Jack Flynn - Kid Stuff

 

Everyone I know played baseball growing up, but not everyone I know was particularly good at it. I was a member of the second group.

But I loved the game and I loved playing it. The happiest moments of my childhood were spent putting on my St. Virgilius uniform and getting ready to do battle with teams from other Catholic grammar schools in southeast Queens.

One year of organized ball made one thing clear, however - a professional career was not in the offing for me. There was a loop on my left-handed swing bigger than Adam Dunn's, but I combined that loop with a complete lack of power on par with someone like Juan Pierre. If I had Juan Pierre's speed that would've been fine, but my time from first to second base could charitably described as "Molina-esque." Even in third grade, it was clear that I was a superb athlete trapped in a sports writer's body.

There was only one aspect of my game that I showed a knack for - patience. Long before statheads figured out the true value of a walk, I had figured out that the fewer times I swung the bat, the less likely I was to strike out. I quickly became my team leader in walks, grateful to accept a chance to get on base rather than walk back to the dugout after another strikeout.

One day my father sat me down and asked me why I had stopped swinging the bat when I came up to the plate. I explained my theory and he mulled it over for a moment. The following words were uttered nearly 30 years ago, but to this day I vividly remember them coming out of his mouth.

"Do you see the way Gary Carter reacts when someone walks a batter to get to him? He gets ticked off, lines a double off the wall and knocks in two runs."

The message was clear, even to an eight-year-old kid. Don't keep the bat on your shoulder. Don't be so afraid to fail that you rob yourself of the chance to succeed.

Gary Carter didn't wait to work out a walk in a big situation. He took matters into his own hands. More often than not, he got the hit that the boys from Queens needed to win the game. That's why he has a plaque in Cooperstown and a special place in the heart of every Mets fan.

So I took my father's advice, inspired by the success and fame that Carter had attained just by being brave enough to succeed when his team needed him the most. I stopped looking for walks and started looking for hits.

Now there's no Hollywood ending to this story - once I started taking my bat off my shoulder for St. Virgilius, my strikeout numbers rapidly increased. By my final year with the team, I was the best scorekeeper in the South Queens CYO. There's no plaque in Cooperstown for me and most Mets fans have no idea who I am.

I realized as I got older, however, that my father was telling me something more than how to approach every at-bat in a baseball game. He was really telling me to apply the same attitude to life as he was encouraging me to do on the field.

Swing the bat. Knock doubles off the wall. Drive in the big runs.

I came to realize that there is just no way Gary Carter could be brave enough to swing for the fences in the bottom of the ninth inning with all the eyes in the crowd on him, but then be unwilling to apply that same confidence and inner strength to every aspect of his life. I'm now sure that, many years before I heard those special words, Kid had already taken the same wisdom to heart that my father had given to me.

Swing the bat. Knock doubles off the wall. Drive in the big runs.

Live your life.