If I Never Got Hurt Last Year...

It's done. There's nothing I can do about it. These are the two phrases I tell myself every morning that I wake up not with my team in New York but with a minor league franchise based out of Nashville. I got hurt a year ago. My surgery was 385 days ago. Physically, I'm fine. Mentally, I just can't get over myself. I've been a starting pitcher since Little League. Heck, in 1980 I threw my first no-hitter, all 6 innings of it (I hit a home run too). Relief pitchers can't throw no-hitters. Relief pitchers put out fires other people started, usually starting pitchers (like I used to be). Relief pitchers wait, warm up, sit down, warm up, sit down, get angry with their manager, then shower and never get in the game. Relief pitchers get frustrated and have to have incredible egos and incredible self-confidence. If I never got hurt last year, I wouldn't have to think about this. But I did get hurt. And now I'm a relief pitcher. There's nothing I can do about it.

I'm not a control freak, or never was before. But I think I'm becoming one. Is that possible? To change later in life from a colorful, flexible fellow to a colorful control freak? I guess so. It's happening to me. Just like that injury. It is what it is, as someone recently said.

I don't like to sulk. It generally doesn't get me anywhere. I spent about 180 of the last 385 days sulking and all it did was get me fat and help me notice the bald spot growing on my forehead. Valuable lesson learned. If I'd never gotten hurt last year, I'd never know sulking was bad.

Relief pitchers can't sulk. They have to be ready every day to play, kind of like outfielders, only more in charge than outfielders, who just stand around waiting for something to happen to them. Relief pitchers make things happen. Pitchers make things happen. I've always been a pitcher. Always tried to make things happen - good things. Maybe I've always been a control freak and didn't know it.

Imagine if you spent your whole life doing something, then something happens and you can't do that thing anymore. Like breathing. Imagine if you could breathe your whole life, then you suddenly can't. It stinks. Horrible metaphor, but that's how I felt while sulking. I couldn't breathe. I thank my lucky stars, I thank God, Yahweh, Buddha, Reagan - I thank who or whatever it is/was that taught me to breathe again. Now I'm breathing one inning a day, one day at a time. I'm used to 7 innings every fifth day. So if I can get around the possibility that I could conceivably pitch 7 innings in a week (one per day - stay with me), I'm therefore pitching just as much as I ever did before. I'm just spreading it out.

It's like if you put a big hamburger on your plate. You want to eat it. And there's a lot of it. Now put that same hamburger, cut up, onto 25 plates. It's not as effective, in terms of presentation to one's hunger palette, as one big burger on one plate. I used to eat one big burger every fifth day. Now I'm eating White Castle every day.

There's more. If I never got hurt last year, I wouldn't have spent as much time with my family last year as I did. Which makes this time, right now, even harder. You get used to things. I was used to a life on the road before the injury. Then I got used to life at home. Yes I was sulking, but I was doing it in the presence of my wife and daughters. They hated me for it, but that's their problem. Now, I'm healthy and on the road again (17 of the first 24 days of the Hounds' season are on the road - and my family isn't even staying with me in my Nashville trailer). And I'm missing my three girls (I threw my wife in there as a "girl" to make her feel better after my previous "that's their problem" statement regarding my sulking at home earlier in this paragraph. Oh, I could have deleted the statement and never had to throw in the "girl" line as an apology gift to my wife, but I didn't so sue me.) Bottom line: If I never got hurt, I never would have known how important my family is to me.

There are other things that have happened that may not have occurred. If I never got hurt last year...

• I never would have had the off season contract dispute with the team.
• The Vets wouldn't have had to fire Larry Picketts and hire Rick Churches to manage.
• I never would have gotten into heated arguments, many times publicly, with Rick Churches because he wouldn't be my manager, laid back Larry Picketts would be.
• Rick Churches would still be in the NYS (our regional sports network) broadcast booth, not managing, and my father, "Red" Scott, would still be anywhere but New York broadcasting games.

If I never got hurt last year...

• I'd already have my 300 wins. Now, as a reliever, it may take me 3 seasons to win 13 more games. Do I want to play that much longer? More important, does anybody else want me to play that much longer?
• I never would have started this blog.
• I'd still be talking to the media.
• I never would have "grown" and "matured" and would be my old, happy, ignorant, lovable self.
• I wouldn't be in as good a shape as I'm in right now.
• I wouldn't be playing in the minor leagues, on rehab assignment. I'd be in New York on a starting assignment.

