Alright. I know baseball analogies are overdone (especially within my one-track mind), but I've just got to make another one. I got to thinking about resolutions, and why I never make them, and that maybe I should make one (or a few), and how I probably need to make about a million.
I was thinking all of this on the way home from Cleveland after my second New Year's celebration in a week--on a gray and wintry Ohio morning after I called off work and while I was attempting to recuperate from my second hangover of 2009.
And I did all of this with the looming knowledge that the world just might come to an end on Dec. 21, 2012, a date that is now less than four years away. The Mayan prediction that may or may not be a glaring misinterpretation of ancient celestial calendars was the backdrop for my thoughts on how to improve myself. I think New Year's resolutions are supposed to be things you can achieve in a year, and in that case, 2012 should seemingly have little effect on how I think about improving myself. But as I thought about it, I realized that knowing what could possibly happen on that date less than four years from now should and does actually have an enormous amount to do with my goals for the coming year. Then, of course, I thought that even if the world doesn't come to an end in 2012, even if I'd never heard of that date, even if I'd never watched that National Geographic special on the Mayans in my grandma's living room ten years or so ago, that I should live like that anyway. But, alas, I know I won't. It's just not in me to throw caution to the wind and ignore consequences--as much as I wish it was.
So, knowing this about myself, and knowing the world could possibly come to an end in 2012, and feeling down on myself for calling off work again, and feeling crumby from a hangover, and driving into the gray and dreary sky of Northeast Ohio in January, I got to thinking about my resolution. I could only come up with one word: commit.
This is not a new topic for me, either in writing or in thinking. I've explored it earlier in the blog about the goatstrap (which I promptly shaved off about 20 minutes after writing), and have mulled it over countless times in my head of late. It may have had something to do with watching the Charlie Brown holiday specials--I'm tired of being wishy-washy.
And so, as my mind does, I related it to baseball. I can't turn it off. I got to thinking about some of the players that I've watched over the years and their respective approaches at the plate. Two that immediately came to mind were Jason Bay and Craig Wilson, because of their (now past) association with the Pirates and their contrasting styles.
Jason Bay is a patient almost timid hitter, and except for the times when he's in the midst of a hot streak, misses a lot of good pitches. Sure, he's a really good hitter, but those bouts with timidity have always and likely will always hold him back from being as great as he could be.
You can see it in interviews. IN the way he plays the field. And especially when he's in a slump at the plate. He just can't make up his mind. It's like there's a little seed of doubt in the back of his mind somewhere that he doesn't belong. The thing is, he does belong. It's just something in his makeup that will probably always be there.
Craig Wilson is the opposite. He probably doesn't belong. (As of now, I don't think he's on a major league roster.) He probably never did. He's just a guy who's up there swinging with everything he's got and drinking a case of Pepsi every day. He didn't have a whole lot of talent. He was terrible in the field and he had a mullet. But in 2004, he hit 29 homers. That's a lot.
Craig Wilson had this career year not by patience and talent the Jason Bay consistently achieves All-Star type seasons better than Wilson's best year, but by committing himself to something he knew he could do: hit a fastball.
He was a guess hitter. He always was. His hands weren't quick enough to wait for the pitch to come his way. He had to prepare for a fastball every pitch, and hope that he got what he was looking for. Sometimes, that's all you can do. We don't know what pitch we're going to get.
So, I guess in 2009, I want to live like Craig Wilson and swing from the heels with everything I've got at every pitch that comes my way. I'm sure to look like a fool most of the time (Craig struck out 169 times in 2004), but on those glorious occasions when I do get the pitch I'm looking for, when the pitcher grooves me a fastball trying to get ahead or work back in the count, I'll be ready. What's worse? Missing the perfect pitch because you're practicing patience and good discipline, or getting pie in the face from time to time?
If you ask me, there's no greater mistake we can make with our short time in life than missing a cock-high fastball over the middle of the plate. So, in 2009, like Craig Wilson, I'm going to be ready.
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