This story takes place long before the date on the
front-right panel of this Pittsburgh Pirates cap, and still stands as one of
the most traumatic times in my life. In my Father’s Day post from June 16th
I touched on bits and pieces of a relationship I was in while I lived in Eugene, Oregon and went
to school at the University
of Oregon. I’ll do my
best to not give a longwinded explanation of how everything went down, but what
I can tell you is that she and I met in June of 2008 about a week after I
finished treatment for intestinal parasites that almost killed me a month
prior. From then until the end of August of 2009 we were together, and in
roughly 60% of that span we were at each other’s throats. In those dark moments
I developed a deep depression and began cutting myself and heavily considered
committing suicide. Obviously the easiest solution would have been to end the
relationship; however, when the other party threatens to kill themselves if you
go, it kind of makes things worse. The last thing I wanted was the
self-inflicted death of someone who is clearly mentally disturbed on my
conscience. The breakup finally came in early September a few days after her
birthday and roughly two-and-a-half weeks after I helped pack up her belongings
and drive her and everything she owned to Anchorage,
Alaska from Eugene as she locked up a job to teach German
at an immersion school. For those of you who don’t know how far that is it’s a
tad over 4,000 miles away. It took as about four-and-a-half days to drive it
and only four hours for me to fly back into Portland. Crazy. We had no plans on splitting
up, but she ultimately dropped the hammer not too long after she got settled.
She had been talking to someone else before she left. I should have been
surprised, but this wasn’t exactly the first time such an act of distrust was
brought up in our relationship.
I know I shouldn’t have been miserable or depressed, but
when you give so much of your time and energy to someone you can’t help but
feel that the world is out to get you. Not to mention the fact that most of my
money was gone after helping her achieve her “ideal dream” of getting as close
to her happy place as she had when she lived, went to school and worked in Munich, Germany.
In the months that followed I fell apart. The typical high school drama between
quarrelling lovers took place via Facebook and emails and it got so bad that my
life spun out of control. I lost my job working as a morning room service
waiter and evening bartender at the Hilton, my grades started to slip and I
began drinking heavily and screwing every woman in sight. “This is it,” I
thought. “I have nothing to live for.” The moment had come a few days after the
2009 fall term ended that I ultimately decided that I was going to take my own
life. All of my hopes and dreams for 2010 seemed irrelevant. The biggest one of
which was to go to South
Africa for the 2010 World Cup, something I
had been planning and saving for since 2006, but the money was all gone. All
spent on trying to make the one person happy that I never could.
To make a long story short, I obviously didn’t hang myself
as I had planned and I was immediately checked into counseling at the behest of
my mother and the psychologists on the U of O’s campus. Things had gotten so
bad in my recover process that I was given a choice: Go home for winter break
with my parents OR be institutionalized. Needless to say, option one was the
most appealing. For three weeks my other and stepfather kept a close watch on
me. I did my best to contact the outside world to let my friends know that I
was still alive and they in return sent me well-wishes and dropped by to see me
when they paid a visit to Portland.
A steady stream of Lithium and sleep aids was really all it took to help right
what was going wrong in my brain. Never in my life had I felt so helpless and
scared, but as I sit here today, writing this piece I can’t help but be ever so
grateful that I finally accepted hitting bottom only to rebuild myself with the
help of the people I love most.
After a few more counseling sessions my psychiatrist and
therapist both felt that I was no longer a danger to myself and allowed me the
chance to do things on my own again. Me being me, I did things to the extreme and
drove down to Pasadena, California
to surprise all of my friends as our Ducks were playing in the Rose Bowl
against Ohio State.
Maturity at its finest.
It was a bitter loss, but the
overall experience of being with my friends was all that I needed to comfort
me. The trip to Magic
Mountain the next day
really helped too.
When I returned to Eugene
for the winter term a few days later I did it with a resilient stride. My
grades improved. My writing became more profound, and much more detailed. I was
reading more often and rediscovering all the things from my past that I held so
dear growing up; things like video games, comic books, WWE and most important,
baseball. Somehow I had disallowed myself to enjoy to goofier things in life
after the responsibilities of life had kicked in when I moved out of my mom’s
house. As I started dating all of those little things that make me who I am
today had died out and become lost. I found myself trying to appeal to the
person who I thought I wanted to be with as opposed to just being myself. If my
hitting bottom taught me anything, it’s that the person that I was, the
confused, scared shell of a man that I was evacuated itself from my body when I
was going through recovery. The confident, life-loving adventurer is all that
is left. I truly couldn’t be happier.