If I never got hurt last year...

• My Nashville Hounds would probably have a better record than 4 and 16.
• I probably would not be a de facto owner of my Nashville Hounds, thanks to billionaire Charlie Walker.
• I never would have met Andy, my personal trainer who also serves as my security "detail" in Nashville. (He's very big. Don't mess with him.)
• I never would have been sued by the team psychologist (not psychiatrist - there's a difference), Dr. Henry Cohegans, for breaking the terms of our confidentiality agreement because I wouldn't be blogging or even going to him because I never got hurt.

If I never got hurt last year...

• I never would have had public run-ins with my father, "Red" Scott, NYS broadcaster who's mad at me for not talking to the media (him) on the record but blogging instead.
• I never would have been as fulfilled as I am right now with my life.
• I never would have been turned into a relief pitcher.

You know what? It happened. It just did. And there's nothing I can do about it except move on. No more sulking. No more regrets. I got hurt last year and now I'm better. I can't wait to prove myself again in New York.

Saved!

It finally happened. Last night, I recorded my first save in a Nashville Hounds uniform. I looked online and also saw that in my 20 years of professional baseball, this was my first save ever. I looked harder and saw that, in my 20 years of professional baseball, I have pitched out of the bullpen (regular season) a grand total of 6 times, none since 1994.

Fans will say, "Oh, he's certainly a great looking guy, maybe going bald, but he'll still be a real hottie when all we'll see on his head is skin."

You, as readers, will say, "What's the previous quote have to do with anything?"

I, as me, will say, "Helps my ego."

Back on point: Fans will also say, "He gets paid millions of dollars ($9 million guaranteed this year - I can't forget that), he should be able to do whatever they tell him."

Here's where you're right and wrong at the same time (I feel like I'm talking to my wife, the lovely Vanessa Scott). Yes, for the money they pay me, I should jump when they say "How high?" without asking any questions. Did that make sense? Let me rephrase for those of you playing the board game at home. For the wads of cash the team gives me to line my pockets made of gold, I should have the ability to pitch in the first, fifth or thirteenth innings, bunt a runner over to second base with less than two outs, or spit a macadamia nut casing up to six feet out of my mouth if they tell me to. Yes, fans, I should be able to do that.

But I can't. I'm a baseball player, and baseball players are screwy. A leadoff hitter has trouble hitting down at seventh in the order. The situations as a seventh place hitter are completely different from the situations leading off a game. Thus, the leadoff hitter freaks out and can't do it. The starting pitcher must pitch every fifth day. If you put him out there with three days rest, or six days, his mind is mud. He can't do it. The closer must come into a game with a small enough lead that he still gets the save, or the score tied. He can't come in with a 5-run lead and not give up 2 or 3. Likewise, he can't come into a game down by 10 and be expected to pitch a 1-2-3 inning. Our heads may be handsome, although in the intermediate stages of balding, but our minds are fragile, vulnerable, sensitive globs of goo. Don't ask us to do what we're not accustomed to doing. We'll fail 9 times out of 10.

So how am I adjusting to my new role as closer for a AAA minor league team when I've been a big league starting pitcher for the last 19 years? On the outside, I appear fully confident. I've said to friends (my mother's dog, Lando), family (my mother) and anyone else who's not a member of the press that "I'll do whatever it takes to help the team." I'm happy to have had the opportunity to spew the cliche out of my mouth. We all say it. We also say, "That's what we're paid to do," even though our minds are the aforementioned globs of goo when you ask us to do what we don't expect to be told to do. Like close games in AAA when you thought you'd be starting games in New York.

In other words, I'm trying to get my head around the fact that I'm being told (nobody ever asked, by the way) to pitch out of the bullpen this year. Yes, it's been almost a month since this stunning pronouncement by my favorite manager, Rick Churches. But you can't put a free man in solitary confinement and ask him to feel good about it after only 3 weeks.

I have needed help. My former shrink, Dr. Henry Cohegans, won't be my current shrink (hence the "former" attribute) because of the lawsuit he filed against me for breaking our confidentiality agreement. While we settled, he won't pick us up where we left off. So I've been searching for a replacement shrink. The big club gave me a list of local people (local to Nashville), but I need someone who can do it over the phone. I won't be in Nashville very long and don't want to develop a relationship with a new psychiatrist only to break it off after a short time. I'd think he or she would feel used.

