About two months ago, I remember standing and looking out on my college baseball field. I was next to two of my best friends, two of my teammates, two of my fellow captains and two people I will have a close bond with for the rest of my life. We stared out in silence, just looking, nobody saying a word. We all knew what each other were thinking: “it was one hell of a ride.”
After a while of our eyes peering across the green grass, we finally broke the silence and talked about the great memories we had, and the ones we'd never be able to have again. Our time as college baseball players was over and all we wanted was one more game, one more inning, one more play.
Your friends and family always tell you how time flies by but you never really believe it in the heat of the moment. Now I believe it more than ever. It seems like just last month I was moving into the freshman dorms and choking back tears as my parents drove away. Now, in the blink of an eye it was all over. In that blink of an eye, teammates soon became friends and day after day, practice after practice, season after season, time flew by.
I remember being a part of three senior games and never thinking I would ever have my own. Sure enough, before I knew it I was walking down the third baseline shaking hands and giving hugs to teammates who turned into brothers.
Now, more than ever, I feel an emptiness. It's not an emptiness that can be filled with people or things. It’s an emptiness that comes from those memories that will never happen again. It's not a feeling of regret or a feeling of “I wish I could have done more.” Believe me, the body that I've tortured over the last eight years will tell you it's not from a lack of effort or hard work. It's an emptiness of knowing that my hour glass has finally dropped my last grains of sand and knowing that a chapter in my life has come to an end. Playing sports, especially baseball, has been my life for as long as I could remember.
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Tee ball and little league seasons were always followed by another season of blue skies and walking on fresh cut grass and chalked lines. Travel baseball and going to tournaments with friends turned into middle school and quickly high school ball. Before I knew it baseball (and hockey during the winter) was all that consumed me. If I wasn't playing the sports, I was training for them and if I wasn't training for them, I was thinking about them and how I could get a leg up on everyone else.
High School baseball and All County awards were goals that came true but were only pieces of paper that motivated me more to play college baseball. It was a dream that soon became a reality and more free time away from home meant more time thinking about baseball. That's where the sadness starts to kick in. For the last eight years I knew what my future was: another year of school, but more importantly, another season of baseball.
I had big dreams of college, and playing baseball in college, but my experience far exceeded my expectations. I left home but found more family than I ever could have imagined.
In the past two months I've found myself missing things I once hated or never thought I cared about. I now miss the thought of fall ball. At the time, going to bed early on a Friday night, only to have to wake up early and spend hours on end at the field on Saturday, seemed like a waste. Now I'd give anything to have one more Saturday in October on that diamond. The sweat was like a badge of honor and having to drag yourself back to the locker room was the only way to know that you had a successful day. My buddy and I would fill up his bathtub at home with ice and take turns laying in it, just to get some relief. The rest of the day was spent shooting the bull and having the underclassmen file into our house just to hang out. College football would be on in the background as we would talk about the things we hated and the upcoming season. I miss that.
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Every year six o'clock practices would roll around. Those always came with mixed emotions of the excitement of the start of another season and the dreading of pain and soreness you were about to encounter. Running inside in the dry air of the indoor field house left your lungs on fire. Bending over to touch the baseline sometimes seemed miles away.
Now, I want that misery. I want that anguish, just one more time. I loved that torture and learned to embrace the pain and being uncomfortable. When the alarm clock would go off around four in the morning, I knew I had a full day ahead of me. Practice, class, hitting on the side, going to the gym and spending plenty of time in the trainer’s room; I've spent more time in the athletic center than I ever could have imagined but I just wish I could lay on those tables getting treatment next to my teammates one more time.
I will forever miss the subtle things of baseball. Hitting a clean single up the middle, tossing the bat in confidence, taking that sweet aggressive turn rounding first. The three and a half step lead and waiting for the pitcher to raise that left heel. The head first slides and the roar of your teammates in excitement. I'll never forget coming into the dugout to a sea of brothers, all waiting with their hands raised to show their appreciation and excitement.
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I'll miss having my name announced in the starting line-up. I’ll miss hearing Darius Rucker's “Alright” being played when I would step up to the plate. I'll miss digging in my back foot and knocking my knuckles together like Martin Prado would always do. I'll miss sprinting out to my position or hustling out a ground ball to second base and getting thrown out by half a step because that's the way I was taught to play the game. I'll miss looking down the third baseline to get a sign. I'll miss hitting in the cage early at morning and late at night and going to the gym for a real purpose. I'll miss the one on one session with coaches trying to help me get better to help the team.
I always wondered what players on the other teams were doing and wanted to work harder than them. I'll miss seeing my name in the paper and on websites. I worked so hard every day to earn the recognition and be known by my opponents and the rest of the conference, but all I ever wanted was respect from my teammates. That's who I'll miss the most.
I'll miss the long bus rides and plane flights. I'll miss going to Florida with them and riding in the vans to games. I'll miss the inside jokes and the time we spent together just goofing around. I'll miss the downtime we would spend with each other playing madden tournaments or just getting in stupid arguments. I'll miss the handshakes we use to make up every season and coming off the field after a win, each of us feeling like a big leaguer going down the line. I'll miss all the things that are so hard to explain like just running into each other on campus or eating as a team after a game. I'll miss my baseball family.
My baseball career ended in a less than happy way. If it was like any season I'd had before, it wouldn't matter. But it wasn't, because in all of those previous seasons I knew there was another. I wasn't sad about losing, I was sad because there wasn't another season next year.
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I don't know if my teammates and coaches over the last ten years know how much they mean to me but I saw them all as family and I just want them to know how thankful I am to have played beside them or for them.
So now I find myself like everyone else who has played a sport they loved and has seen it come to an end. I'm sure I'll find a new love, something to fill my empty space. Maybe it’ll be my career, or old man softball, or family. For the mean time, however, I’ll reminisce about the time of my life and look at my Fredonia State baseball bag sitting in the back of my car... and smile.
