Game of Inches

My 12-year old son hit a triple in his baseball game on Saturday.

A real triple.

Not a ball through the legs.

Outfielder kicks it.

And then throws the ball into the fence kinda triple.

But a real triple.

Screaming line drive to right-center field.

Ball rolls forever.

My son rounds first, second and hustles into third... triple.

The fact is he was blessed with my ability to hit.

I could always hit.

And he was also cursed with my genes.

My slow genes.

He has worked hard to remove the piano from his back.

And at this point, there are only a couple of black and white keys left.

I was told that for some kids his hit might’ve been a home run.

To that I say...

Last year it would’ve only been a double for my son.

Glass half full.

That’s me.

His new found speed was featured a moment later when he raced in from third to score on a wild pitch.

As he got close to the plate, he wanted to make sure that he avoided the tag.

So he dove head first.

That’s how they do it on the MLB Network.

Only he doesn’t know how to dive head first.

He only knows how to flop forward.

The best way to separate a shoulder.

And end a season.

I’ve politely explained that to him.

FOUR MILLION TIMES!

“And when you injure yourself, there won’t be anything you can do to change it.”

To get the full effect of how I phrase that to him, repeat the previous line.

(In your LOUDEST voice.)

(With your face beet red.)

(And feel free to add an expletive... or six.)

Still that hasn’t stopped him.

And it certainly didn’t stop him this time.

He ended up scoring that run.

A key run.

As we battled back to win our 16th straight game.

When he got back to dugout he was greeted by a bunch of high five’s.

And one angry parent.

I pulled him aside.

To talk in private.

That’s my style.

And I explained to him -- AGAIN -- that if he continues to slide face first.

Instead of feet first.

He will end up in a hospital bed.

That type of motivation came straight out of the Tony Robbins handbook.

Safety has always been my #1 concern.

I’m sure you could say at times I’m too safe.

(If that is possible.)

I’m the guy who wears a helmet during the team practice when I am asked to run the bases.

Hey, you never know.

And when it comes to my kids, there is nothing more important than keeping them safe.

One of the parents on our team is a doctor.

Not sure what kind of doctor.

Surgeon I think.

But like E.F. Hutton, when he speaks.

I listen.

Well a couple of years ago he spoke about this little safety thing that his child wears.

Just in case.

It’s called a heart guard.

Basically it's a t-shirt you wear under your uniform.

Lodged in the middle of the shirt is a six inch by six inch piece of something.

The ad says it’s a high density polyethylene dome.

To me, it’s a hard piece of plastic.

A big, clumpy, I’m sure uncomfortable piece of plastic.

In baseball terms it's a cup for your heart.

It is there for one reason.

In the extremely rare scenario that the ball hits you in the chest.

This shirt is built to protect you.

The way the good doctor described it to us is that a line drive to the wrong place.

At the wrong time.

Could kill you.

Period.

That was enough for me.

We went out the next day and spent the $30 -- or whatever it was -- and my son has been wearing it since.

Just like maybe half the team.

I’ve been playing and watching baseball for all my life.

And fortunately I’ve never seen someone get killed on the field.

Unfortunately there is a group in Winslow, Arizona that can’t say the same.

Last Tuesday night, 13-year old Hayden Walton squared around to bunt.

He was looking to sacrifice for his team.

Unfortunately the sacrifice that was made was much bigger.

And much more tragic.

The pitch ended up hitting Hayden in the chest.

Right above the heart.

After he got hit, he took two steps towards first base.

And collapsed.

He was pronounced dead the next morning.

According to the wire story:

“Paramedics said Walton died from commotio cordis.  After getting hit by the baseball, his heart gave out.”

Commotio Cordis is a disruption of heart rhythm that occurs as a result of a blow to the area directly over the heart at a critical time during the cycle of a heart beat.

I have no idea if Hayden was wearing a heart guard.

I would only be guessing.

And I have no idea if the heart guard would have done its job.

