Tag: baseball

Heading to the National

Nope, not any of this summer’s national political conventions (thankfully). This week, I’ll be making the modest 200 mile drive to the national sportscard show.

It’ll be just the second time I’ve gone. The other was when I was just 15 and had started my small business of buying/selling cards in high school. We centered the family’s summer vacation around it that year. And…how things have changed since. No, not going to go there again now.

I bought the pass late last year, which was right after I left my job and still had some lingering hope about repairing my future. But since that hope is now gone, I really considered not going. Especially since I have no desire (nor the finances) to be buying much now anyway.

The show pass is non-refundable though, and I’ll meet up with my closest friend in the business. And since I will probably have to make a much more concerted effort to liquidate some of my collection soon, it’ll be good to see for myself how the industry looks during its biggest yearly event.

So, despite my usual desire to avoid spending any energy anymore (especially when it comes to being around other humans), I’ve decided to keep the plans. It’ll be interesting to see how I’ll react to being at such a madhouse though. That’s the last thing a depressed recluse wants to deal with, but hopefully it’ll be worth the effort.

Plus it’ll be interesting to see how how my mood is there. This will be the first time I’ve had any social interaction since I pretty much gave up on life earlier this summer. So as bleak as this sounds, I don’t know how much I’ll be able to enjoy much of anything now. We’ll just have to see how I react to it, and if I can forget my troubles long enough to have a good time with my friend.

Especially since I don’t want to put a dent in HIS vacation by being a wet blanket. That’s naturally another part of being so depressed that keeps you stuck in a cycle of isolation: you don’t want to bring others down with you, so you just avoid meeting up with people in general.

Crossing my fingers. We’ll see what happens.

The lone person who might understand…

I’ve told plenty of stories about how gaining and losing success is not something most people relate to. And how the particular way it happened to me is an even more unique path. One that even experienced therapists couldn’t put a finger on. Sometimes I feel entirely alone in that world.

But there IS one exception.

I once read a story about an extremely successful pro sports bettor who had begun supporting himself that way sometime in the 1970s. By the time he was in his 40s, he had a net worth of almost 10 million dollars. Was already starting to put his kids through college. I’m sure he felt like he was living the dream, and always would.

Then came the 1985 World Series. And that was when his life changed.

The St Louis Cardinals were playing the Kansas City Royals, and the Cardinals were a 2 to 1 favorite to win the series. This gentleman wagered $2 million to profit $1 million on the Cardinals. Notice the first parallel here to my story? No one should ever risk 20% of their net worth on a bet like that. Or even close. I imagine that he was too blinded by his past profits to care enough about making those kinds of mistakes. Something I know quite well. Continuing on:

St Louis won 3 of the first 4 games. For those who aren’t familiar with American sports, the World Series is the best of 7 (meaning that you keep playing games until one team has won four times). So, the Cardinals were one win away from the title. And that was despite one of their key players suffering a fluke injury early in the series. So, while this guy had risked too much on the Cardinals, he had a really good chance of getting away with it this time.

They lost Game 5. Then, in Game 6, the Cards were ahead 1-0 going to the bottom of the 9th inning. Three outs away. And that was when one infamous moment in time changed everything:

Kansas City’s first hitter should have been out, but a terrible call by the umpire left him safe at first base. That call is still talked about to this day in the baseball world.

KC came back and won the game 2-1. Then they destroyed the Cardinals in game 7, winning the title. And costing that bettor an agonizing $2 million loss. But hey, despite all that, he still had a net worth of $8 million. Time to move on, try and get past it, learn from your mistake, and so on, right?

Well, the guy never recovered.

When he was interviewed about all of this about 10 years later, he was in the basement of a modest house with baseball games on everywhere. Trying to paste together some new success a thousand bucks or two at a time. Wondering if he was ever going to have enough capital again. How he’d pay back borrowed money. His kids were trying to be as supportive as they could (not financially, but any other way possible). They had so much appreciation for what he’d done for them growing up, but now their dad hadn’t been the same person for a long time.

And they didn’t know if he ever would be. Once things turned downhill, his bad habits trumped his skills from then on. The overbetting that used to help his results was now a highly destructive problem (as it always will be at some point, no matter how good you are). It didn’t matter how talented he was at his craft, or how many years he’d done so well in the past.

Now that I’ve been in the same boat for such a long time, I wish I could find that story again. Can’t even see a trace of it on the internet. He’s the only person I’ve ever read about who so closely mirrors my own strengths/weaknesses and rise/fall.

I’d love to talk to him. Let him know that I get it. Hear the rest of his story. Find out if he ever got things turned around.

