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April '04 BASEBALL! |
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A Nice Life Andrew Bomback |
Dave Clapper Joe Lee's Fastball |
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Coming of Age: Robin Ventura Learns To Respect His Elders Steven Seighman
That day, August 4, 1993, is just one of many highlights in my long and rewarding baseball career. But unlike all of the others––the All-Star appearances, the MVP nods, the Golden Glove awards––it makes me terribly sad and, to this day, leaves a heavy weight on my otherwise overflowing heart. I chalk it up to the confusion of youth. I was coming off my first All-Star year and my batting average was through the roof. I ran the bases with confidence and sent a message to the world: Robin Ventura has arrived. Some people did not take kindly to my greatness and, instead of lifting me high upon their shoulders and proclaiming me their new champion, they took it upon themselves to knock me down a few pegs. In the papers, reporters called me names like “prima donna” and tried to take the fans’ attention away from my spectacular play. In the locker room, other players were getting their resentment out by snapping towels on my bare skin when I got out of the shower and saying things like “Hey, Golden Child, how many grand slams do you think you’ll hit tonight?” All of that bothered me a bit. But nothing affected me more than that fateful day when I faced Nolan Ryan. It was hard for me to believe that a Hall of Famer like him, someone I’d admired very much when I was growing up, was one of them. I thought for sure he would understand the pressures I was enduring because of being great. But nope, instead I got a jealous fastball right to the forearm. And as much as it pained me to do it, I knew that I had to remind Mr. Ryan that I was well-deserving of his respect because I was the sleek, new model and he was, sadly, on the fast-track to retirement. So, I charged the mound. Before that day, I’d never really been in any kind of altercation. I mean, sure, my older brother would toss me around a bit when we were kids. But that was more playful than malicious. And in school, I was too busy being the best I could be by excelling at two, and sometimes three, sports to have friends or enemies. That’s why, when Mr. Ryan put me in that headlock and continually beat me about the head with his rock-like fist, I couldn’t have been more surprised. At first I was full of rage and pride and wished more than anything that I hadn’t left my bat (and, for that matter, my helmet) by home plate. But then, as I felt the blows upon my head, it seemed like they were hammering home a point; that I was not a greater baseball player than Nolan Ryan, or anybody else for that matter. I was just Robin, a guy who worked hard and was lucky enough to have achieved a modicum of success. I wrapped my arms around Mr. Ryan’s waist, nestled my head into his underarm, absorbed the blows and let him make me a better man.
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