Starting and Closing

by John Smoltz

  So this Bible study, which I attend on Thursday mornings to this day, is really a unique thing. It’s a wide variety of guys, former NFL players, former baseball players, some businessmen, and then guys like Jeff Foxworthy and Ernie Johnson Jr., who I get the pleasure of broadcasting with today. We meet in a back room at this hole-in-the-wall barbecue joint here in Atlanta and we have this sign we hang on the door that says DROP YOUR FIG LEAF BEFORE ENTERING. That phrase has a lot of meaning and truth behind it in so many ways. There’s the whole “we’re all naked before God” part, but then there’s also the fact that our Bible study is really a roomful of résumés: people who have accomplished a lot of great things in this life. But in this crowd, trust me, nobody is impressed or intimidated by anybody else. This is our chance to be raw and “organic” and transparent with each other as God-fearing men in this world who struggle with real issues, as we all do in life. We hold each other accountable in our faith, and at times, you know, not to get too corny, we hold each other. We are truly a band of brothers before God, and I am so fortunate to have a great leader in Tim and so many partners in faith who have helped keep me on this journey of doing whatever I can for the kingdom of God.

  So now back to the fun part. Well, anyone who knows me knows that I am going to figure out a way to engage this group of guys and tap into their competitiveness, and thus was born the Bible Bowl. Now, let me tell you, this was no run-of-the-mill version of flag football. We had a draft, we had referees, we had announcers, and we had a video production crew. I mean, we’re talking the works.

  I was, of course, the quarterback of my team, and Don Majkowski, the former Green Bay Packers quarterback who will unfortunately forever be remembered as the guy who Brett Favre replaced, was the QB for the other team. In Bible Bowl I, the score was all tied up at 11–11 and I was consulting my wristband to select the next play. I opted for the Foxworthy Fake on two, and it ended up being the play of the game. Jeff, playing wide receiver, took off once we snapped the ball and started down the field like he was going deep. Then he pulled up suddenly and faked a hamstring injury. All the defenders bought it and then he just started running again. I threw one up for him and he came down with it in the end zone. It was seriously at least a fifty-yard pass. We really should have sent the tape in to SportsCenter because it easily could have made their Top Ten Plays of the Day deal. But as it was, the play would seal our victory and Jeff’s selection as team MVP. And what a steal, to think that I had drafted him late in the seventh round. Who could have known all the talent that was hidden in that incredibly funny guy?

  I’m sad to say we had to retire the Bible Bowl after the fifth or sixth edition because we would take it so seriously we had guys blowing up their bodies. We had a few guys mess up their ankles, a couple guys tore their ACLs, and the very last time we played, on the second play of the game, Ernie tore his hamstring. He had a basketball doubleheader that night for TBS, and there we were carting him off the field and taking him to the hospital first. That’s about the time we realized, Hmm, maybe we’re too old for this. So these days we’ve downshifted into bowling. Thankfully, we have been able to keep that up without any major medical issues.

  But things like this—these are the types of things I have been doing my entire life: bringing a bunch of guys, or people, together and preying off their competitiveness. The bottom line is, I love to issue a challenge or do something to flat-out bring out the very best in someone. And when I win, you better turn off your Miracle-Ear, because you are going to hear about it.

  When I look back, the way things worked out for me in broadcasting is truly remarkable, because I just happened to be in the right place at the right time, and I was somehow able to bypass a lot of the things that you normally have to do to get this job. I mean, the first game I did on the MLB Network was with Bob Costas. That was pretty wild. People have asked me if I was ever scared and I always tell them, “Look, it’s no different than anything I did in life. I’m not afraid to fail, be human, and make fun of myself. I only know one way: I’m going to have fun.”

  What’s interesting is that while people sometimes tell me that they’ve learned something by listening to me call a game, I’m not making a point to actually teach anything. I’m just talking about what I know and I am just doing what comes naturally. I’ve been watching baseball almost my entire life, and while I certainly don’t have all the answers, I know enough and have been through enough scenarios to be able to predict or forecast what might happen next. That’s the essence of broadcasting for me right now, reacting to situations and being able to forecast. And also bringing up what should be happening even if it doesn’t happen. I’m trying to bring the game to life for the person sitting at home—why a pitcher did this or why a player did that under a certain circumstance. I’m basically trying to explain the game to the casual fan so they can go, “Oh, I get it now.”

  For me, I want to make my criticism positive criticism, and I want to talk to the fans in a way that always acknowledges that baseball is hard. I never want to be sitting up there in the booth coming across like the game is easy. And beyond that, along the way I also hope to explain that the only way you can play this game at a high level is to understand and embrace the fact that failure is always right there at your fingertips, and you’ve got to be quick, you’ve got to be able to respond, and you’ve got to be able to overcome. And all those things are not easy to do either.