In February 2010, a few days after my 27th
birthday, I discovered a strange financial loophole in my taxes and grant money
which essential put $4,000 into my pocket shortly after I filed my taxes and
started the spring term. Back in 2006 when I started planning my World Cup trip
I had figured it would cost me roughly $10,000 to be able to live in Johannesburg, South Africa for a month and be
able to attend a fair portion of the games being played, including my favorite
squad: the English National Football Team.
Sidebar
I realize it’s a bit weird for me, an United Statesman
(American is an ambiguous term), to cheer for the Three Lions, but there is a
very good reason as to why I’m treasonous in my soccer fanhood. The very first
game I ever saw on television took place in 1990 during the World Cup in Italy. The
first round match in question took place on June 11th and pitted England against their political rival the Republic of Ireland. As a seven-year-old I didn’t
really understand the impact the game would have in their respective countries,
all I saw were two countries playing a game against one another. The other
thing that I should point out is that I didn’t realize how much Irish blood
coursed through my veins because as soon as Gary Lineker scored a goal to put England on top
in the eighth minute I was sold. At that age, once you develop a kinship for
something it’s hard to let it go over time. Kevin Sheedy scored for Ireland in
the 73rd minute, bring the match to a draw, but I stuck with England
all the way to their fourth place finish as they lost to the host country in
the third place match. And like a good Irish boy, my disdain for the Italian
National Team was born.
This little story might also help explain why my first
tattoos were the Irish flag and the Three Lions crest for the English National
Team on each arm. As contradictory as it may seem the other part of this story
is that my two favorite all-time players, Damien Duff (Ireland) and Joe Cole (England), both
played together on my favorite club team, Chelsea, from 2003-2006. Yah, all of
my tattoos are extremely deep-rooted.
Back to the story
With $4,000 in my pocket plus my new job at Max’s Tavern
which I had started a few days after I got back from the Rose Bowl, the reality
of being able to finally witness a World Cup was getting closer. The one
downside of all of this, at the time, was that all of the tickets for England’s matches had all been scooped up do to
the lottery system that had in place; however, for $80 I was able snag tickets
for three games, the most notable of which was Ivory
Coast vs. Portugal.
What I didn’t count on was the fact that a roundtrip place ticket, even a few
months out, was going to coast me $3,000. Then I still had to find a place to
stay, eat, get around, etc. which meant that my original estimate of $10,000
wasn’t that far off. The reality of how much this trip was going to cost me set
in, but didn’t really get me down. I did what I could to find a cheaper route,
but nothing was available. After two weeks of intense research I had all but
lost hope when an ingenious idea hatched. Rather than go to the country in
which the matches are being held, why not go to the countries that are
participating? I had gotten my passport a year prior to that realization and
the idea of getting it marked up with multiple stamps on my first trip sounded
awesome, so I went back to the computer and checked out flights into Europe. The cheapest I found was $1,300 roundtrip to Copenhagen, Denmark,
and my travel timeline was good enough for two-and-a-half weeks as I still had
to be back in Eugene
for the start of summer term to receive more grant money so that I wouldn’t be
dead broke when I got home. So, I bought the tickets, went to AAA and bought a
month long Eurail pass (you can’t buy them in Europe), packed up enough
clothes, my computer, my Ipod, a suit (classy), toiletries, a jar of peanut
butter (no joke), my Waldo doll (seriously, no joke)…
and a military utility blanket into a hiking backpack and
flew 16 hours from Portland to Amsterdam
to go through customs, and then finally landed in Copenhagen.
The only time I'll ever see Greenland.
And boy, did I ever look
marvelous when I got off the plane.
Key component: Mustache still in tact.
The most important thing to remember from this travel
process is that I left sometime in the early morning on June 5th and
arrived in the afternoon on June 6th. I bring this up because my
time was limited in Demark as I was leaving for Amsterdam the next evening. Sooooooo… no
sleep ‘til Amsterdam.
First bar I saw in the airport in Copenhagen. Seriously!?
Despite that fact that I didn’t speak Dane I somehow managed
to find my way from the airport to the hostel which was tucked away behind an
old church in a hard-to-find corner of town. And when I say it was hard to find
I mean that it took meeting up with two other guys from the States, Steven and
Richard from Pennsylvania,
who were equally as perplexed in finding the hostel because there wasn’t a
noticeable sign. But, we managed and checked in. I quickly unpacked and locked
up my gear and hit the streets.