Before it’s too late for me to do the same.

When the unexpected mirror appears

Recently I won an auction lot for just $20 that had a bunch of old baseball memorabilia. Just wanted to enjoy the nostalgia of the knick knacks from the collection. Each item wasn’t worth much at all individually, but there was so much that it added up to a really good deal. Plus, it would be an interesting one-time detour from my usual nothing but cards, cards, cards.

Sent the payment and got the package. Noticed it cost him 10 bucks to even ship it to me. He basically got next to nothing. Decided to do something I normally wouldn’t (and certainly won’t be able to when profit margins become vital again once I get back in this business soon, but anyway)…..

Messaged the guy and said “hey, this just isn’t right. I’m unofficially doubling my bid to $40. Sent the rest to you already”. He replies and says “thanks, I’m just a 72 year old guy who has no one to leave my collection to. So I hope it ends up in the hands of people who appreciate it”.

Wow. Talk about something hitting home. That news basically turned my entire screen into a mirror.

If I manage to make it to the year 2047, I will still remember the day 27 years prior when a lonely older man from Michigan not only put some faith in a stranger, but unknowingly showed him a troubling glimpse of his future too. But despite how that look down the road is pretty sad, at least a little something better can come from it now.

Because I will always protect this modest part of his collection like it came from my own childhood. He seems like someone who deserves that.

Hopefully when I’m in the same shoes at that age, I will too.

Baseball good ol’ days, part 2 of 2

My other baseball story from awhile back was about team glory. This one is about personal accomplishment, and I imagine anyone who loved being on the diamond as a kid can relate.

Late spring 1987. The goody good suburban ’80s were in full swing in my hometown, and my best time of the year was about to start: Little League baseball.

You see, the older kids had the limelight of football and basketball. But when you were a tween, the youth sports world revolved around one place: what was (at the time) the only LL field in town, right next to the high school football field. If you were a player during that time of year, you often wore your team’s jersey to school on game days (just like the HS football players did). This was serious biz.

The bleachers were always full of people watching, and there was even a food concession stand there too. And in clear view at that stand was always a list of everyone who had hit a home run that season (along with how many).

I didn’t simply want to get on that list. I HAD to.

It was always a childhood fantasy to hit one out. Not in the backyard (that was nothing), but during a real game. With the fans reacting and the scoreboard changing. During my 10 and 11 year old LL seasons, that hadn’t happened, but it didn’t bother me at all (as very few guys would hit homers at that field before their last season as 12 year olds).

Now, it was time. And before that final season began, my dad noticed a hitch in my swing that I’d developed (which led to us combining to come up with an adjustment at the plate that gave my bat more pop). Clearing the fence at that field was now easy in practice. I just had to do it when it counted.

Early in the season, I hit one off the base of the fence. A few games later, a deep shot clanged square off the top of it. So it only seemed like a matter of time, especially since I hadn’t really gotten into one yet.

But to my surprise and, before long, ever-growing frustration, it continued to elude me.

Before I knew it, the season was halfway over. At that point I started to press and went into a slump for a couple weeks, which just made things worse. Took a deep breath and got back on track eventually, but by then, I had almost run out of chances. All that was left was the short postseason (single elimination) tournament. Since we had only won three games all year, that meant that I probably had only one more shot.

Sure there were the all star games coming up too, but I couldn’t count on that. Plus, it just wouldn’t have been the same. It only seemed right to do it on my home field.

I singled in my first at bat. My next time up, we were ahead 2-1 with runners on second and third. A teammate yelled “we need these ribbies”.

The pitcher (and yes I remember who it was, but not saying here) laid one right down the middle. I swung. A long line drive took off to left field. And….

I didn’t even see what happened next. Why? Because my dad and I always made a point for the hitter to never watch the ball on his way to first base. Even in this spot, I held true to that. Despite the fact that I wasn’t sure if it was too much of a liner to get out.

So I only heard a unique roar from our side of the stands. Given that no one else on our team had homered all year, I knew what that meant. As I was getting to first base, I finally saw the left fielder at the fence, looking calmly beyond it, and that was when it was certain that it was gone. The scoreboard now said 5-1.

I don’t think I left a footprint the rest of the way around the bases. People took off to find the ball for me. It still sits at the house where I grew up, along with the other home run ball that I hit a little later during all-star competition (cause hey, the pressure was off then).

Anyway, we ended up losing 18-5 that day. But after I went deep, no one seemed to care that much (especially since we knew our poor last place team was just playing out the string.) And I’d like to think it was also because everyone else in the dugout lived the moment with me.

Which made it even that much better.

