MY EULOGY TO MY DAD (Part 2 of 3) Sept. 5, 2009

The school, church, and family cultures that my dad and I were raised in have a way of making some people feel inadequate; furthermore, these cultures prod us to stifle our true feelings, bite our tongues, avoid conflict, and maintain a facade so that at least we can appear to be living the “right” kind of life we are expected to live.

I remember my fourth grade teacher read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe to the class. I disliked the book, but the teacher took me aside at recess and said, “Joel, you really need to like this book because if you don’t, other people in the class are not going to like it.” So I hid my true feelings about the book and pretended to like the book.

About twelve years ago I was a member of a church with a new pastor. He was in his early forties and was inspiring many young people in our church. Sadly, he was divorced and made the mistake of wearing a leather jacket during a sermon, which ironically enough, was a sermon warning us of the dangers of judging each other and forming perceptions based on appearances. The membership in the church soon let him know that he was not the kind of pastor that was right for our church, and he eventually left.

After I graduated from high school, a close relative whom I love dearly, asked me what I planned to do. I explained, “I plan to play professional baseball, but if that doesn’t work out, I will go to school to become a teacher.” She responded, “A teacher? You don’t really want to become a teacher, do you, Joel? You’re really smart and you can do more than that. Do you know that teachers don’t really make that much money?” Some other relatives nearby heard this and offered nothing to the conversation.

Not long after that a dear friend of my family gave me Mitch Albom’s book Tuesdays With Morrie for Christmas and said, “Joel, I think you will really enjoy this book.” He was right. I read it and it instantly became my favorite book. Although I would love to share with you the hundred-some lessons the book taught me, I promise to leave a couple out. Seriously, though here are a few things the book affirmed to me:

First, Morrie stated, “The culture we have does not make people feel good about themselves. And you have to be strong enough to say if the culture doesn’t work, don’t buy it.” (p. 42)

The book also referenced a quote from Henry Adams that reads, “A teacher effects eternity; he can never tell where his influence stops.” (p. 79)

And the last line of the book reads, “The teaching goes on.” (p. 192)

Although I will be forever devastated by my dad’s last decision, I will learn from it and I think you can learn from it too; if we do that his legacy goes on in all of us.

Here’s what I believe God wants us to learn from my dad’s tragedy:

-There are people very close to us who are not adept at letting us be who we are; they make it very difficult for us to be true to ourselves।

-These people judge and criticize our choices, and even if we try to live up to their expectations, they likely will never be happy with our decisions।

-God wants us to love others for who they are and not worry about who and what they are not।

-Each one of us must make choices that are right for us, allowing each of us to be free to feel good about ourselves.

Be clear that I am not blaming my dad’s tragic death on the church, school, or family culture. My dad’s decision to kill himself lies 100% on him. It is my sincere hope that not one person sitting here today bears the burden of responsibility. Instead of pointing fingers, let’s look inside ourselves very closely to feel and listen to God. I firmly believe, our innermost voice, that gut instinct or intuition, is God and that is Him speaking to you and leading you. And when God’s wishes are thwarted by other people, you run the risk of living a miserable life and your frustration and pain could fester and spread like a communicable disease through your life and the lives of your families, your churches, and your communities.

My Eulogy to My Dad (Part 1 of 3) Sept 5, 2009

Anybody who knew my dad understood that he had a very difficult time expressing his emotions and unfortunately, that meant he had an incredibly difficult time showing others just how much he loved them.

When my wife Dawn and I married, we read The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman with a young couples group in our church. The book described how people give and receive love through physical touch, quality time, acts of service, words of affirmation, and gifts. Chapman stresses that all five love languages are important in relationships; however, often time relationships suffer because people speak different primary love languages.

I will be forever grateful that my dad and I shared the same primary love language. It wasn’t physical touch; it wasn’t quality time; it wasn’t acts of service; it wasn’t words of affirmation and it wasn’t gifts. In fact, the primary love language that my dad and I spoke was not even mentioned in The Five Love Languages or in any of Chapman’s follow up books for that matter. The primary love language that my dad and I shared was baseball.

