorry but I just couldn’t do it.”
And for Hobbs Carpenter that was that. He never spoke about his one day of glory and pride. His children never knew that their daddy was a Major League Baseball player, if only for a day. He didn’t push them away from the sport, but he didn’t force it upon them either. For the most part his life was a happy one but, despite the fact that he tried hard, for the rest of his life but he never could forget his official MLB stats: 1 for 1 with a double, an rbi, one great catch, and a lifetime of what ifs.
September sucks. It’s the end of summer. The nights are starting to get chilly. The country is getting ready to pack it in for the winter and there aren’t any enjoyable holidays in sight. Some might even say it’s the shittiest month of the year. However, just the opposite is true for aspiring, minor league baseball players and that’s exactly what Hobbs Carpenter was. Named for baseball’s “Natural” Hobbs was quite the opposite. He had spent nearly every moment for the past twenty-two years living, breathing, and dreaming baseball. However, unlike his movie counterpart, Hobbs’s success had not come easy. He had to work twice as hard as everyone else, was smaller than most, and had to walk on to his college team at little known Greensboro College.
No one ever gave him much of a chance and yet here he was, sitting in front of a locker in Yankee Stadium. As Hobbs was lacing up his shoes he couldn’t help but think about all the past situations that lead to this very moment; Becoming a division III All-American his senior year, consequently being drafted in the 21st round by the Kansas City Royals who were looking for a young, dependable centerfielder, and especially making it all the way through their minor league system in just two years.
It was still hard for Hobbs to believe how he’d gone from a no name, late round draft pick to one of the top prospects in the minor leagues. He had played all over the country for the Royals Affiliates in Arizona, Idaho, North Carolina, Delaware, Iowa, Nebraska, and finally Kansas. Who could have imagined that a kid born without any special athletic abilities could ever make it to the major leagues? Every once in a while a player will come along who, for all his life, makes this game look easy. These guys can run like run like Mays, track a ball down like Mantel, hit like Teddy ball game, and throw like Clemente all the while making it look effortless. Hobbs was not that guy. Every swing he took looked painful, every step, heavy. While some prospects swings brought to mind thoughts of Griffey, Edmonds, or A-rod Hobbs’s looked more like David Eckstein. While these setbacks may have frustrated other, weaker willed, athletes, it only motivated Hobbs to work harder.
So here sat Hobbs Carpenter, the pride of Knightdale, about to start his first major league game in centerfield, and in Yankee Stadium no less. The patch of grass that had created the legendary names of Mantle, DiMaggio, and Williams now had a new face patrolling; a new kid to help enshrine. He had ripped to ball to all fields during batting practice and was picking up the ball extraordinarily well of the bat in the outfield. He knew that this was going to be a good night, even allowing himself a moment of overconfidence when thinking, “These guys are about to meet a star.” This certainly was his first of many proud moments to come and no one could take it from him.
While most rookies who have recently been brought up tend to sit around and enjoy the amenities that a major league locker room can provide, Hobbs choose to get out to the field as quickly as he could. He wanted to take in every moment of that first evening under the lights; the crowd pouring in, the field preparations, the national anthem and the first pitch. After all the pregame niceties had been put in the books it was finally time for the action to begin.
Hobbs would be batting seventh and so it was pretty clear to him that he wouldn’t be making it up in the first inning. He spent those first few batters trying to find out if the pitcher was tipping his pitches or if he was struggling to throw certain pitches for strikes. As expected the Yankees set down the first three in order and so it was time to make that first jog to the field. As he took that first step out of the dugout he couldn’t help but remember what his father had told him the night before.
“Hobbs,” he said over the phone, trying to mask the pride he was feeling, “you’ve worked all your life for tomorrow night. You’ve spent countless hours honing your game for this one moment. You’ve sacrificed spring breaks, summer nights with friends, and after school events just to get those extra swings in the cage. You’ve earned every accolade that has ever been given to you but just remember that this truly is a dream come true. Every day you’ve told me about how you always wanted to run out onto a professional baseball field and play the game you love in front of thousands of screaming people. Now that time is at hand. So when you jog out to that historical piece of grass in centerfield…don’t forget to get chills. You’ve earned em.”
His dad knew what he was talking about. As he jogged out to center his entire body was covered with goose bumps. When he reached his spot and started to warm up with the left fielder he was greeted by a chorus of boos and mocking jeers from the New York faithful. He couldn’t help but smile and laugh. It’s customary that visiting players try to ignore the home fans because it will only throw gas on their fire knowing that the player is paying attention to them. Hobbs could care less though, it was his first professional evening and he let them have their fun.
When the pitcher had taken his final warm ups and the ump gave him the go ahead it was time. Hobbs bent over slightly at the waste, hands resting softly on his knees just as they had done thousands of times before. He was relaxed but ready to pounce at a moments notice. The first two batters hit soft ground balls to the shortstop, who made the plays with routine ease. The third batter however made solid contact on an awful change up, sending it screaming past the left fielder and short hopping the fence. He ended up with a two out double leaving a man on second for the clean hitter.
The first two pitches of the at bat were balls on the outside of the plate putting the clean up man in a great hitting count. Hobbs knew this guy was a gap to gap hitter and prepared himself to be on the run. As the pitch was delivered he tensed up ever so slightly as the heckling continued. Sure enough the batter drilled a line drive towards the left center gap. Hobbs got a great read on the ball, as he usually did, which enabled him to have a chance at making the catch. As the ball appeared to be going over his shoulder he leapt towards the outfield wall and onto the warning track. Just as the ball was about to hit the ground he closed his glove and corralled it at the last moment.
