[ML]

I was born in 1994 on Long Island, New York, to a mother who still spends all of Sunday preparing dinner after Mass, and a dad who in his words had a “real shot at making it to the big leagues if he didn’t blow out his damn knee”.

Everybody in my family is a Mets fan, my dad still tells stories of him and my grandfather and all my uncles sneaking beers into Shea Stadium in a blue cooler, hiding them underneath sandwiches that my grandmother would make for them.

Despite being surrounded by the misery of being a Mets fan, I grew up watching the Yankees who had won 4 rings by the time I was 6. Hell, I still remember sitting on my parents bedroom floor, crying my eyes out as I watched the Diamondbacks celebrate their World Series walkoff single off the bat of Gonzo.

I wasn’t gifted with all of the athletic ability in the world, or the height, size, speed, etc. as the more talented players in my town, but I was always willing to put the work in to be able to compete with them. I used to work in the concession stand at the town park, just so I could have access to the storage closet to rake out the batters box so my dad could throw me batting practice on the days that there were no games scheduled...

After getting the chance to play for my town’s high school varsity team when I was in 8th grade, it had occurred to me that maybe I was as talented as the other guys. My dad must have known it too, because my parents worked their butts off to afford to get me into a Catholic School, for the education and sports that they offered.

We won the state championship my sophmore and senior years. I had the NY Gatorade player of the year on my team my senior year, and I was able to benefit from that and managed to snag a full ride to a division 2 school out here on the island. I worked hard at my craft, and after hitting above .300 playing everyday as the starting Center Fielder, I had entered the transfer portal.

The travel team that I played for had a tournament down in Florida, where I was approached by the head coach at the University of Tampa. After falling in love with the program, I officially accepted a scholorship, and planned to get one more summer in with the boys from home before heading to play for the number one ranked school in the country in division 2 baseball. I had hit the jackpot.

Halfway through the summer, I was playing left field, when I tried to shoot a runner heading for the plate on a bang bang play. I slipped, and felt something in my shoulder pop. I shrugged it off (no pun intended). Waiting for my turn in the lineup, every swing I took felt like razor blades cutting into my shoulder. I went to the doctor the very next day.

My world came to a screeching halt as I got the results from my tests; I had completely torn the rotator cuff in my throwing shoulder, as well as my labrum. The doctor said that the fractured AC joint I had suffered the year before hadn’t healed correctly and was putting additional pressure on my shoulder. My arm was a ticking timebomb, and the clock struck zero.

I still went down to Tampa post surgery, and after medically redshirting my first year down, they pulled my scholorship as I had gotten hurt out of season. Not being able to afford tuition, I headed home. Things were dark for a while, and to keep this on the lighter side, I won’t get into it too much here.

There’s always been two things that have always been there for me, in good times and bad times, and that is family and baseball. I go to every game I possibly can, Mets or Yanks, as well as all the minor league affiliates. I coach the younger kids in my towns little league system, and this summer I’m coaching the 16 year old travel team. I have the games on 24/7 during the season, and DVR the day games so I can watch them with a cold one after work. Whether its watching the game, playing the game, or even starting a franchise or RTTS, I feel like that little kid I once was, pretending to be Derek Jeter in Game 7 of the World Series, rounded the bases at that little old town park.

This has gotten long, but even as I type this I’ve looked at my signed Stan Musial bat, next to the “Whos on First?” Abbot and Costello poster and laughed.

There’s a quote I saw in a book once, and I’ll never forget it. “You spend a good piece of your life gripping a baseball and in the end it turns out that it was the other way around all the time.”


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