I have thousands of baseball experiences I shared with my dad and although I’d love to share nearly all of these memories with you, I promise to leave a couple out. Seriously, I will only share a few, but before I can describe them, I need to reference the classic baseball film Field of Dreams. I have seen the film dozens of times and two scenes have never left me. The first is when Burt Lancaster playing old “Moonlight Grahm” whispers, “You know, we just don’t realize the most significant moments of our lives while they’re happening.” Somewhere along the line, Lancaster’s adage was burnt into my psyche because I do make a point to stop and enjoy our precious moments while they’re happening.

The second scene from Field of Dreams that I think of often is the scene when Kevin Costner’s character Ray Kinsella is reunited with his father who passed away years ago, and he asks, “Do you wanna have a game of catch, Dad?” For fathers and sons who love baseball, there is nothing more sacred or more spiritual than a simple game of catch.

My first memory I would like to share with you is the last game my dad and I attended at Milwaukee County Stadium। The Brewers were still playing, but my dad and I snuck out behind the bleachers to play catch on the small patch of grass behind the Brewers bullpen. As we tossed the ball back and forth under the stadium lights, I remember thinking, “I wish I could freeze time because I know I will always look back at this moment with my dad.” Of course, our game of catch ended and the stadium was torn down, but I am grateful that my love for my dad will always remain.

The second, and final, baseball memory I will share with you is the time I witnessed my dad make the greatest catch of all-time.

In 1987, Brewers pitcher Juan Nieves threw a no-hitter, and Robin Yount made a diving catch to rob Eddie Murray of an extra base hit. Yount’s body was fully extended about three feet in the air. After that catch, I begged my dad at the end of our games of catch in the backyard to throw balls away from me so that I could practice making diving catches. I know Dad did not like to do this because he was afraid I would get hurt or rip holes in my pants. But he always did. Dad always made time for catch; I don’t ever remember one time that he said no when I asked if he could play catch with me.

Not long after the Nieves no-hitter my dad and I attended a Brewers game and showed up early for autographs and batting practice like we did for every game. I always hugged the leftfield fence hoping to catch a home run ball or have a player toss one up to me. My dad, however, always went about five rows deep and claimed an area where no other people were. I was begging Brewers left fielder Glenn Braggs to toss me a ball, but the stoic Braggs never flinched. And then a ball was hit and headed right to Braggs. He took two quick steps back but realized it was leaving the park. I pounded my glove since it appeared it was coming right towards me. But then I too turned and watched it sail right over my head, and then I saw my dad run and jump to make a diving catch that was identical to the Yount catch. The only difference was the screeching sound my dad’s skin made on the aluminum bleachers. My dad held the ball up as if he was showing it to an umpire to call the out, and everyone who saw it applauded. I ran up to see if he was okay and he slammed the ball in my glove and I high-fived him. Soon I returned to my wall-hugging spot and to my surprise Glenn Braggs started walking right towards me. He stopped at the base of the fans and asked me, “Hey, do you know the guy who just made that catch?”

“Yeah,” I said beaming, “That’s my dad.”

“Well, please be sure to tell him to stop making catches like that because I’m afraid he might steal my job.”

I was dumbfounded.

At that moment, my dad’s hero status was elevated even higher, and I believed he was capable of accomplishing the impossible. I seriously believed Glenn Braggs was in fact worried about my dad stealing his job in leftfield, and I believed my dad could do anything he set his mind to. Unfortunately, I grew up, and I was forced to discover my dad’s flaws and limitations, as well as my own. I soon learned life and relationships can be very complicated, especially when one is not true to him or herself. This is a lesson I learned the hard way, and unfortunately, it is a lesson I’m not sure my dad ever learned.

Dedicating County Stadium Kid to my father …

A little over a month ago I received a phone call at work. It was my wife. She called to tell me my father passed away. He lost his battle with depression when he tragically took his own life.

My dad was my biggest fan. He always believed in me and was extremely proud of me.

I wrote about many of the baseball experiences my dad and I shared in County Stadium Kid. I am grateful Dad read the book and knew how much those moments meant to me.

I had always planned to dedicate the book to him. Certainly, I never realized it would be under these circumstances.