Hobbs got up quickly and winked at the bleacher bums as he tossed the ball to a fan in the first row. Even the home fans gave him a few subtle cheers, showing appreciation for the web gem he had just produced. Hobbs at saved a run for his team and made an outstanding play on his first major league attempt. He could imagine the commentators on the radio, “What a catch by the rookie! This kid is as hard nosed as them come!”
He got back in to the dugout and the pitcher slapped him on the back as he said, “thata boy rook. Keep doing that shit and you’ll be here to stay.” Hobbs was due up fourth that inning and so his focus really began to set in. The first hitter ripped a double down the right field line on the first pitch and the second quickly grounded out to the third baseman. Hobbs was on deck with one out and a man on second. His first official at bat was quickly approaching. He rubbed pine tar up and down the handle of his bat. He needed it for the grip because he didn’t use batting gloves or any wrap on his bat. “If tar was good enough for Ted Williams, it’s good enough for me,” he’d always tell anyone who questioned him about his curious preparation rituals. He took a few swings with the donut on the bat and then patiently waited as the batter in front of him struck out on three straight fastballs.
As he was walking towards the plate the fallen hitter before him told him to watch for the high heat. He nodded and walked slowly towards the batters box. Just before he stepped in he heard something he’d been waiting for his entire life. The famed Yankees PA announcer Bob Sheppard, “The Voice of God”, saying his name. “Now batting, numba 12, rookie centafielder, Hobbs Carpenta.”
Talk about a rush. Hobbs froze in place, stunned at how amazing that sounded. In fact he stood with one foot out of the box for so longer that ump finally asked him, “You ever gonna step in here kid or are you just gonna stand there with that shit eating grin on your face all night?”
Hobbs laughed and stepped in. The pitcher spit his chaw out and came set with the first pitch. He threw a ball just below Hobbs’s hands that nearly hit him. He looked at the pitcher who tipped his cap and spit once again. Hobbs smiled. This was a rite of passage. A pitcher’s way of saying he respects the young kid but this is his plate and don’t forget that.
The pitcher came set again and delivered a loopy curveball towards the outside corner. But Hobbs had seen Field of Dreams far too many times to fall for this trick. He sat back, waited for the pitch to get to the back of his stance and sent a rocket towards the right fielder. He was on a dead sprint from the moment he left the box. Gone were the heavy steps of the kid who was a bit slower than the rest. He ran with grace and determination as he rounded first base. Without a moments hesitation he headed towards second base. As the throw came in Hobbs dove head first towards the base and reached the base just as the ball hit the glove.
But something didn’t feel right.
As Hobbs dove towards the base the shortstop tried to block the low throw and unintentionally drove his knee down onto Hobbs shoulder. Hobbs couldn’t feel a thing but he could tell something was definitely wrong. He was unable to move his throwing arm. The trainer came rushing out and told him to lie still. Hobbs tried to tell him he was just fine but the look on the doctor’s face told him otherwise. It was at this moment that Hobbs lost it. He knew he’d never play baseball again. Not at the professional level, not at any level. He had torn his rotator cuff in two completely and severely dislocated his shoulder and elbow. No amount of hard work could bring him back from this devastating injury.
The stadium was dead silent as they helped him off the field. The fans wanted to clap as is customary when it is revealed that a player is all right after an injury but this was different. There was something in the air that let everyone know that this would be star was not going to be ok. The pin drop quiet was almost like a solemn moment of silence for a career that would never be.
As quickly Hobbs Carpenter’s dream was being realized it had shattered just as quickly. All those hours of blood, sweat, and tears meant nothing anymore. No amount of time could bring him back from this. His career was over. From that day on Hobbs refused to watch baseball, talk baseball, or even coach. As he grew older people asked him why he had strayed from the game that had brought him so much joy throughout his. His response was always that he didn’t feel qualified to teach a game that he could no longer play. He kept his pain buried deep inside his heart until one day his father finally asked him, “Hobbs, I know how baldy you’ve been hurt by this sport but I honestly think that coaching others might ease the sting that we all know you’re feeling. Why not give it a shot?”
Hobbs’s response was justifiable. “Pops”, he said, “to be that close, to work that hard for so long and to have it all taken away from me; I know it’s selfish but I just can’t share my knowledge after that. For one, to know that I was so close to making it would just make me push my players far too hard and drive them away from the game. Not to mention the fact that I just don’t think I have it in me to look at this game in a positive light any more. How could I teach kids to love something that is going to be taken away from them eventually? Players spend all their time working on this game and then one day it’s just over. Be it because of age, declining abilities, or injury soon enough everyone has to hang up the cleats. I know life’s not fair and that this is just another explanation of that but I just simply can’t imagine putting anyone else through the pain that I felt. I’m sorry but I just couldn’t do it.”
And for Hobbs Carpenter that was that. He never spoke about his one day of glory and pride. His children never knew that their daddy was a Major League Baseball player, if only for a day. He didn’t push them away from the sport, but he didn’t force it upon them either. For the most part his life was a happy one but, despite the fact that he tried hard, for the rest of his life but he never could forget his official MLB stats: 1 for 1 with a double, an rbi, one great catch, and a lifetime of what ifs.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)