Of all the reasons why I wanted to visit Denmark, besides do some
investigating on my dad’s side of the family…
I wanted to go to the brewery of my favorite beer company,
Carlsberg. I developed a huge fascination for the lager years before at a bar
in downtown Portland which no longer exists and there was only one bar in
Eugene that carried it in bottle form called the Bier Stein, a world of beers
sort of establishment. What I wasn’t expecting was that the brewery closed at
6:00 PM and that they were closed the next day, Tuesday. That part really
confused me, but I guess Tuesday is some sort of form of Sunday in Denmark because
everything was virtually closed the next day. Anyway, with a limited knowledge
of the city, a few maps that I really couldn’t read and some shoddy directions
I ventured out into Copenhagen to find my
watering hole Mecca.
I wandered aimlessly for a solid two hours, taking in the
sights, discovering a city that’s older than the country I live in… and getting
lost.
But alas, I could sense that I was getting closer to my
goal.
With about 45 minutes to spare and two quick photos because
I’m clearly a 12-year-old at heart…
I found the correct path. However, I showed up right as the
gates were closing. I was morose.
So, I did the next best thing; I found the closest bar and
crushed about seven pints of Carlsberg. It was amazing. It was still a bit
light out and I needed sustenance so I waltzed casually (drunkenly) into a
pizza joint run by Turks and picked up a pepperoni pizza. Now, I said pepperoni
pizza, but apparently that also means it comes with mushrooms. I don’t really
understand the logic there, but I managed. The only problem from this point was
walking all the way back to the hostel without getting lost.
I totally forgot that the official start of summer was upon
us so it was ridiculously bright out around 9:00 PM as I arrived at my
destination. I still had about half of my pizza left and Steven and Richard
were both kicking it on the patio with a beer each.
No, this isn't a concentration camp.
The two of them were on
leave from the Navy and were doing a similar European tour during their free
time, but neither cared much for the soccer that was about to go down. There
was another girl, Kristi from Russia,
and an Australian named Andrew who I ended up cruising around a small berg of Copenhagen called Christiania
the next day with. As the sun set and the shift at the desk ended for the Swede
named Elof, he brought us all out a round of Carlsberg dark and we shot the
breeze. It was also around this time that I had a brief moment of clarity and
retreated back to my room to retrieve my computer as the time was quickly
approaching 1:00 PM in the States. What is this significance? Well…
6/7/10: World Cup was still only four days away and we all
felt that something playing in the background would have made for an
interesting conversation piece. This could have been music, a TV show or a
sporting event. Remembering that the Chicago Cubs were hosting the Pirates in
an early match I decided to kick on my MLB.tv and put the game on since I
didn’t have to worry about blackout restrictions in Denmark.
Steven, as it turned out, was born and raised in Pittsburgh, and grew up
watching the Pirates his whole life. Andrew, Elof and Kristi didn’t have any
real understanding of what baseball was so the three of us Statesmen did our
best to keep up with the others’ questions as we got drunker into the night.
The game itself wasn’t all that thrilling with the exception of Marlon Byrd
going 3-4 with two RBI, but the Pirates had a few moments like: Andrew
McCutchen legging out a triple and former Oakland Athletics Bobby Crosby roped
two doubles and Dana Eveland took to the hill and gave up three earned runs.
There was an unusual feeling that came over me in that I
traveled across the planet, had a great day taking in another culture, but
still found myself enjoying the one bit of American culture that I love the
most, baseball. Whether my new friends really tried to understand the game
wasn’t really the purpose of what we were doing. All of us had a special little
thing to share with one another, and all of us got away from our respective
countries to end up in this part of the world, even for just a night. As I get
older and look back on the things I accomplished this trip is by far the one I
am most proud of, and the one where I truly felt that, even for one day, I had
become an ambassador of baseball. The MLB Fan Cave will always have a special place in
my heart as it served as the platform to spread my love of the game to a larger
audience, but this moment was the first time in which I was able to share it
with multiple cultures and walks of life.
22: I suppose I should talk about the hat first before I
really get moving into another topic. The Pirates introduced this cap at the
start of the 2009 season and has served as the team’s alternate cap when
they’re not celebrating Military Days or Throwback Sundays. Everything about
the cap is identical to their normal game cap with the exception of the white
outline around the “P.”