The book has not been released yet, but my dedication starts now…

FAVRE FILES: GIVE THE MAN A PASS

Okay, for the past four years now I have been very frustrated with the Brett Favre Files. Like many other Green Bay Packers fans, I was begging for some sort of end to what we believed to be Favre’s story book career. It never came, and now we are forced to endure another season of Favre in a non-green-and-gold jersey.

Although it is very difficult to see Favre in a Vikings jersey, the legend has finally won me over again. I realize admitting this on my blog might cause Wisconsin readers to question my sanity, but please hear me out.

Brett Favre ’09 is Rocky VI. Both Favre and Rocky have heart. They’re passionate about their sports. Football and boxing are pretty much all they know and what they do best. It appears both will play and fight as long as they remain vertical. Neither age nor injuries can stop them from competing and giving it all they’ve got.

Brett Favre is not Michael Jordan, and that’s a good thing. Jordan’s retirements seemed calculated for attention and marketing purposes. Favre just doesn’t go that deep. He doesn’t think that way. Pretty much all he thinks is grab ball and chuck ball, hoping to throw more touchdown passes than interceptions to help his team win more games than they lose for a chance at the playoffs and a shot at another Super Bowl appearance.

Brett Favre is the epitome of my all-time favorite quote: “You don’t stop playing because you grow old; you grow old because you stop playing.”—George Bernard Shaw
As long as Favre continues to throw a uniform on—no matter what colors—and competitively plays the game he loves so deeply, he will remain young at heart.

Bo knows; Favre doesn’t. See, Favre doesn’t know who he is without football. Without it, he’s a starving, homeless orphan. Let the man have his football, so he can eat, drink, and be merry. You don’t have to root for him, but don’t root against him. Just watch him and respect his passion for the game.

He’s not the only sports legend who has hung on long enough to receive their AARP card. Rickey Henderson played independent minor league ball clinging to his dream of another Major League contract in his late forties. At the age of 49, Julio Franco’s exotic batting stance continued to grace Major League batters boxes. And only God knows exactly how old Satchel Paige was when he pitched his last professional baseball game. There is something magical about these men and their quests for the fountain of youth in their sports. Although we know their bodies will eventually fade, their boyhood innocence and contagious spirit is eternal.

Read the poem below and try to recall other sports legends who embody the Satchel Paige timelessness of sports? (Feel free to comment below.)

“To Satch”
by Samuel Washington Allen

Sometimes I feel like I will never stop
Just go on forever
Till one fine mornin
I'm gonna reach up and grab me a handfulla stars
Swing out my long lean leg
And whip three hot strikes burnin down the heavens
And look over at God and say
How about that!

http://oldpoetry.com/opoem/115602-Samuel-Washington-Allen-To-Satch

BACK TO SCHOOL = TWITTER HIATUS

It’s back to school for me. Therefore, I posted the following tweets:

1) I start school Thursday. I'll be doing far less twittering; however, I'll continue to update my blog at www.countystadiumkid.blogspot.com

2) Please continue to tweet me your favorite baseball experiences. I will add them to my blog and consider using them for a future book project.

3) Also, please tweet me some of your favorite Milwaukee Brewers tidbits. I'm thinking of using them as trivia questions for a future blog post. (You can simply write the trivia question in the comment section after this post.)

4) Know that by no means is this me giving up on the Brew Crew. As crazy as it is, the kid in me still believes COUNSELL '09 WS MVP!

5) Thank you to all of you who have encouraged me with my book. I will tweet you when excerpts are posted on my blog and when the book is available.

6) Thank you all very much!

COUNTY STADIUM KID EXCERPT: “RICKEY HENDERSON THE GREATEST DISAPPOINTMENT”

I have heard from some County Stadium Kid readers about a few experiences with players who “snubbed” them. However, it seems for the most part, people reading this blog have had great experiences with Major League Baseball players. In fact, some have mentioned how players have gone out of their way to make their fan experiences even more memorable. Read my first three blog posts and you’ll see 80 or more comments about favorite baseball experiences like:

@averygoodyear Toronto, Jays vs Sox, Big Papi rolls a ball over dugout to me - someone snatches it. He points at me, smiles, and rolls another.TatianaToronto area
www.twitter.com/averygoodyear

(I am glad I could sneak in a little positive PR for Big Papi, especially since the recent discovery of his use of performance enhancing drugs is another bad hop to the groin for baseball.)