I’m not certainly not qualified to say.

But what I can say is I am a dad.

And like every dad I know, I would do ANYTHING for my kids.

Before every game my son puts on his socks.

And his jock.

And his belt.

And his heart guard.

It’s part of his uniform now.

And he won’t play without it.

That’s a game we can't afford to lose.

The Facts of Life

I’ve never met Tony Robbins.

I definitely don’t have a degree in motivational speaking.

When it comes to pumping things up, I usually use an air compressor.

My first experience with a psychiatrist was the Bob Newhart show.

I was sitting on my own couch.

My first pep talk came courtesy of Animal House.

“Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor?”

“Germans?”

“Forget it, he’s rolling.”

But when it comes to my mom.

And her current battle with kidney cancer.

My job is pretty clear.

Keep her moving forward.

Any way you can.

We talk every day.

Or so.

And our conversations are pretty predictable.

“Hi.”

“How are you?”

“Good, how are the kids?”

“Good.   You sound good.   How are you feeling?”

“So so.”

That might not be exactly word for word, but it’s pretty darn close.

Our conversation usually moves on from that point, but it always stays on topic.

The topic of cancer.

From the moment she found out there was a mass on her kidney.

Two months ago.

That’s been the only thing on her mind.

And can you blame her?

Thankfully I have never been on the other side of the conversation when the doctor says you have cancer.

But she was.

Last week.

I’ve also never dealt with 1/900th of what my mom has dealt with in her life.

She has.

And she’s survived.

Every time.

Maybe that’s why I feel so optimistic about her survival in this battle too.

Well that and that fact that every single doctor I’ve spoken to is optimistic.

And that’s a good thing -- although it’s not always in their makeup to make you feel good.

Just the facts.

Exhibit A -- Me.

Circa 1994.

One month after I got married, I suffered a major eye injury playing floor hockey without a face shield.

I’m not the smartest bulb in the picnic basket.

17 years later, I can still remember the doctor walking into the emergency room and saying...

“You may never see again with that eye.”

Slow down Marcus Welby.

You ever heard of foreplay?

Fortunately a month later, when the swelling went down, the eye sight came back.

Well, most of it.

If both eyes are open, the right compensates for the left and I can see perfectly fine.

And as long as I wear protective glasses, I should live a long and miserable life.

As for my mom, she has already lived a long life.

81 years and counting.

And she has seen her share of misery.

Raised in the 30’s without a father.

The 1930's.

She lost a child to a terrible accident when the child was five.

She saw her first son battle cancer when he was in his 20’s.

Thankfully he won.

That same son suffered a brain aneurism when he was in his 40’s.

Thankfully he won that too.

And all along the way she has battled her own issues with a bipolar disorder.

And more importantly how it is perceived.

This latest news of cancer....

Take a number.

But even with all of her experience in dealing, or not dealing, with heartbreak.

My mom keeps going.

Like the bunny.

That’s probably why this time has me a little concerned.

This latest battle is wearing her down.

And the battle hasn’t even started yet.

A few days ago we spoke about the decision of what to do with this tumor.

The doctors gave us a few options.

But they only felt comfortable with two of them.

Try to remove the tumor with a shot of straight alcohol.

Really?

I tried that in college, it doesn’t work.

Option II -- do nothing.

Well nothing until the next cat-scan shows if the tumor is still growing.

That next cat-scan is supposed to be in four months.

Four LONG months.

Clearly the stress is already getting to her.

And the thought of sitting for four months.

Waiting.

Might be too much for any one to take.

Even her. 

The truth is the doctors don’t know how long this thing has been there.

And neither do we.

And that’s what I told my mom.

I’m trying to keep it as real as I can with her.

Always, serving up an extra shot of optimism.

I told her that doing nothing, at this point, might make the most sense.

Wait a few months.

See if it has grown.

If it hasn’t, HOORAY.

If it has, we go for the alcohol injection.

And deal with it then.