Enter Dr. Carol Lindstrom-Oates. She's New Jersey-based and let me call her Dr. Lindstrom-Oates. A fine doctor of the mind, we had our first call yesterday:

Shrink - Tell me about yourself.
Me - I feel bad about the recession.
Shrink - It's a tough time in this economy.
Me - No, I mean my hair. It's receding.

She's a very serious doctor who's serious of doctoring. I told her of my problem dealing with my new "role" as a baseball player. Here's what she said:

Shrink - You mean they pay you all that money and you can't do it? What, are you nuts?

Dr. Carol Lindstrom-Oates is not my shrink anymore.

Meanwhile, I pitched a 1-2-3 9th last night. Maybe I simply cured myself.

The State of Things

One week to opening day. Kind of exciting if you're me, very exciting if you're a fan. You, as a fan, should be excited because the team looks like it could possibly be the best team we've put on a field since 2000, coincidentally the last time we won a World Championship Series. Only a few questions marks:

1. Lyman Gaye's health - His auto accident last week was more scary than painful. If you think it looked rough on TV, double that if you were there. Strange how my family and I drove past his up-ended car last week on our way to Disney World and had no idea he was inside. He was back with the team over the weekend, but still stiff and sore. The coaching staff is looking at trying to get him into 1 or 2 spring training games by the end of the week. His fiance, who was driving the car, will not be around. Lyman filed a restraining order against her on Friday. Apparently, she was the cause of his injuries, not the accident.

2. Felipe Castro's presence - His mother is still in captivity somewhere in Venezuela. He has not reported to camp, but is expected this week. Rumors are flying around as to his physical shape. When I spoke with him in February, he admitted he wasn't close to being game-ready. I guess we'll know in the coming days.

3. Jimmy Scott's elbow - This is my elbow. Feels good. I still haven't pitched two days in a row. Everyone keeps telling me the bullpen, where I will work from this year, is the perfect place for me at this point in my career. I'll be in more games, be more active with the team... My head isn't there yet, however, which leads me to...

Me. If you're me and the new season is coming, here are some updates:

1. My lawsuit - Team psychologist, Dr. Henry Cohegans, and I settled his lawsuit very quietly last week. As he likes, the terms are under a confidentiality agreement. He also will no longer work with me. So I'm looking for another head-shrinker to help me fine-tune the rough edges of my psyche.

2. My Media Status - I've held pretty firm to my pledge not to speak on the record with the media. A few of my off-the-record comments have been printed, and attributed to me, which makes me pretty upset. I will say that the beat reporters around here have been very professional. These guys work their tails off and are, in nearly every case, people I can trust. Still, a few have tried to "do me in," as a teammate said to me a ways back. When I broke the story of Felipe being named captain and then was told I was off my rocker (meaning the story was untrue), I really had it out with the source who gave me the misinformation. As a result, I learned my lesson. I'm out of the scoop business. Unless I know it's true.

3. Connie - She finally - FINALLY - flew home on Saturday. There were a few days we thought she'd latch onto another family down here, but that was all wishful thinking. She was back to her parasitic ways by last Wednesday and Vanessa had to gently (over three days) negotiate with the woman to leave us along and fly back home. Tough situation. You want the woman out of your life, but she is your neighbor and she is a little off-center. In the movies, she'd come back and do something violent to us (maybe take me hostage and force Vanessa to save me). Just as my lawsuit with Dr. Cohegans was settled, I asked (free of charge) him if we had to worry about Connie. He said probably not. But he also said you never know. Truly helpful information. Somebody tell me if I just broke another confidentiality agreement with the man.

4. Nashville - The team is researching places for me to stay near the ballpark. It appears I will be in extended spring training for about 10 days then report to Nashville for the start of their season during the second week of April. The goal is once I can pitch 4 times a week (broken up as 2 days in a row, one day off, and 2 days in a row again), they'll call me up to New York. Meanwhile, I've thrown around the idea of living with a host family, preferably in their basement, instead of a hotel. The food might be better. And maybe they'll have a 12 year old kid who idolizes me and will make my ego soar to new heights. Or I'll just live in a trailer in the parking lot. You never know.

