Blog For Free!
Archives
Home
2004 July
2004 June
2004 May
2004 April
2004 March
tBlog
My Profile
Send tMail
My tFriends
My Images
Sponsored
Blog
|
| The Gift |
| 05.04.04 (11:34 am) [edit] |
I hate baseball. Guys are always trying to draw major life lessons from a boys game. Only a moron would do that. Baseball movies are even worse. Imagine wasting all that good celluloid to draw a major life lesson from a fictional depiction of a boys game. Bull Durham falls into this category. OK, OK, I know all my pop culture references are 20 years out of date, I've been in a cave, all right?
In Bull Durham noted block of wood Kevin Costner plays Crash Davis, a career minor league catcher who is brought in to shepard one "Nuke" LaLoosh, a hot prospect pitcher. Nuke is a bonus baby, with a million dollar arm, unfortunately accompanied by a "five cent brain." But Crash and everyone else, can recognize the truth, LaLoosh has a gift. Nuke didn't choose his gift, and maybe he doesn't even deserve it, but he has a gift. A gift that takes him to the Major Leagues -- "The Show" in baseball parlance.
My friend has a gift. A major league gift that has taken her to the show. It's a different show, as her gift is the opposite of Nuke's. She has a million dollar brain. She might also have a five cent arm, I don't know, never seen her throw. But the gift is obvious. If life were baseball, we could put the radar gun on her and see that she throws 95 mph fastballs. Or even more appropriately, add everything up and look at that .327 lifetime average in awe. Yes, she has a gift and it has taken her to the show.
Unfortunately, once you get to the show the gift isn't as obvious. Everyone else pretty much has it too. Even worse, it is just assumed that you have it. Every day, you got pitchers launching 95 mph fastballs at you, combined with exploding sliders and curveballs that look like they are coming right at your head before breaking in for a strike. It's brutal. Those curveballs sent alot of guys back to the clubhouse to write home for money. It gets even worse when the thrill of simply making the show wears off. It can wear you down when you realize that you have to be inch perfect every day, every inning, every at-bat to make your mark on the game. Sometimes it seems that every ball hit has eyes for you, trying to make you look bad in front of the home fans. Every pitcher cranks it up a notch just when you come to the plate. Might even make you wonder where your gift went.
Like Crash, I can see how it is. Like him, I was up in the show for a cup of coffee. A few days in the big leagues, a late season body to fill out the roster. Don't look for me in the Encyclopedia, I never got off the bench. But I saw, and I think I understand a bit. And like Crash, sometimes it is hard to deal with the fact that my gifts are minor league, that I will always be in the coaches' box, or even worse, the press box. But we don't get to choose our gifts, only to try and make the most of them.
You, my friend, have a gift. With hard work and yes, a little luck, you are going to make it. You'll be in the show a long time, and have career numbers anyone would envy. There is absolutely no doubt. The scouts saw it, the manager saw it, hell, even I can see it. It may not seem like it now, but soon you'll be standing at the plate and while staring down the pitcher you'll be saying the immortal words of Crash Davis in your head: "C'mon Meat, throw me that weak-ass shit. Bring me the deuce. Bring it." OK, your thoughts will certainly be more elegant, but it will be something along those lines. And when the curve comes, you'll knock the cover off the ball. You got the gift.
|
|
|
| |
|
|
