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A short story about aspirations.
I began in journalism on the baseball beat. I covered the Toronto Blue Jays. It can be nervy, starting out. My first game, Jose Canseco played a prank on me, accusing me of staring at his dong—a career ender. I nearly cried.
I began in journalism on the baseball beat. I covered the Toronto Blue Jays. It can be nervy, starting out. My first game, Jose Canseco played a prank on me, accusing me of staring at his dong—a career ender. I nearly cried.
But ballplayers are like everybody else. They aren't any one thing. In my experience, Carlos Delgado was the best of them. He was a great player; he was also curious, open, funny, occasionally caustic. He was game for real shit. He read everything.
Carlos wasn't smart "for a ballplayer"—the bar can be low there. Billy Koch half-completed crossword puzzles and people treated him like some kind of savant. Mike Mussina had an undergrad degree from Stanford and thought he was fucking Einstein.
Carlos was—is—smart by non-baseball measures. A peace activist. A passionate dude. I remember someone had to ask all the players about their favourite book. Several of them couldn't name a book. The Bible was the most common answer. Carlos? One Hundred Years of Solitude.
Anyway, one day we're shooting the shit. All of a sudden he says, "Let me give you some advice. When you get a little money, buy a good bed, and buy good shoes." I blinked at him: What? Why? Carlos smiled. "Then something will be good about your life 24 hours a day."
That's some of the low-key best advice I've ever received. My friend @Mike_Ganter recently reminded me of it. It stuck with him, too. I'm not really into shoes, but beds? You will never regret buying a great bed. That's making it, for me: being able to buy the bed of your dreams.