  I just finished up broadcasting the 2011 playoffs for TBS, and it was really a wild twenty-day ride of baseball. I put together a few strong games that I am proud of, but of course I also have a list of lessons I learned for next time. But the one thing I realized for the first time is that I think when it comes down to sitting in the booth, watching a game that I love, and being able to call it at its peak in big, nationally televised games—it almost feels like I am playing.

  Back in 2010, when I turned the page to broadcasting, I made sure that every contract was written with an option that said if I wanted to go pitch in the second half, they would let me out so I could pursue an opportunity if it presented itself. I just didn’t know if I was truly done with baseball or not yet. I really didn’t know I was done with baseball until God told me. Sometime in February, after I signed my contract with TBS, I put the baseball down. I sensed that my desire, that flame that had burned so hot for so long, was waning, but I left it up to God. I said, “Lord, please take away my desire or fill me back up. Please let me know what you would have me do.” And it was shortly after this that I noticed my desire had ended and I was in a place where I wasn’t wondering if I had done the right thing anymore.

  I faded away from baseball after 2009. I was at peace with where I was and I was grateful for my journey. And that’s really where I remain today.

  And I haven’t picked up a ball since.

  Epilogue

  More than two years have passed since I last picked up a baseball, yet the peace that existed in my heart then still exists there today.

  Mostly this stems from the great personal satisfaction I take in knowing I pursued my dream as long as I possibly could, but I can’t deny that broadcasting has really helped ease the transition from my playing days to my post-playing days, because in a lot of ways I feel like I haven’t left yet.

  At the same time there are a few whimsical notions that pop into my head from time to time. Like for a while there I was hoping the Braves would offer me a one-day contract so I could just say that I retired in Atlanta. And, I still wish I had gotten the opportunity to play center field for just one inning in a big-league game. (If I had been able to retire in Atlanta, I might have gotten the chance. I shagged batting practice and pestered Bobby Cox shamelessly about it for years.) Besides these idle daydreams, though, I truly look back and cherish the opportunities that I did have.

  As much as I love the game of baseball and plan on broadcasting for the foreseeable future, one place I can’t imagine I’ll ever be is back in the game as a pitching coach
or manager.

  Now, don’t get me wrong; it’s not because I don’t think I could do the job. In a lot of ways, I would relish the challenge—I love the idea of working with a group of guys to try to accomplish a team goal, and I love working one-on-one with people to try to make them better. The side I don’t like, the part that would probably make me chew my fingers off my own hands, has to do with all the New Age philosophies that now permeate the game, especially when it comes to pitching.

  I just don’t buy into all this emphasis on pitch counts and pitch limits, and I couldn’t imagine trying to work with a pitcher who has bought into the theory that five innings is good enough, or God forbid, his arm might fall off if he throws 230 innings in a year. In my opinion, today’s pitchers are being coddled. And despite all the good intentions behind reducing a pitcher’s workload, it doesn’t seem to be reducing injuries or lengthening careers.

  I also don’t put much stock in the theory of Moneyball and all these computer-generated models designed to wade through a bunch of statistics and tell organizations which players represent the best investment. I couldn’t imagine being tied to an organizational philosophy that’s based on a bunch of numbers, or having a computer telling me what my own eyes should be seeing, and I would probably lose my job over the tug-of-war between technology and my gut instincts.

  But remember, I said I would never write a book either…

  For right now, life after baseball for me represents an opportunity to pursue the things I have been passionate about throughout my career: spending time with my children and family, continuing to be a caretaker of King’s Ridge Christian School, and devoting my time to the other charitable causes that are important to me. But beyond these aspirations, I view retirement as the chance to do some things I have been waiting more than twenty years to do.

  When I retired from baseball, I started my quest to play golf on the Champions Tour someday, I started playing recreational basketball every Monday night, and I’m making the time to play tennis and racquetball—things I’d always wanted to do, but never could do while playing baseball. And I’m having the time of my life. Well, actually, it would be more accurate to say I’m having the time of my life within reason.

  Perhaps it’s easy to look at someone who played a professional sport for more than twenty years and think, That guy’s set. He shouldn’t have to work another day in his life if he doesn’t want to. Well, I’m here to tell you, as often is the case in life, that perception is not reality for me.

  While I grant you that I did play enough years to support my family for a long while, it’s safe to say that things happened that I never planned for—you know, like life. And life in this time and economy for me—like it is for so many others—has been a real challenge. I suppose there might be some people who are immune to these lean economic times, but I am not one of them. Like many Americans, I’m downsizing and reassessing. Just like when I started a season 2–11, just like when I was coming back from my first shoulder surgery, and just like when I had just been released by the Boston Red Sox, it’s rally time.

  Just because it’s rally time doesn’t mean that I have given up on my dreams. It just means that right now I’m dealing with the economic realities in which those dreams arise. The reality for me is as it is for most people right now: I’ll be working for the foreseeable future. And I am happy to do it. It’s important to be flexible and adjust your goals as life goes on. I’m adjusting, but at the same time I’m still pursuing. Just because life isn’t turning out quite as I expected, or I’m in a bit of a slump, I see no reason to forfeit my dreams. If you ask me, this is one of most important parts of rallying: being able to reinforce your dreams and aspirations.

