Alright, I guess it is official. I am never going to play professional baseball. My lifelong dream of playing catcher for the Baltimore Orioles has come to a sad, silent close.
I'd been waiting years for a call and it never came.
I even used Hoostrak to search for an opening. "Professional baseball player" returned nothing, so I removed the quotes. My search came up with a position as Editor at IAG Research, paying an hourly wage.
Not exactly what I was looking for.
I then removed "professional" from my search (I'm flexible, right?) and gave it a shot. The same hotshot opportunity at IAG Research popped up.
With this surprising turn of events, I decided to take a deep look at my past and figure out what got me to this position.
I think the first setback occurred at my t-ball debut. As I walked to the sideline to warm up, my dad tossed me a new Tony the Tiger baseball that I had gotten from saving the tops of Frosted Flakes boxes.
My first official warmup started and ended at that moment. The ball popped my nose, and, one hour and quite a scene later, I finally got my first at-bat.
There were similar setbacks at the beginning of my baseball career.
Several years later, I decided to become a catcher but forgot the necessity of wearing a cup as I trotted out toward home plate. I won't go into details, but two innings and quite a scene later, I returned begrudgingly to the lineup.
There were still more setbacks.
I struck out with the bases loaded in the championship game at a summer tournament.
I threw out my shoulder in February of my junior year of high school.
The final setback occurred recently and happened to spur this column.
I struck out twice in an intramural softball game. Not my best moment.
In reality -- and I am writing this purely to save face -- I was a pretty decent high school baseball player. And, continuing in that direction, my swing in baseball obviously doesn't translate well to slow-pitch softball.
Outside of all this, it is amazing how late in my life I really thought that my dream of spending my summers in a Major League dugout would be fulfilled. Somewhere deep in my head, every time somebody asked "What are you going to do with your life?" professional baseball player seemed like a logical response.
At this point, Editor at IAG Research sounds a little closer to reality.
And thus, my friends, I have entered into a new era as a sports fan.
Gone are the days where athletes seemed bigger than life.
Instead, our peers are becoming the heroes that young kids look up to. Ryan Zimmerman could have been seen at the Biltmore this time last year. Lebron James is 20 days younger than I am.
What have I been doing with my life?
My new era in sports fandom is one of "jealous admiration."
I am jealous that I'm not the one living the dream. And yet, a guy like Ryan Zimmerman is a much better baseball player than I ever was. He should be the National League Rookie of the Year after this season.
Jealousy and admiration. I go to the games and root for players my age and younger, while quietly questioning why they get to take the field and I am stuck applying for entry-level "opportunities" in my final year of college.
Unfortunately, none of the "opportunities" I've seen lately really appeal to me like professional baseball does.
But I guess at some point in life you have to face reality.
So here I am, schlepping my resume around and hoping for interviews so I can go work in a cubicle and keep track of my fantasy sports teams.
Looking back, I wonder if things could have been different for me.
If only I had worn a cup that day. Maybe then I'd be making the big bucks and living the dream.
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