Love and Baseball
Break ups, long-term relationships, Richard Pryor and baseball

Richard Pryor once said a man has never lived until he’s had his heart broken by a good woman.
Well, Rich. I guess I’ve finally started living.
My relationship of three-and-a-half years ended nearly two months ago today. While it wasn’t completely unexpected — I had been slipping for a while — it definitely blindsided and threw me sideways. You know you’ve got it bad when you think of her while cutting your toenails, remembering she was good at it and for some odd reason, enjoyed doing it. Or getting misty-eyed while watching a couple snuggle after getting their plaque psoriasis cured on a Taltz pharmaceutical commercial.
But before you feel sorry for me, know I wasn’t the best version of myself over the last year-and-a-half of our relationship. I neglected her and made her feel she always had to be the adult between the two of us. I put her needs, worries and stresses in last place, while bombarding her with mine. I could no longer be bothered by taking a mere 10 minutes out of my day to buy her a card and write a heartfelt message on her birthday, Mother’s Day or just on random Friday’s. I only showed affection towards her when trying to get her in the mood.
My junior year at Radford, my roommates and I would always walk down to the basketball games. There was this steep hill down the street from our apartment that became a hazard when covered in snow and ice. We always approached that hill with great caution, knowing one misstep would send us sliding down the hill and out in front of traffic. For that reason, none of us ever fell going down.
Instead, it was a bridge connecting Main Street to the athletic center that proved trickier. In our drunken overconfidence, we would decide to race across the bridge, which led to one of us always falling, and the saying:
“Don’t get cocky.”
Yet, that’s exactly what I did near the end of our relationship. I took her for granted. I became selfish. I was no longer concerned with anything going on in her life, but expected her to be there front row in mine. I no longer listened and tried to empathize with her. Instead, I started shoving my opinions and solutions down her throat in attempts to help her fix problems she didn’t need my help fixing. I no longer took the time to listen when she tried to express her frustrations in the relationship. I arrogantly thought all and any of my actions would be met with love and forgiveness, which led me to lying to her.
And that’s been the worst part of this, knowing I’ve broken the trust of somebody who gave me hers so implicitly. It will be a while before I forget the look on her face as she drove away from my house for the last time.
I was a wreck for the first month or so of the breakup. The stuff I went through is the reason I had actively avoided long-term relationships for nearly 20 years. But there was something about her that was different and even though I am hurting now, I don’t regret asking her out or one moment I spent with her.
However, as I write this now, four weeks later, I’ve finally gotten my emotions under control and have gained some new perspective. Trying to get over a breakup is like trying to get over Donald Trump being elected president. At first, you’re going to feel scared, lonely, confused, paranoid and an impending sense of doom, but in the end, you realize the world keeps turning and you do to, no matter how much you don’t want to.
And just think, all those emotions you’ve been feeling have now been turned into your personalized version of “Inside Out” you can play in your mind on repeat. That should be entertaining. Plus, you won’t have to hurt much longer since Trump seems to be determined to get us nuked by Kim Jong-un. Dammit James Franco and Seth Rogen! Where are you all when we need you?
Ever since I can remember, I have wanted to be a sports broadcaster, a baseball announcer in particular. I remember being more excited to meet Skip Caray and Don Sutton coming out of the press box in Richmond, than getting a ball and bat autographed by Andruw and Chipper Jones.
I remember walking into Fulton County Stadium for the first time and looking down at the wall in left-center field where Hank Aaron hit his 715-career home run. I was only nine or 10 at the time, but I remember thinking about how historical that moment was, not just for baseball, but for America. Aaron was not only baseball’s prophet, he was also society’s. He was a black man who took down the Bambino’s career home run record in a time where racial tensions bubbled and Vietnam was the first thing on everybody’s mind.
I remember reading an article on ESPN.com after the Chicago Cubs won their first World Series title in 108 years. The writer told a story of a man who left his wife’s name on Wrigley Field’s long brick wall facing Waveland Avenue. He talked about a church service he attended where the pastor preached the importance of long-suffering. A woman who listened to Cubs games religiously on the radio for 93 years and passed away two days before Game 7. The same woman’s daughter writing a message on the wall that read, “Mom, thank you for teaching us to believe in ourselves, love and the Cubs. Enjoy your view from the ultimate skybox.”
That’s romance. Loving through the thick and thin. The keeping of a 93-year-old relationship to the end, then having the good sense to pass it on to her family. Her daughters keeping of the torch, then watching the Cubbies win with her mom looking down on them from “the ultimate skybox.”
How many non-sports fans can understand this? How many, after getting their heart broken for the first time, swear off and hole themselves away from love? How many of them become confident in putting their hearts back out there with the full risk of getting them crushed again?
Sports fans do this all the time. We wipe the slate clean each season, thinking this is going to be the year, only have to those hopes crushed again 90 percent of the time. We continually put our hearts back on the chopping block, and we bleed a whole lot because of it.
That’s why I want to be a part of baseball. And in the end, it spelled doom for our three-and-a-half-year relationship. I’m going to have to move out of my hometown to accomplish my dreams, and she’s already established with a good job, nice place and an 11-year-old daughter she has to consider. It wouldn’t be fair for me to ask her to give all that up, just like she realized it wasn’t fair of her to ask me to give up on my dreams. Right girl. Wrong time.
My godfather has talked about people coming into your life for a season, and I have realize she was put into my life to help me get through my masters while working a full-time job. She was there to help motivate me to see through the things that have finally gotten me started towards my dream. Her encouragement, support and kind words have gotten to me where I am today and helped me become a better man.
So, for now, I will use all the motivation, determination and passion she re-ignited in me to realize my dream of becoming a baseball announcer. I have to refocus all the love and energy I tried giving her to finding a job and chasing my dreams. It doesn’t mean I still don’t hold out hope that fate will find a way to rotate us back together when the time is right, but for now, the only romance in my life can be with baseball.
As I said earlier, the world keeps turning, and you have to move with it, no matter how much you don’t want to.
So, for now, I will:
Voy con los dioses.