Baseball blogger Siobhan M, of http://highsockmojo.blogspot.com/ , and I recently had an interesting discussion about “snubbing” and “autograph hounds.” She wrote a good read related to these issues on her blog that I would encourage you to check out.

I admit it has been 17 years since I chased an autograph at a ballpark, and I know how rude some fans were and how aggressive some autograph hounds were then already, and that was pre-eBay! I can only imagine what it is like today. I also wonder with all the new stadium construction if fans even enjoy the same kind of access to players entering and exiting the ballpark like I enjoyed at County Stadium.

Although I had a couple of “snubbing” experiences at County Stadium, I enjoyed hundreds of positive interactions with ballplayers, managers, and even with former Milwaukee Brewers owner and current MLB commissioner Bud Selig (He always humored me when I told him what minor league prospects deserved to be called up). These positive experiences inspired me and made me fall in love with the game even more. In fact, I recently commented on a New York baseball radio show that the few bad player experiences I had actually motivated me to work even harder as a ballplayer so that someday I could make it to the Big Show and give fans the same kind of amazing experiences I enjoyed as a kid.

My Rickey Henderson experience, as you can tell by my last blog’s title “Rickey is the Greatest, the Greatest Disappointment I Encountered at County Stadium” was like a sucker punch that knocked the wind out of me. I idolized Rickey and to be one-on-one with him for a few moments and have him not even acknowledge my existence certainly fits the definition of a “snub.” Never have I ever encountered such arrogance and contempt from a human being. After this blog post you will find my first excerpt from COUNTY STADIUM KID, a couple of pages describing the moment I met Rickey.


I hope Major League Baseball players today continue to go out of their way to make fan experiences very memorable. I agree that players do not owe fans anything extra, but when they do go above and beyond to win over fans, the energy and enthusiasm shared by those fans of all ages is contagious.

Today, President Obama gave the United States a pep talk. A quick glance through history and one will clearly see the positive force Major League Baseball has been to the spirit of the American people during difficult times. A recent example I will cite is the 2001 postseason after the 9 / 11 attacks. The documentary 9 Innings from Ground Zero captures the healing spirit that baseball sometimes provides, and I would encourage everyone to check it out.
(You can view Amazon description of film here: http://tiny.cc/9inningsfromgroundzero )

Given the current state of our economy, I am impressed that the Milwaukee Brewers are averaging 38,000 fans a game. They are already over the two million mark for the season.

Aren’t we lucky that MLB does give back, and aren’t they lucky that fans keep coming back?

Please continue to comment below about the positive baseball experiences you have had. Many people who have not left comments have twittered me how much they enjoy reading about other people’s experiences. I still feel I have another book here in which we compile some of these exciting baseball moments, so keep them coming and encourage others to do the same.



Excerpt from COUNTY STADIUM KID: A BASEBALL MEMOIR
After only a few minutes, Rickey strutted out, nose in the air, wearing a T-shirt three sizes too small that displayed his brick-shaped triceps.
“Rickey,” I gasped, “I’m a huge fan!”
Rickey never flinched an inch. Although he and I were alone under the stands walking in the dark towards the light shining through a gate, Rickey didn’t even offer a glance in my direction.
“Rickey, I have ten of your rookie cards. I traded most of my good cards to get them. I’m a huge fan! Do you think I could get an autograph?”
Rickey continued to walk as if I didn’t exist. His rejection made me more desperate, and my pleas became more pathetic with every step. I knew I had only a few more seconds before we reached the light that would expose Rickey to a hundred autograph hounds.
“Rickey, you gotta sign my ball. It would mean the world to me and my dad.”
Rickey still didn’t provide a single acknowledgment of my existence, so I desperately dug deeper.
Still nothing.
Not once did Rickey even look at me, not even when I backpedaled right in front of him. Eventually, I gave up, stopped, and watched one of my heroes walk though the gate.
“Hey, Rickey!”
He never flinched.
An excited fan heard me yell “Rickey!” The fan turned to see Rickey emerge from the gate। The fan screamed louder, “It’s Rickey! Rickey Henderson!” Within seconds, the autograph hounds surrounded the legend, but Rickey walked through them all as if they were air. He ignored every fan as if they were unworthy to be on the same planet as him. He showed no emotion, other than a cocky smirk that telegraphed, “I’m better than you. Get out of my way.” As I watched Rickey walk away, I realized he was the greatest after all—the greatest disappointment I ever encountered at County Stadium.

