Kiss it goodbye
The late baseball commissioner, Bart Giamatti, once penned about baseball, “It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone.”
Today, my heart is broken. My girl left me. Just like that, it’s over. A good part of a lifetime together, and she’s out the door. She was my favorite hello and my hardest goodbye. She is gone. Don’t pass go, don’t collect $200. The fact is, she is gone.
This was a scene from Annie Hall: “A relationship, I think, is like a shark. You know? It has to constantly move forward, or it dies. And I think what we got on our hands is a dead shark.” This was Rick Blaine in Casablanca telling Illsa, “I’ve got a job to do, too. Where I’m going, you can’t follow. What I’ve got to do, you can’t be any part of.”
Except, there was no conversation. She did leave a note. Like a thief in the night, she stole out on me – took my wallet, car keys, kids, and the dog.
I recently learned of her plans. In retrospect, maybe I should have acknowledged sooner that this was a possibility. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her forever. There’s always that sliver of hope that things can work themselves out. Martin Luther King, Jr. once said, “We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.” But that infinite hope has been officially dashed. She is gone.
They define denialism as the rejection of undisputed basic facts and concepts. I guess I should have seen the signs. In fact, I was separated from my girl for several months. Pandemics have a funny way of working. I thought that maybe she just needed a break. After all, three decades is a long time to spend together. I just didn’t – couldn’t – know that the separation would be permanent.
She and I had always gotten along well. We never argued. How many couples can make that claim? It seemed like the perfect relationship. I don’t think she initially wanted to separate. I hope she occasionally thinks of me, even though she is gone.
Didn’t the summer trips mean anything? That was a time reserved for traveling together. Oh, did we travel! We were inseparable yet never grew tired of each other. She preferred to choose the destinations. I enjoyed the element of surprise. Every fall, she would lay the summer itinerary before me. I would study it, nod, and begin to count down the days until embarkation eagerly. I didn’t care where we were going, just as long as we were together. Those were glorious months. We often traveled off the beaten path and sometimes stayed in 2-star motels in the early days of our relationship. It didn’t matter because it was an adventure. There were no extravagant trips to the Louvre Museum, taking in the wonderment of Half Dome, or enjoying the beauty of Maui; we liked to hit some of the not-so-hot tourist destinations. Summers will never be the same now that she is gone.
I wasn’t perfect, but I was pretty good. I was a great provider. Like lemmings to the sea or swallows to Capistrano, my girl could count on me. I was consistent. I was always there for her. But now, she isn’t. She is gone.
The worst part is that I’ll never know why she left. All I have is her note. I do know that she’s found someone new. She’s his gain now. I’m left with questions and countless great memories. What’s done is done. No happy retirement together with early evenings spent sipping a smooth cab on the porch while watching the sunset—no retirement trips to the Bahamas or three-week cruises on the Mediterranean.
Let me state that I didn’t quit baseball (and I’m still happily married to my wonderful wife of 21 years). The game decided that it was time to move on from me. I gave it all she’s got, captain! I do wish her well. Our relationship would have ended at some point – everything does in life. As the great Vin Scully once said about an injured player, “He’s listed as day-to-day. Aren’t we all.” It just wasn’t supposed to end now. The Grand Ol’ Lady had other plans and desires, however. Thirty happy years together – poof! Most marriages don’t last 30 years. My marriage to baseball did. I sure will miss her.
I’ll miss late afternoons of sitting up in the booth, staring out over an emerald-green field of lush grass as the day begins to be swallowed by dusk. I’ll miss afternoon games in the spring, before the summer heat and humidity take over like unwanted in-laws who overstay their visit during the holidays. When you first walk into a stadium, I’ll miss the smell of freshly mown grass that hits your nose like a fine Bordeaux. I’ll miss the roar of the crowd and the crack of the bat. There’s something truly unique and captivating about the sounds of baseball, unlike any other sport.
I’ll miss the travel – sort of – and midnight dinners on the road. I’ll miss scouting towns before a road trip for local craft beer. I’ll miss the hours spent researching a good story about some centerfielder, whom no one has heard, from some small town in the corner of Kansas.
I’ll miss the rush you get when you slap on the headset just before going on air. Even on those mid-July days when you’re dragging and your body is weary from travel and few off days, putting on the headset is a magical elixir, like a double espresso.
I’ll miss wondering if I might see something that night that I’ve never seen before in a baseball game. I’ll miss the thrill of being on the air in those rare games when a pitcher carries a no-hitter into the ninth inning. I was lucky to have been in the right place for eight of those. I’ll miss the daily chats down in the manager’s office. I’ve gleaned more info on the game’s strategy from those meetings than you’ll ever know.
I’ll miss the satisfaction – and relief – of finally finishing game notes and prep each day, along with the excitement of uncovering a really cool stat that I’ll use on the broadcast: “Did you know the club is 22-3 when so-and-so drives in a run?” I’ll miss the excitement of calling opening day each spring. That never gets old. You always feel like a kid the day before Christmas.
I’ll miss watching a 19-year-old Fernando Tatis, Jr., do things I’d never seen a minor league player do daily. I’ll miss the thrill of a tight 1-0 game and the challenge of having to creatively fill time on the air when it’s 10-0 in the third inning. I’ll miss watching the rare 34th-round draft pick turn himself into a major league prospect. I’ll miss watching a young Chipper Jones, so lost at the plate in the early months of his first year in Class-A ball, transform himself into a future Hall-of-Famer by season’s end.
Even though it was a one-way dialogue, I’ll miss my nightly on-air conversations with the fans. I knew you were tuned in, and I always appreciated that. I hope you know that I always tried my best to bring you a quality broadcast. I’ll miss Baseball America’s annual top 30 rankings of the farm systems and looking to see which top prospects might be on our team this year. I’ll miss getting letters and emails from young, aspiring broadcasters asking for advice or wanting input on their work. And lastly, I’ll miss the camaraderie of my fellow broadcasters and grabbing a bite to eat or a beer after the game. We are kindred souls.
Someone once wrote, “Memories, even bittersweet ones, are better than nothing.” I always thought I’d broadcast baseball games until I was 70 and then walk away. It would be an amicable split, and it would be on my terms. God has a strange sense of humor when you’re busy making other plans.
I’ll always cherish and fondly remember the 30 years we spent together – the game and I. Like knick-knacks and junk in a house, you collect a lot of memories over that much time – too many to mention. I’m grateful we were given 30 years together and saddened that we won’t make it to 31. At least my girl can’t take the memories. Did she have to take the dog? The truth is she’ll always be my girl, even if I’m not her guy.
Former major league pitcher, Jim Bouton, had a great quote at the end of his masterful book, Ball Four. I appreciated what he said when I read the book many years ago, but I truly understand it now: “You see, you spend a good piece of your life gripping a baseball, and in the end, it turns out that it was the other way around all the time.”
Sadly, she is gone.
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