Chapter 22 climb to the top

Didn't I tell you what was the best and worst thing that happened to me at work?I made it to the furthest end of baseball's rainbow: the World Series.I was only twenty-three years old that year.The Buccaneers' backup catcher broke his ankle in early September and required a replacement.So I put on my suit.I still remember the day I walked into that carpeted locker room.I couldn't believe how spacious it was.I called Catherine on the pay phone we were married six months and I said over and over: unbelievable! A few weeks later, the Buccaneers won the pennant.It cannot be said that they won because of me.They were No. 1 when I joined.I did catch four innings in one of the playoffs, and hit a fly ball to right field on my second at-bat.The ball is caught and I'm out.But I remember thinking to myself: This is the beginning.I hit the ball.

This is not the beginning.Not for me.When we got to the World Series, we were beaten by the Baltimore Orioles in a best-of-five series.I didn't even get a chance to hit the floor.In the last game, the opponent beat us 5-0.After the team was eliminated, I stood on the steps of the dugout and watched the opposing players run onto the court to celebrate.They huddled together around the pitcher's plate.Others see them as ecstatic; to me they look relieved, as if a burden has finally been lifted. I haven't seen that look since, but I sometimes dream of it.I see myself in that pile of people.

Had the Buccaneers won the championship game, the city of Pittsburgh would have celebrated with a parade.But because we lost on the road, we went to a bar in Baltimore as a team and booked the court.In those days, the team had to rely on alcohol to wash away the feeling of losing, and we really washed the feeling of losing completely.As the newest player on the team, most of the time I just listen to the old players complaining.I drink what I should drink.When they cursed, I cursed with them.It was daylight when we staggered out of the bar. A few hours later, we flew home. In those days, everyone flew business class and we all slept through the flight because we were hungover.A taxi lined up to pick us up at the airport.We shake hands with everyone.We said: See you next year.The taxi doors closed one by one, bang, bang, bang.

The following March, I broke my knee during spring training.I slid toward third base, my feet squirming, the outfielder was on top of me, and I heard a snap like I'd never heard before.The doctor said that my front knee joint, back knee joint and medial knee joint ligament have all been torn. Triple Crown of knee injuries. I recover in time.I go back to play.But for the next six years, no matter how hard I tried, no matter how good I thought I was, I couldn't get any closer to the big leagues.The magic that had been cast on me seemed to disappear.The only evidence that I have had a good time on the field is the game records and baseball cards in the newspaper one day in 1973.There's a picture of me on my golf card, holding the bat and looking serious.My name is in bold.Cards always smell of gum.The company shipped me two boxes of my golf cards.I sent one box to my father and kept the other box for myself.

This ephemeral condition for baseball players is known as a cup of coffee.And that's exactly what I have.However, I enjoyed my cup of coffee sitting at the best table in the best building in town. This, of course, is a good thing, but it also has disadvantages. You know, the six weeks I played with the Buccaneers was the most energizing period of my life.Before and after, nothing compares to the high spirits of this period.The spotlight was on me and I felt like I was immortal.I miss the big carpeted dressing room.I miss walking in the airport with my teammates and the eyes of the fans following us.I miss the majesty of the crowds, the flashing bulbs, and the roaring cheers of big stadiums.I miss it all and it hurts.My dad also misses those days very much.We all yearn to go back; our yearning is unspoken, but undeniable.So, I, who should have given up on baseball a long time ago, still cling to it for a long time.I moved from one city with a minor league team to another with the same mentality as any other athlete: I thought I'd be the first to weather the aging process.I dragged Catherine with me to move around.We've lived in Portland, Jacksonville, Alberkirk, Fayetteville, and Omaha.During her pregnancy, she changed doctors three times.

Finally, Maria was born in Patkey, Rhode Island.When she was born, the game started for two hours with only eighty people in the audience.Then it rained, and the audience ran away one after another.I hailed a taxi by the side of the road to go to the hospital.When my daughter came into the world, I was as wet as she was. Before long, I stopped playing baseball. I tried everything after that, but nothing came close to what I was getting in baseball.I started a business and lost money.I looked for opportunities to be a coach, but to no avail.Finally, someone offered me a job as a salesman.His company makes plastic bottles used in the food and drug industries.I accepted.This job is very monotonous and the work content is very boring.Worse, he was looking at me because they thought I could sell a product in shallow male sports talk by telling baseball stories.

ridiculous.Once I met a man who often climbed mountains.I asked him whether it was more difficult to go up the mountain or to go down the mountain.Without hesitation, he said that going down the mountain is more difficult, because when you go up the mountain, all your thoughts are on the top, so you will avoid making mistakes. On the back of the mountain, there is a battle with human nature. He said: Going down the mountain is the same as going up the mountain, and you must take care of yourself as carefully. I could spend hours talking about my life without baseball.However, what he said roughly expressed my situation.

As my athletic career came to an end, so did my father.This is not surprising.Oh, and he came to visit a few times when my daughter was born, but he didn't show the love I expected for my granddaughter.As time passed, there was less and less talk between us.He sold the liquor store and bought half of a wholesaler.This way, he can afford to pay without having to work too hard on his job.It's ridiculous, I needed a job and he never gave me one.I guess he spent too much time trying to make me out of ordinary to accept that I was normal. But even if he gave me a job.Baseball is the intersection between me and him. Now that there is no baseball, the two of us are like two boats, and we are gradually estranged.He bought an apartment on the outskirts of Pittsburgh, joined a golf club, and developed a mild form of diabetes that required him to control his diet and get his own shots when necessary.

Just as he emerged effortlessly from the gray skies of my college days that day, so my father is absent now.He stayed in the smoke, calling now and then, and eventually sending Christmas cards. You might ask if he ever explained what happened between him and my mother.He didn't.He just said: We can't be together.If I put pressure on him, he would add: You won't understand.The worst thing he ever said about my mother was that she was a dead-headed woman. It was as if the two of them had signed a contract, agreed, and never mentioned the reason for their breakup.I asked both of them separately, but only my father lowered his eyes when he answered.