My First (Threatened) Lawsuit, And Then...

Vanessa told me it was bound to happen sometime, if only because of the notoriety this blog has received. I was officially given an ultimatum yesterday from team psychologist, Dr. Henry Cohegans: Never mention his name or allude to any conversations we've had or will have ever again or else he'll sue me, based upon my breaking the terms of a confidentiality agreement I signed with him once I started writing this. I have one word for him:

Sorry.

Still, I contacted my lawyer, recommended years ago by Jack Perry, my super agent (I bought him a cape for his birthday. No card, no note, no nothing. Rude.). This lawyer, who asked that he not be identified publicly for his own p.r. purposes, told me that technically I didn't break the agreement. However, he believes I did break the "spirit" of the agreement in the manner that I alluded to our discussions (see March 11, February 22 and February 14 posts to judge for yourself). While this lawyer, probably the finest in the world (like I'd know), is probably correct, I decided to call Dr. Cohegans on my own to try to nip this in the bud before it became bigger than it had to be.

Dr. Cohegans:
Me: Hi, It's -
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: Wow, you're snippy when you're upset. Want to talk about it?
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: That was a low blow. But I'm bigger than that, so I'd like to offer an apology.
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: It is too worth something. What if I promised to make you look hyper-intelligent when I-
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: It is too possible. All I need to-
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: Fine. My lawyer said we should revise the agreement.
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: I just thought it'd be cheaper if we -
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: No, I've never been to law school. Have you?
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: Yeah, but how many classes-
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: Did you pass the bar?
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: So you're real smart. Have you ever thrown a fastball 98 miles an hour?
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: I'm just saying there's one thing I can do better than-

It went on like that for about 10 minutes.

Vanessa told me, before I made the call, that I'd only make things worse. But I like to go to bed at night knowing I did everything I could to improve a situation, be it rehabbing from my injury or getting along better with team management or finding a way to make my girls like me. So I thought, hey, a few minutes on the horn with good ol' Doc Cohegans couldn't do any harm, right?

The official suit was filed this morning. Apparently, the doctor was unhappy with my tact on the phone yesterday. My lawyer, still unnamed (now he wants me to sign a confidentiality agreement too - I'll need a lawyer to read it over first), told me I was, in loose terms, an idiot for trying to solve the problem over the phone.

Fine, Vanessa was right. It's not the first time.

Thus, I am being sued. I've never been sued before. I can take it off of my To Do list now.

How does it feel? Well, he's asking for a lot of money since he's saying I'm hurting his private practice and his professional status with the team, which will thus hurt his pocketbook as well. Terms won't be disclosed here, but I'm sure they'll leak out somewhere, like TMZ, since somebody will have nothing else to do. Let's just say he's looking for more than $100.

If you asked Vanessa how this experience feels, you'll get a much more emotional answer. She was quite emotional with me. That doesn't mean she cried. But her voice was raised a few decibels and aimed in my direction. Hey, she's a great kid and has been correct many times when it comes to what I say and how I express it. In this case... She's probably right again.

I asked my anonymous lawyer if we could counter sue. He asked what we would sue him for. I couldn't think of anything. He told me to let him do the lawyering. So that's what he's doing.

Remember when Bill Clinton was being sued all the time while president, and he set up a legal defense fund? I want me one of those. Maybe it should be run by a fan. You can call it The Jimmy Scott Legal Defense Fund. I like the sound of that when I speak it loud. Of course, I spoke it a little too loudly, which led to Vanessa marching into the room and using her decibel-grinding tone with me. So maybe we should hold off on The Jimmy Scott Legal Defense Fund. Then again, I can't control what a few fans do. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink.

Next steps? I want to call the doctor again. I've been "strongly advised to the fullest extent of the word 'strongly'" not to even mention his name to our cat. We don't have a cat, so I'm good there. I think I'll just let this issue fester in my brain for a bit before figuring out my next steps.

Vanessa, of course, would say there's nothing for me to figure. That's why we're paying the lawyer. To which I respond: That's why we need The Jimmy Scott Legal Defense Fund!

I've never slept on the couch in this marriage, but tonight may be the first time. How will it feel? You can bet I'll let you know after I'm through.

