One night near the end of the 2008 season, we played the first-place Phillies, in Philadelphia. Well, my teammates played. I watched from home. We lost the game, the fourth straight time they’d beat us. I flicked off the TV. If only I could have pitched tonight, I thought. I carefully flexed my elbow. It wasn’t coming around like I thought it would. My surgeon had warned me there’d be days like this, that every rehab had its peaks and valleys. But this particular valley had lasted too long.
All my years in baseball I’d willed myself to win—whether it was a spot in the rotation, a matchup with a great hitter, a game my team needed to make the playoffs. Could it be that what needed strengthening wasn’t so much my arm as my faith?
One of my favourite players writing about his comeback.
I know all the games you play
Because I play them too
Oh but I need some time off from that emotion
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