RICKEY IS THE GREATEST, THE GREATEST DISAPPOINTMENT I ENCOUNTERED AT COUNTY STADIUM

Unfortunately, there are times in our lives when we find out some people are not who we thought they were. Sometimes those people are parents, friends, neighbors, or co-workers. What’s most disappointing is when the person who lets you down was once your hero.

I idolized many baseball players growing up, but other than Milwaukee Brewers first baseman Cecil Cooper, New York Yankees and Oakland A’s legend Rickey Henderson was my favorite.

I used to throw down some Frisbees for bases along with some of my mom’s flour for chalk lines in my backyard, and I’d steal second, third, and home over and over again with the same style and pizzazz that I saw Rickey do on TV.

At one point I traded almost all my good baseball cards away so that I could have ten Rickey Henderson Topps rookie cards.

I even fantasized about someday bumping into Rickey in the grocery store so I could challenge him to a race.

I attended over a hundred Brewers games from 1982 to 1993. Most days I went early for autographs as the players entered the stadium. My dad and I would then be the first ones in when the stadium gates opened, hoping to catch a few batting practice home run balls in the bleachers.

I sat behind Rickey in leftfield five times. Each time his conduct disappointed me. Milwaukee bleacher fans loved to taunt him chanting, “Rick-ey, Rick-ey” and he loved to give it right back. In between pitches, he would turn around and mouth obscenities to fans. Other times he would stick his middle finger up in our direction. Almost always he stuck out his butt and wiggled it in our direction as the pitch was delivered. Once in a while he would kiss his hand and smack his butt.

Because I loved the way he played the game with such confidence and tenacity, I tried to overlook his poor demeanor with the fans. However, after one game, I saw something in Rickey I could never get over.

I knew all the nooks and crannies in County Stadium from chasing autographs all those years. Most times I waited by the visiting players’ entrance as players came and went via taxi. After the game, I often waited by the orange and white barricades lined up leading to the team bus. Often times visiting players would stop and sign before they hopped on the bus. If there wasn’t an All-Star caliber player on the visiting team, I would then wait by the entrance where the Brewers’ players parked their cars. I even knew the spot where Robin Yount drove his corvette out of the stadium behind the bleachers. However, there was one spot where a few players exited every now and then, and when I was feeling lucky, I would stand there in hopes of being one-on-one with a legend. A few visiting players rented cars while in town, and when they did they exited a heavy aluminum door and left by some turnstiles near the Brewers’ door.

One day I had a feeling Rickey was going to leave that way, so I waited the whole time by that exit even though that meant I would give up any chance of getting autographs by the taxis, team bus, or Brewers door. After waiting about an hour after the game, Rickey walked out, and he could not have disappointed me any more than he did. It was like I did not even exist.

In the next day or so I am going to share my first excerpt from my book. It will be a few pages detailing my disappointing Rickey experience.

Last week Rickey Henderson was inducted into the baseball Hall of Fame. Although he gave an excellent speech and came off about as humble as he possibly could, he mentioned something in his speech that I thought was rather interesting. He told a story about as a kid he tried to get Reggie Jackson’s autograph on his way into the park, but Reggie repeatedly snubbed him. In fact, one time Reggie simply handed Rickey a pen with his name on it. During the speech, Reggie covered his head in shame with his suit coat.

Hearing Rickey’s account about his experiences with Reggie Jackson made his snubbing me even more disheartening. I can’t help but wonder if Rickey knew first hand how much it hurt to be snubbed by his hero, why on earth would he do the same thing to adoring fans throughout his career?

If you’ve read my previous blog posts, you know they tend to be quite positive. However, this post I am asking you to comment below to share your experiences when players disappointed you. I am sorry but character counts with me, and I hope in some small way this exposure makes players think twice about snubbing adoring fans.