Occasionally I like to write......
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“What matters most to you and why?” (Stanford University Admission Essay for 2nd Master's Degree)
A good coach will always bat his best player in the lead off position. Putting on my helmet and taking my practice swings near the dugout, I realize that the pitcher resembles Howdy Doody. He’s got the same polka-dot freckles and non-complimenting ears. He’s also sporting a putrid yellow baseball cap, which is trying to tame his fire red hair. We make eye-contact, trying to mentally psyche one another out with our pugnacious stares. He...fails miserably. My heart is racing but everything around me is still happening in slow motion. We’re playing in the first all star game for Sunnyvale National this year, and I was called on – as I have been all year – to set the positive tone for my teammates and bat first. ‘Lead by example,’ is what I continuously repeat in my mind, one core value that remains of paramount importance to me and still and grows stronger, the older I get.
Prior to the first pitch, I visualized that I would close my stance slightly to hit to the opposite field. It was easy to recognize how the second baseman was unwisely cheating over, revealing a gaping hole in the infield like saying, “I dare you to hit it here….I can throw you out.”
Wrong.
Completely immersed in the moment, Howdy and I seem to be the only two people alive. He is my competitor, and therefore, he will not beat me. The resolve to succeed is another important core value of mine distinguishing me from, ‘the rest.’
It is a radiant seventy-two degrees outside without a cloud in the sky, and every seat in the manufactured grandstands are filled with screaming moms, intoxicated dads, and little siblings (many of which could care less about baseball) who are consumed with their portable Nintendo games. Our coaches, my team, and every fan wearing dark blue are looking to me to begin a rally. I love being in this familiar position and always welcome it with open arms. I have always been one of the fastest runners on every team growing up, and getting to first base, almost automatically meant that I would steal second, on the very next pitch. The environment is electric as the screams from the onlookers almost make the field pulse. The decibel level rivaled the audience noise of the sold out Van Halen concert which my childhood best friend Tim and I, went to see at Shoreline Amphitheater two months prior. Having great friends are very important to me. Feet are now uncontrollably pounding on the synthetic steel beam supports of the grandstands and the ubiquitous screams pierce my ears at the highest frequency the human ear could recognize. Scuttlebutt in the dugout, was that the older gentleman down the third base line holding the very large camcorder, was a reporter for the channel 7 evening news. I’ve had a goal to make it to the all stars again this year, as goals are also very important for me to have in life. The moment is surreal and, well, clearly unfair to the rest of the world. Hell, we’re just a bunch of twelve-year-old boys playing a game…and there has to be more important stuff happening in the world at this moment. Right? Not a chance.
Washington Park was the world this day.
With the first pitch right around the corner, the umpire dusts off the plate. I found this the appropriate time to close my eyes, and bow my head to pray as I always do before a game, or meal for that matter. At this particular moment in time, even Howdy Doody ceased to exist, as the Earth went from our two breathing souls, down to one. Time stood absolutely still now, and strangely, there appeared complete silence for the next few moments of my personal reflections. This was my time of inveterate prayer which always began with thanking the man up above for all of the blessings I have in my life, and for the things that matter most to me. Born half Italian and half Irish and from religious parents, it was inevitable that my upbringing would always include my fair share of prayer. Strong faith, another core value, is rooted in me from birth, even if there was a time I thought tackle football and games of crash up derby on my Big Wheel was much more important. Like most people, my faith has been all over the map. Over the years I’ve learned to live with it, and then I’ve learned to accept it. I’ve learned to understand it, but more recently I learned to appreciate it. I have always been an adamant believer that without faith, we are only hurting ourselves.
Family, friends, and health are always the crux of every prayer - this was instilled in me from a very early age…..probably 5. For that, I credit my beautiful grandmother. Immediately following the all star game the two most important people in my life, my mother and grandmother, will take me to church as I have been scheduled as an altar boy for the five o’clock mass. This prayer was unique in the fact that although I should be praying to get a hit right about now, I found myself instead giving thanks to those magnificent and all so important things in my life. ‘Thank you for my health, but more specifically, the super-human, Flash Gordon speed that these legs promise to get me to first base safely.’
Asking for divine help to get a hit was not necessary…..my confidence was high and I was already planning the almost criminal stealing of second. As I reflect now all these years later, I realize how blessed I am to physically be able to laugh until I have to gasp for breath, wave a hand of my choice to a complete stranger, or return the shopping cart to its proper place in the parking lot under the power of my own motor skills. It has never been far from my mind during any day, how infinitely fortunate I am to possess such health to do everything in life, I want.
How I want.
Whenever I want.
It was enough to have a competitive spirit, but without faith and appreciation for such, what would be the point? ‘Thank you for this exciting opportunity and letting me become an all-star.’ Pondering this thought present day, I realize how incredibly important it is for me to keep my competitive edge in all facets my life. Striving to be an all star to me doesn’t mean that one has to don a shirt with a number on the back. As I matured, defining an all star of life now means taking those calculated risks and remaining accepting of those challenges when nobody else will. It means putting yourself in the place of most potential and stepping it up a level to resolve a problem from a global perspective. It means refining one’s abilities to stay one step ahead of the competition. It means recognizing the opportunity when the other team’s second baseman has foolishly shifted over, allowing you to successfully execute your plan for the benefit of your team, and one-up your competitor. It means being a leader and moving forward in life but always looking behind you to see who you can help along the way.
Helping others......leading your team......growing yourself. That, is what matters to me. That, is a real all star. Ralph Waldo Emerson stated it best when he said, ‘do not go where the path may lead; go instead where there is no path and leave a trail.’
What matters most to me is not solely one thing, but rather the positive equilibrium and synergy of them all. Faith, family, friends, health and goals all add up to those things that matter most. It’s the chain reaction of those things and how they affect each other that spark one’s life. Mine certainly. I wouldn’t appreciate all the things I’m blessed with in life if any one of those things – faith or family or friends or good health – were missing. It’s the absence of those things that make me appreciate what it would be like.....must be like....for people not to have them.
It is time for their pitcher and me to fight this fifteen minute old rivalry. I walk up to the plate and dig my cleats in. For the entire world, I look like a major league player as I spit a big wad of saliva – but it’s not chewing tobacco of course. It’s my exorbitant amount of Big League Chew grape-flavored bubble gum swelling my left cheek. Last night during the Oakland A’s game of the week on channel 4, I saw a player spit just like me. I had to believe whatever he was chewing wasn’t sugar based though.
He winds up slowly, steps forward, releases and…..here’s the pitch. He should have called in sick as I plan on spoiling his day. The silly kid might as well have set that pearly white baseball on a tee for me as it was a fast ball in my power zone, right down the pipe. I step with my left, pivot my right, open my hips, swinging forcefully with my eye on the ball, perfectly emulating that Ricky Henderson swing last night…..when he hit a lead-off home run.
You lose Howdy.