Remembering A Best Friend

I've gone back to doing something I haven't done in years - carrying a baseball with me wherever I go. I stopped when I began to feel stupid. People would see me and think I was looking for attention. Or they'd ask me to sign it and hand it over. One guy at a sushi joint in LA even tried to steal it from me. But now I'm allegedly more mature. I remembered how holding the ball all the time helped me (except when driving). It created a feeling of "oneness." Not sure if I'm explaining myself well. Let me reboot.

There are days, not just during spring training, when players go through a "dead arm" period. There's no injury. It's mainly fatigue. Your body hasn't caught up with all of the things you want to do, so it rebels. You lift your arm and it feels like it's 500 pounds. This can screw up your legs, your mechanics, your head... It's best, during this period, to slow down, take a few days, and recharge.

I used to never get dead arms because of how I always held a ball. I'd take it everywhere with me, to workouts, to meals, to meetings, even to bed. For years I did this. And for years a baseball was like a second skin. It felt as natural in my hand as hair felt on my head. Now that I am in the full out process (and hopefully drawn out process) of going through male pattern baldness, hair on my head is no longer necessarily the most natural feeling. (ed. note: I took a break at this point to spend 20 minutes in front of a mirror, trying to push my scalp forward. Of course, all that did was wrinkle my forehead and nose and shift the impending baldness to the back of my neck. I looked like an insecure bulldog.) Uh, trying to get back on track. Hmm. Okay, I figured it out. Basically, I didn't get dead arms because of how a baseball felt in my hand. Something about how the muscles in the hand and forearm were always being used; something about my grip being employed so often the arm was pretty much in shape 365 days out of the year. And since I wasn't throwing much in the off season, the muscles were kept strong without the stress of an additional 4000 pitches.

Then I stopped. And guess what? The dead arms began.

I never missed a scheduled game in my whole career until last year, when I missed 34 of my possible 35 starts. Was this because I'd stopped with the year-round baseball exercise? Had all of my muscles atrophied enough that they never came back, allowing my UCL to fray and eventually snap?

I've thought about this a lot over the last month or so. No doctors have told me there's any medical evidence to support my theory. Yet, they also said that going back to holding the ball all the time couldn't hurt me. In fact, since I didn't really hold one at all from last April to this December, it would probably help my mind become familiar once again with my best friend, especially since I have a new elbow that wasn't introduced until recently.

The lesson for all of you out there? If something works for you, don't stop. Don't let your mother or your spousal equivalent or your pals convince you you're bananas. Who cares if people think you're a little quirky? Keep it up.

For me, it's nice to know I still have a healthy relationship with a piece of cowhide, some tightly wrapped string, and a handful of stitches. (FYI - don't try licking a baseball. There's no chocolate center.) Like any best friend, it has answered my call and been there for me when I needed him the most.