But this is only IF she can live and enjoy her life during those four months.

If the stress is too much to handle, it could do more damage than the tumor.

I definitely realize that the last 73 words makes this all seem very simple.

And I most definitely realize that we are talking about my only mom here.

And I absolutely most definitely realize what is at stake here.

But the more we can keep the emotion out of this.

And just deal with the facts, like Joe Friday.

The better off we will be.

Maybe those doctors are onto something.

Deep Thoughts

Every night, at about the same time, I get a text.

Actually, it is not really a text.

It is more like a pep talk.

And it is not just for me.

I’m guessing it is for a bunch of people.

It comes from someone I consider a celebrity in the sports world.

It’s pretty cool seeing his name pop up on my phone.

Every night.

I’m not really sure how I made it onto the list.

Even though at one point we sorta worked together.

And he seemed to like my work.

But it doesn’t really matter how I got there.

The fact is I got there.

Now let’s be honest, would this nightly motivational text be nearly as cool if it came from Joseph Schmo?

No.

And even though that’s a crappy answer, it’s an honest answer.

But each night, around the same time, my phone starts buzzing.

Or dinging.

Or something to notify me that it is time for the Tony Robbins Inspirational Quote of the Day.

Well actually, Mr. Robbins has not made the cut.

Yet.

But the list of those who have been quoted is wide ranging.

Vince Lombardi.   Henry David Thoreau.  Ralph Waldo Emerson.   Charles Schwab.  George Bernard Shaw.

George Bernard Shaw?   I loved him on CNN.

It’s a veritable who’s who.

Well, in some cases, more like...

WHO?

Last night’s quote came from someone named Mark Victor Hansen.

His website calls him “America’s Ambassador of Possibility.”

I always thought he was the father of the MMM Bop kids.

Anywhoo... Mr. Hansen’s quote read like this:

Don’t wait until everything is just right.  

It will never be perfect.

There will always be challenges, obstacles and less than perfect conditions.

So what.

Get started now.

With each step you take, you will grow stronger and stronger, more and more skilled, more and more self confident and more and more successful.

Inspiration.

What a concept.

I have been known to inspire from time to time.

And I have certainly been known to need inspiration from time to time too.

If you don’t believe me, read my last blog.

But the bottom line is a little positive energy has never hurt anyone.

Unless the positive energy is natural gas and somebody is smoking a cigarette five feet away.

But that’s a different story.

The important thing here is that my celeb friend is just trying to spread some love.

Paul and John did it.

Barney did it.

And you did it too.

MANY of you.

The response I got from my last blog was overwhelming.

As I responded to many of you, the support you showed me left me without words.

And I am supposed to be the writer.

I heard from some of  you I know.

I heard from some of you for the first time.

I heard from my amazing therapist, who probably knows me better than I know myself.

I was told to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

I was told to keep writing.  I was reminded we are not made of wood.

I was even told by a loyal reader to give Prozac a chance.

And I thank you for all of that.

Like re-gifting the box of chocolate, it’s the thought that counts.

When I started struggling with sleep a few weeks ago, I went to my doctor to get some help.

I left with a new friend.

Her name is Xanax.

30 tablets.

And as of this moment, I still have 30 left.

As I told a wonderful reader who reached out to me for the first time.

I’m not sure if that is a victory or not, but I feel good that I’ve been feeling good.

I hope this doesn’t sound like a disclaimer for an infomercial.

But the words I express in my blog are my words.

And even though they reflect how I feel, they do not necessarily reflect how I feel every minute of every day.

I’m really glad I wrote the last blog.

And I meant every word I said.

I cleared it with my wife ahead of time to make sure she didn’t get ambushed by the paparazzi.

But the bottom line is I have good days and bad days.

Good minutes and bad minutes.

Just like you.

But the important thing is to keep moving forward.

And it doesn’t really matter where your inspiration comes from.

As long as it keeps coming.

Even if its a text message.