  Maybe my most ambitious retirement dream—playing golf professionally—won’t unfold at the pace I once had hoped, but rest assured, I’ll be out there testing myself whenever I can.

  It’s ironic that here I am at the end of a book about persevering through my final year in baseball and I find myself in need of perseverance again today. But it doesn’t scare me or intimidate me, or make me just throw my hands up in the air and say, “Enough!” It’s like I have said before, you can choose to be bitter, or you can choose to better. That’s a one-vowel difference that changes everything. It really is a choice. A lot of people are bitter, but I choose to be better.

  I am just going to do what I always do. I’m going to go back to the core of who I am and continue surrounding myself with people who can help keep me accountable, but also be supportive and honest. I’m going to make a plan and get moving, and I’m going to find ways to get it done. And while I’m not sure where it’s going to lead me, I’m pretty confident that I’m going to come out on the other side.

  And through it all, through the ups and the downs, the slumps and the victories, and the wins and losses, while I may at times be disappointed and frustrated, I have learned enough to know and trust that at the end of every day, God’s love is enough. As I said in the beginning, joy is central. The rest of it is peripheral. You can have joy in the midst of some of your worst suffering.

  Whenever I start becoming consumed by outcomes and find myself forgetting to focus on the process and enjoy the journey, I pull out my Bible and read all four chapters of Philippians. This is a habit I began in 1996 when I was in the midst of my one and only Cy Young season. The book of Philippians became my bedside companion that season, helping to keep me anchored and focused in what would be a 24–8 season.

  I would suggest that the next time you find yourself getting carried away—with either success or failure—take a few minutes and read this letter from Paul, chapter four, verse four, which reads in part:

  Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

  Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put into practice. And the God of peace will be with you.

  Have dreams and chase them. Don’t be afraid to fail. Learn how to rally, and trust that you have the ability to find your own measure of success in life. If an accordion-playing kid from Michigan can do it, believe me, so can you.

  And finally I would say, in all moments, look up.

  Index

  The pagination of this electronic edition does not match the edition from which it was created. To locate a specific passage, please use your e-book reader’s search tools.

  ABBA, 96

  accordion playing, 28, 29–30

  AC/DC, 97

  adrenaline, 63, 100, 251

  Advancement for Christian Education, 197

  Alexander, Doyle, 48, 50, 139

  All-American Amateur Baseball Association tournament, 45, 182–85

  Alvarez, Jose, 120–21

  Anderson, Brian, 259

  Andrade, Billy, 151

  Andrews, James, 26, 27, 76

  Ankiel, Rick, 255

  arbitration, 109

  Arroyo, Bronson, 248

  Arsenio Hall Show, 14

  Atlanta Braves changes made in 1980s, 221

  contract negotiations with, 81–84, 107–17

  early 1990s pitching rotation, 222

  losing streak after 1995 World Series, 225–29

  NLCS against Cardinals, 216, 226

  NLCS against Marlins, 215

  NLCS against Mets, 78

  NLDS against Astros, 105–6

  NLDS against Dodgers, 226

  Smoltz joins, 48

  Smoltz leaves, 118

  team camaraderie, 215–16

  team chaplains, 120

  Turner Field bul
lpen makeover, 92–94

  winter caravans, 199–200

  World Series appearances, 31–32, 213, 217–19, 221, 224–25

  World Series win (1995), 119–20, 213, 217–18, 225

  Atlanta Community Food Bank, 198, 199

  Atlanta Journal-Constitution, 112, 226–27

  Avery, Steve, 149, 151, 156–58, 222, 228

  awards

  Cy Young, 23, 80, 128, 154, 216

  Roberto Clemente, 202–3

  Rolaids Relief Man, 87

  baseball game ball regulations, 248

  basketball, 44

  Belliard, Rafael, 227

  Belliard, Ronnie, 253

  Berra, Yogi, 21

  Bible, the, 129, 276–77

  Bible Bowl, 268–69

  Bible study group, 267–69

  Biggio, Craig, 66

  Black, Buddy, 242

  Blake, Casey, 253, 254

  Bleacher Report, 16

  Boston Red Sox

  2009 season, 179–82, 185–86

  2009 spring training, 170–75

  2011 season, 146–47

  contract with Smoltz, 117

  minor leagues, 176–77

  reflections on time with, 187

  releases Smoltz from team, 182

  Bream, Sid, 120–21

  Brees, Drew, 27

  broadcasting career, 262–63, 269–71

  bullpen at Turner Field, 92–94

  burn incident, 13–16

  Cabrera, Everth, 234

  Caray, Skip, 262–63

  Carpenter, Chris, 232–33, 249–50

  Carrillo, Cesar, 234, 240, 242

  Cascarilla, Chuck, 34, 44, 137, 194

  Cash, Barb, 267

  Cash, Tim, 41, 120, 267