The Kids Are Alright

My relationship with my two daughters tends to rotate between time bomb explosiveness and potential death-spreading wildfire. It's rarely easy, like instant oatmeal. And usually, it's all my fault.

Case in point: I convinced Alyssa and Grace to come down with me to Florida, along with Vanessa, for this last spring training. My "pitch" to them was this would be my last spring training and I wanted us all to spend it together. I'd be home every day by 3:00 and we'd have oodles of family time. I also mentioned how I'd miss them, but this didn't make the headline in their craniums. Being away from home, being away from their friends - that was the headline they remembered. We're almost a month into spring training now. I've been home by 3:00 twice.

I take much of the blame. My rehab and workouts (and this) have taken up considerably more time than I had thought. Vanessa and I still have charitable events that we attend (like a clinic for the Boys & Girls Club this past Sunday morning). And sometimes I just find myself driving around, hitting the road to let off some steam. The pressure this spring training is more intense than I've felt in almost 20 years. Battling the in-house competition, battling my own insecurities, battling with Rick and Alvin, and battling with my girls - if life becomes a constant battle, you need to take a breather sometimes. And that sometimes sometimes takes place around 3:00, when I said I'd be home but instead am taking the on ramp to 95 South with Van Halen's "Panama" blasting from my rental car speakers.

We attempted to have a family dinner last night. Here's an excerpt:

Me: How was your day?

Nobody answers; the "nobody" meaning my two girls. I already knew Vanessa's day was less than tolerable.

Me: Two daughters, specifically Alyssa and Grace, my offspring, how was your day?
Alyssa: Fine.
Grace: You are a wise ass.

It's hard to swallow a large stalk of broccoli when your 15 year old daughter just called you a "wise ass."

Me: Where did you hear that word?
Grace: It's two words.
Alyssa: Pretty much everybody we know.
Grace: You're also a blowhard.
Alyssa: A big mouth.
Grace: Pompous and selfish.

It's hard not to choke on a cheddar cheese sauce chaser when your kids, with incredible conviction, just repeated the same insults you've been hearing about yourself for the past 15 years.

Vanessa: How was your day, dear?
Me: I really like this broccoli.

Vanessa's upset, but not with me. Her stalker "friend" Connie paid a surprise visit this afternoon and said she'd be staying at a Marriott about 500 yards away from the gated (thank God) community we're temporarily living in. How long will Connie be here? She didn't give Vanessa a specific date, but I think she'll be here as long as it takes. As long as it takes to do what? is the question churning through my wife's head. But that problem is for another day. Right now, I was dealing with a couple of teenage malcontents.

Me: The important thing is we're having a nice family dinner.

At this point, both girls left the table. Nobody asked to be excused. When I made this point, Vanessa told me I hadn't made that point in about 9 years. I lack in consistency at times, was her point.

I sprung into action by calling Dr. Henry Cohegans, our team psychologist. For years, I thought he was our team psychiatrist. But I've been wrong for years. He's a psychologist. There's a difference. I'll figure that out at some other time.

Let me remind you of the confidentiality agreement I signed with Dr. Cohegans over the winter. He was explicit in stating he wanted to be no part of this blog and he did not want to ever be quoted by me, either directly or paraphrased. By signing my agreement to this, I have honored the doctor's wishes.

I can, however, include my side of the conversations. Not once have I asked my readers to keep what they read confidential. That's really hard on the worldwide web.

Dr. Cohegans -
Me: Not so good. It's my girls.
Dr. Cohegans -
Me: Get them on the phone? There are two of them? Does that mean I have to pay for all three of us?
Dr. Cohegans -

The good doctor waited 10 very expensive minutes (paid for by the team, so I don't know why I become so obsessed with what he charges) while I pounded on bedroom doors and gently coaxed my two young loved ones to share a phone line with a stranger. They did this and made me leave the room.

Dr. Cohegans -
Alyssa - He promised us he'd be here and he never is.
Grace - He played golf two Sundays ago after telling us we had to be home for a special 'Sunday dinner.' He didn't get home until we'd already gone to bed.
Alyssa - He thinks his stupid blog is more important than us.
Me - I do not.
Dr. Cohegans -
Grace - Dad!
Alyssa - Hey!

I hung up, forgetting that eavesdropping is supposed to be done in secret from the ones you are eavesdropping on.