The magic of sports

Most of my posts have been about my many struggles (which, unfortunately, still continue, which is a reason why I haven’t written much lately). But after watching the last game of the Little League World Series US bracket this afternoon, I was reminded of how different things used to be, and the baseball season that helped set the foundation for some of my past successes.

This is the short story about the best youth baseball season (well, sports season period) in the history of the universe.

When I was 9 years old, my dad coached my minor league team. You didn’t pick players for the league at that age; they were just randomly assigned. When he brought home our roster, it looked like there were more future doctors on there than ball players. And what was this….not one, but TWO girls? And Billy Hood…..who is that? (sounded like what they’d name the goofy kid from the Sandlot). So, needless to say, there were no initial signs of what was to come.

We won our first game. In the second game, we were down by four runs heading to the bottom of the 6th (the final inning in minor league and little league games) and our worst hitters due up. This was no shock, of course, as we assumed there would be plenty of ups and downs for the year. As luck would have it……the opposing pitcher could not throw a strike. Walk after walk after walk; I can still see the anguish on that poor kid’s face, especially since his coach just left him out there to burn. Before you knew it, our dugout was pounding its feet with the winning runs on base and still no one out. By then the heart of our order was up, and when someone hit a gapper to finish off the comeback, the celebration was on.

Little did we know (at the time) that the tone that had been set for the year.

As it turns out, Billy Hood was like this 6′ tall 200 pound nine-year old new kid in town (with the power to match). One of those icky girls ended up being one of the best hitters on our team. And my dad found ways to disguise our main weakness (i.e. those future doctors who couldn’t hit much). A kid named Matt and I anchored the middle of the lineup, the pitching, and the defense up the middle. And it all clicked; we probably weren’t the most talented team in the league, but we did everything well enough and played at a consistently high level.

So as it got late in the season, we still hadn’t lost a game. At that point we weren’t sure if we would, and had our eyes set on something very tough to do: an undefeated baseball season. Naturally, that was the time when it almost ended.

As any former baseball player knows, you will always have that game where nothing goes your way. And for 5 1/2 innings of our next outing, that finally happened. We were playing one of the worst teams in the league, and we never got anything going. I left a truckload of runners on base myself, and when I stranded the bases loaded in the top of the 5th or 6th with two out and just a one run lead, I was so frustrated that I could’ve cracked the aluminum bat. Because I knew we needed those extra runs (minor league games are very high scoring, so a small lead means virtually nothing).

We went to the bottom of the 6th with just a one-run lead. And even better, Matt and I couldn’t pitch anymore that day (we’d both used up our allowed innings). This left our fate in the hands of an 8 year old who’d barely pitched in his life. Needless to say, we were in trouble. Asking him to save that game for us (in this spot) was way too much….wasn’t it?

Turns out that this chubby next door neighbor had some ice water in his veins. The first hitter popped out. The next one hit a ground ball to me, and as I was throwing him out, I remember thinking “ok now it’s looking like we’ll actually escape”. Next guy: strike one, two, and three, and our newly found Mariano Rivera had just retired the side in order and bailed us out.

That was the point when you knew that it could be a special season.

The year finished up with just a single title game to decide the champion (between the teams with the two best records). So even though we’d gone undefeated, we still had to win that extra game to win the title and finish off the perfect season. Before that final game, I wrote in something like “14-0 champs” (predicting a win ahead of time) in my dad’s scorebook. And, of course, was promptly reminded not to count my chickens before they hatched and all those good cliches, blah blah blah.

He probably felt I was too overconfident. But the thing is, that wasn’t true. I knew we were beatable, especially when it came to these two other teams in the league that I considered dangerous. And had we been playing against one of those, I would’ve never assumed victory ahead of time. However…..we were up against someone else. Somehow this other team snuck into the title game against us, and it was one I didn’t have much respect for. THAT was why I fully expected us to get that one last win that we needed.

You might be assuming…..hmm ok, I wonder if this is when our fair writer learned a harsh lesson about humility at such a young age (and watched this other team celebrate what should’ve been their title). Well, that didn’t happen. We grinded out the same type of wire-to-wire fairly easy win that we had for most of the year, and the perfect season was complete.

This, everyone, is an example of why sports can do so much for a young kid. That season may not have been anything much outside of my small hometown that year, but to those of us who experienced, it was much more than that. It taught us how to work together and how to overcome adversity, and, more importantly, how doing so can lead to accomplishments that you never thought possible. Lessons that are vital for young kids to experience.

And just as important….the memory of it all. Experiencing that one magic season where you somehow persevered in every single game, and ended the unbeaten journey with gloves thrown in the air and lifting the trophy.

It still makes me smile to this day.