Tony, You Are an Underachiever...

"Tony, you are an underachiever."

Those are the words of one of my college professors when I went to his office after getting a D on a book summary.  I didn't respond too well to that comment in the moment BUT I didn't dismiss it either.  And, it turns out he was right.  Or, at least partially right.

That same year my college baseball coach gave me an opportunity I had been saying I wanted for 3+ years.  I wanted to pitch.  I had been at shortstop most of High School and College and it wasn't my favorite position.  Pitcher and catcher were my favorites but thanks to some injuries early in High School plus the fact that our team needed a shortstop I ended up there most of my games.  I kept asking my college coach for an opportunity at pitcher or catcher.  The reality was we already had enough decent catchers so I knew that probably wasn't going to be my opportunity.  But, a team rarely has enough quality pitchers.  I asked for 3 years.  "No, Tony, we need you at shortstop."

Then, in the fall of my senior year, my coach calls my name before a game and says "Tony, go warm up."  I was a little confused.  I was ready to play shortstop that game, just as I had for the previous 3 years.  So, I asked "to pitch??" and he said "yes".  YES!!!

I don't actually remember how that game went but it must have gone pretty well because by the spring, I was one of our top 3 starting pitchers.  After 4+ years of no pitching, I had my opportunity and I was making the most of it... Until, my arm started throbbing.  Because I hadn't been preparing to pitch, my arm wasn't conditioned to handle the strain of pitching.  Many nights I couldn't sleep due to the pain.  Advil and Motrin had become a daily supplement.  By the end of that season, I not only couldn't pitch, I couldn't even throw the ball from shortstop to 1st base.  I finished the year playing 2nd base so I could get the ball to 1st.

What if I had prepared during those years that I had been asking for the opportunity to pitch?  I had enough talent to go right in and become a starting pitcher with zero preparation for years.  I knew I was a better pitcher than I was shortstop but I hadn't prepared.  Who knows if I had the ability to play at least minor league ball BUT I do know I was talented enough to at least consider it.  When the opportunity presented itself, I wasn't ready.

At the end of my senior year instead of hopes of continuing playing ball, I was thankful for the time to rest my arm.  I didn't throw a ball for over a year and the next time I did, it was on a church softball team.

My professor was right.  I had underachieved.  Thankfully, though, God had another door ahead of me that my baseball experience was preparing for.  Another opportunity and, again, preparation would be key.  Would I be prepared this time?

Fields of Dreams

The last few days have been spent at my grandparents house near Cobleskill, NY.  It's a place I've visited my entire life.  Each visit is a benchmark of my past, from my earliest memories.  Some are really just memories of photos that I don't actually remember living.  They begin in a house my grandfather built on a street he has lived his entire life on.  My bedroom being upstairs on the other side of my parents room (no hallway).  My great grandmother's house just a baseball throw away and across the street.  Their yards were huge... at least in my memory.  I don't remember an end to their backyards.  It was "impossible" to hit a ball out of the yard.  We could roam freely, no limits.  Well, that's what I remember.  Now, as I drive by those houses, the yards seem remarkably normal.  The Weeping Willows are still there but the yards aren't as big.

On this trip, I realized something else.  My dreams had changed.    Life has happened.  I've grown.  I have a career.  A family.  And as I've gone down these paths, the limitless dreams, sometimes assumptions of how life would be, have evolved in my mind just like the yards I grew up playing ball on.  Some dreams, like the Weeping Willows, are still there.  They've grown over the years and endured the winters.  Some are like the boundaries of the yards.  I'm not sure if they've shrunk but they sure aren't as limitless and grand as they seemed 30 years ago.  Some, like the Shortstop Diner in Cooperstown, are just gone.  They don't exist anymore.

I also saw how those dreams have shaped me.  It's Cobleskill and Cooperstown that gave me an image of life outside a large city.  They gave me a target to aim for when CFA asked where we'd like to live.  A place that was smaller and a bit slower than the big city.  A place with fresh air, stillness.  A place where a community may still gather at "general stores".  Oh, and baseball.  I dreamed of playing at least minor league ball.

Running the bases with my daughters at the Bulls ballpark, slowing just a bit as we got to shortstop to take a look at home plate and envisioning a ground ball coming.  Or, a couple swings with a wooden bat and real baseballs during an open house.  That's how Durham has played into my early baseball dreams.  Part of me still thinks I could play the game if I put forth the effort...

A baseball, a bat, a ball diamond is still what inspires me to dream.  They still provide a moment of comfort.  Peace.  Stillness.  A place to think about what's next.  To dream about what's next.

My sport has changed.  My family has changed.  My home has changed.  My dreams have changed.  But, I can still go after them if I put forth the effort.