Half an hour later, the phone rang. It was Dr. Cohegans.

Me - They hate me.
Dr. Cohegans -
Me - Why do I say that? You heard what they said. And you didn't hear what they said at dinner.
Dr. Cohegans -
Me - What about respect for your elders?
Dr. Cohegans -
Me - Yes Rick and Alvin are older than me. What's that got to do with - Oh. I see.
Dr. Cohegans -
Me - No, I just wiped my eye. I'd been having trouble seeing out of it for a few minutes.
Dr. Cohegans -
Me - Because humor masks my true insecurities. I've used that word twice tonight and sound very intelligent.
Dr. Cohegans -
Me - Fine. Should I go apologize to them both now? I'd hug them but they'd run away and call me a molester.
Dr. Cohegans -
Me - Because humor masks their true insecurities.

I hung up and pounded on doors for 10 minutes. (Vanessa was out with Connie, trying to keep the woman away from a very private family issue. FYI - Keep this between us.) I eventually coaxed the girls out when I told them I was about to be arrested for disturbing the peace.

First thing I did was sit the two of them down and explain my situation. No, wait. I apologized first, then explained, which made me feel like I was justifying myself for being a jerk over the last few weeks. If I had explained first and then apologized, I would have been able to make it seem like I was apologizing as a favor to them, thus keeping me, the father-figure (and actual father) in power during this exchange.

But I apologized first, making me appear weak and vulnerable. I'm sure I was slouching too. Not attractive traits in a man. I was happy Vanessa was out with her stalker friend.

Grace - It's not fair that you kidnapped us and forced us down to Florida.
Me - But it's the sunshine state.
Alyssa - It rains every day at 4:00.
Me - Very humid here. Oh, and I prefer the word abduct to kidnap. Sounds like I was more organized.
Grace - Your friend Felipe wouldn't think that was very funny.

Grace was right. Felipe Castro's mother remains held in captivity while I try to justify to my daughters why I'm not spending enough time with them.

Me - Let's do this. Starting tomorrow, we make sure we do something together every day. Even if that means I have to make breakfast for you.
Alyssa - I only eat a yogurt.
Me - I'll pasteurize the dairy.
Grace - I skip breakfast.
Me - I'll force some bacon down your throat.

I think one of them smiled about this time. Which made me really smile. Kids are all the same. They just want to be loved. And even if they know they are, they want to hear it once in a while. Or be shown it. I know I need to do a better job with my kids. They're both terrific and smart and pretty like their mom. Maybe this was the beginning of a new relationship between them and me. Maybe this was a life-changing time for us all.

But first, I had to figure out how to tell them we were out of instant oatmeal.

Motivationally Speaking

Our new esteemed manager Rick Churches spoke to the full team yesterday. With nearly every man on the roster now reported to camp, this was Rick's first opportunity to get everybody in one room to hear him philosophize.

I'll give him one thing - the man can speak. There's a reason why he was in our TV booth for the last eight years (replaced by my father, "Red" Scott). It's his voice. He's got a golden throat. If Obama needs a VP who has similar oratory skills as himself, he should turn to Rick Churches.

These speeches are generally closed-off from the media. The purpose from Day 1 down here is Team. We win as a team, we lose as a team, etc. You've heard it before. Having this one team meeting, with just us, helps the spiritual bond between players and each other, as well as players and management. Imagine if every discussion between you and your significant other was held in front of a gaggle of reporters, all wearing identical khakis and collared polo shirts, each asking you to hurry up so they could meet a deadline or update their blog. It's important to have some private time so we can be ourselves, so we can feel inspired or motivated by our leader and reflect personally or with each other without 3rd party interference.

As you know, Rick chose yesterday's team forum to be a public affair. I'm not certain why he went this route, although I have my opinions which I'll share with you now. Well, it's not really opinions, with an s. I have one opinion - the man knows he has a fabulous voice and wants others to share in its fabulousness whenever it's put to good use. That said, the inspiration and motivation we, or at least I, was supposed to feel did not happen.

Blah. That's how I felt when he was done. (53 minutes! He lost me at mile marker 10.) Yes, he and I are on different personal wavelengths. There's been more than a little animosity between the two of us this off season. But I didn't go in there to criticize him. I went in there to be impressed. I wanted to be moved. I wasn't.