One of the interesting theories that I’ve heard about the
“P” itself, which was first used by the Pirates in 1948, is that it tells a bit
about the city and the state. For instance, the bottom of the “P” is meant to
look like a key as Pennsylvania
is the Keystone state. The four points on the bubble of the “P” represent Point State
Park (The Point, as it’s known) and the other
three represent the three rivers. If that’s true, that’s ridiculously,
mind-blowingly awesome.
Even though McCutchen only slapped a triple during that June
7th game in 2010, there is no doubt that if there was one guy to
represent as the fact of this generation of the franchise, it would no doubt be
McCutchen… or possibly Jason Kendall if anyone outside of Pittsburgh remembers him.
Attending Fort Meade Middle School in Florida,
McCutchen was eligible to play varsity baseball as an eighth grader at Fort Meade
High School. He batted
.591 that year. During McCutchen's varsity career, he batted .474, with his
average for his senior season over .700, with eight home runs, 40 RBI, 45 stolen
bases, and four strikeouts. He also ran track and was one of the top football
recruits in the state of Florida,
but opted for a career in baseball. He was also a part of a state title winning
4x100m relay his freshman year of high school.
McCutchen, who had signed with the University of Florida,
was drafted 11th overall by the Pirates in the 2005 MLB Draft and signed with
them instead of becoming a Gator. He started for the South Atlantic League's
All-Star team in 2006, his first full season as a professional. At the end of that
year, the Pirates named him the organization's Minor League Player of the Year.
McCutchen was consistently considered a top prospect, being ranked a top 50
prospect in all four of his minor league seasons by Baseball America,
peaking at number 13 before the 2007 season.
On June 3, 2009, after the Pirates traded starting center
fielder Nate McLouth to the Atlanta Braves, McCutchen was called up to the
majors for the first time. He made his debut the next day, playing the now
vacant center field spot and batting leadoff against the New York Mets. He
singled in his first career at-bat, off starter Mike Pelfrey. He ended the day
with two singles, one RBI, three runs scored and a stolen base in four at-bats
He recorded his first career four-hit game five days later, against McLouth and
the Braves, in a 7-6 Pirates loss. Two of his hits were triples, making him the
first Pirate with two triples in a game since Tike Redman accomplished the feat
in 2003. McCutchen was named the Baseball
America Rookie of the Year for 2009, but finished in fourth place on the
Baseball Writers Association of America (BBWAA) list behind the likes of Chris
Coghlan, J.A. Happ and Tommy Hanson. Yah, ridiculous.
But McCutchen took it all in stride. He put up modest,
similar numbers his sophomore season, but really turned it on in 2010 when he
hit 23 home runs, 89 RBI and stole 23 bases on his way to making his first
All-Star Game appearance. In 2012 he bested all of his previous career numbers
by hitting .327 with 31 home runs and 96 RBI, his first Gold Glove, his second
All-Star Game bid, his first Silver Slugger Award and a third place finish for
the National League MVP. Oh! And he also led the NL with 194 hits on the
season. His WAR was only 14 points lower that that of Buster Posey’s, but who’s
really counting?
The timing of the introduction of this hat and McCutchen’s
arrival into Major League Baseball couldn’t have been anymore perfect. The man
is quickly on his way to changing the face of Pirates’ baseball and leading
them back into the Glory Days much in the same way Ralph Kiner, Bill Mazeroski,
Roberto Clemente and Willie Stargell all led their Pirates teams to successful
seasons. I for one am happy to say that I’ve been able to witness something
special since Day 1.
First, this is a great post. Second, there is a lot going on here that quite honestly lines up (not identical, but close enough) with my life. Poisonous relationship (2006-09). Rock bottom (2009-10). Rebuild (2010-11). World traveler (2011, Amsterdam & Africa via mission trip). New life, new people (you're engaged and we celebrate our first anniversary in a few weeks). And I do enjoy watching McCutchen play baseball.
ReplyDeleteSorry it took me so long to respond to this Donny. It's amazing how similar some peoples' lives actually are. I think that's why I decided to consciously evolve my blog from just historical stories into personal stories that reflect the era, players or even the team whose cap I'm writing about.
DeleteThere are truly more interesting things out there than what takes place on the ball field and if a part of my life is able to help others feel good about their lives or even just realize that someone else had the same fortune/misfortune it might help them open up and realize there is always someone to talk to.
Glad to hear you've gotten over the bad and into something truly extraordinary.