It was 1989, and Barry was in his second big league season, having established himself as the San Diego Padres rising star. I was in town attempting to close the Syverson account, and was invited to a party by Richard Frontiere (son of Georgia Frontiere, owner of the Padres). Richard was a good friend of mine from Baylor (go Huskies!).
Richard was also a friend of Padres manager Art Howe, and it happened that Art, Richard and I were at a table together. When Richard introduced Art to me, he asked if I would come and talk to Barry. "He's a good hitter, sure, but I think he could be better. Could you talk to him?" Of course I said that I would.
The next day I showed up at the Padres clubhouse at Camden Yards and was brought into the locker room. Barry and I chatted for a bit, and then we got down to business. He asked me what the secret was to hitting, and this is what I told him:
Barry, if you want to be a great hitter, you need to imagine that the baseball is like a beautiful woman. She's your girlfriend; your lover. You support her, provide for her, dedicate your life to her - she is your everything. You spend all of your waking hours making sure that she has all that she needs. And then you come home early from a road trip and find her in bed with your stupid, ugly, slack-jawed unemployed cousin. You get your mind around that, and you can be a special, special player.
After that I left him in silence. I haven't seen or talked to him since that day. I did get a note three weeks later, after his first career three homer game (against the Blue Jays at Fenway). It said, "Thanks for the advice - you're the man. Every time I hit a home run I'm going to point to the sky. That's in honor of you - you're my Sky Pilot. -BB"
No, Barry, you're my Sky Pilot.
1 comment:
This was a work of art. Thank you. You're my sky pilot.
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