As he spoke, I thought back to last year's speech that former manager Larry Picketts (he of the YouTube tirade now viewed over 850,000 times) gave. I wasn't moved then. So I thought back some more. 2004-2006 was all Larry. Nope. I didn't feel anything. 2003 with Vance Dunn? Nothing. Our most recent championship was in 2002, Gum Wilson's last year on the job, allegedly, before coming back to be Rick's bench coach this season at GM Alvin Kirby's behest (does that mean the bench is a hot seat?). Gum definitely didn't inspire with his words. Not of much use for them, he led by letting us play. He could push buttons like any of today's best videogame fiends. He motivated us by letting us win. His spring training state of the union addresses? Terrible. Five minutes and out. I felt nothing.

As I drove to my afternoon session with Andy, my personal trainer, I wondered if it's not the speaker that has the problem; maybe the problem lies with me. Not one to admit anything could in any way be wrong with me, I quickly dialed Dr. Henry Cochegans, team psychiatrist (or is he a psychologist? Not sure the difference and always forget to ask.) to have a quick cellular session.

Luckily, Dr. Cochegans could speak with me for a few moments. After he reminded me of the non-disclosure agreement I signed, what you see below is just my input in the conversation. The NDA does not allow me to quote Dr. Cochegans in this forum. "For my own protection," he always says. Oops.

Dr. Cochegans:
Me: Getting stronger each day, in both mind, body and spirit.
Dr. Cochegans:
Me: Okay. Yes, I am aware "both" signifies two and I spoke of three characteristics. You going to analyze or criticize today?
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: Sorry I snapped at you. You probably get that all the time from the other guys on the team who speak to you, huh? What do they say? Be specific. Do they talk about me? They all hate me, right?
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: I'm not paranoid. I'm paranormal.
Dr. Cohegans: (Ed. note: I couldn't hear what he said here. I hit a bad cell area.)
Me: I need to talk about my lack of inspiration when I hear my managers speak.
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: You're saying it shouldn't matter what they say? It only matters how I feel inside?
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: Are you reading from a pamphlet or something? It takes me five minutes to tell you what I want to talk about and you give me your diagnosis in one sentence without letting me whine.
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: Okay. I'll listen to my heart, my soul, and find it within myself to succeed. I'll be an individual. Sounds like I never should have quit Boy Scouts.
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: Whatever.

I don't need to elaborate any further because, as Dr. Cohegans said, it's self-explanatory. Part of my problems with Rick have been because of me. I'm looking for something from him, as a manager, as a man, that he can't, or doesn't need to give. I need to look at myself and solve whatever riddles my subconscious is querying me about. No more relying on others to make me feel something. It's up to me to feel it on my own.

I talked to Andy, my very large personal trainer, about the previous paragraph (I practically recited it to him, word for word), and he said I was already motivating myself.

Andy: Why are you here?
Me: On earth? I guess all humans -

He turned the treadmill I was running on from high hill to Everest mountain.

Andy: No, dummy, why are you in this gymnasium working out? Why are you asking Dr. whatever his name is -
Me: Cohegans. It's really not that hard to say after some practice.
Andy: May I finish?
Me: (sulking and sweating a lot, my few hairs matted onto my scalp like wet string on the underside of a garbage can lid)
Andy: We've been doing two-a-days and three-a-days for months. I rarely have to raise my voice and egg you on. You're plenty motivated.
Me: (breathing very hard, unable to speak)
Andy: I always like these parts of our sessions. You can't get the last word in.

When I got back to the house Vanessa, the kids and I are renting down here, I told Vanessa all about my mentally (and physically) stimulating day. I told her how much Rick likes to hear himself talk, how I haven't really paid attention to what anyone in authority has said to me for at least 6 years, and how I will never scale Mt. Everest without the aid of a helicopter.

She smiled and told me we should celebrate by taking tomorrow afternoon off and going with the kids to Disney World. I told her I couldn't. I'm down here to work, even when practice is over, even on weekends, even when I'm about to drop from exhaustion. I'm down here to work. She smiled some more and told me she liked my answer. To her, it was inspiring. "Sounds to me like you should've been the one giving the speech to the team today."

I gave her a kiss and a long, tight hug. It felt good to hear her say that. And it felt even better to be able to respond without the glare of the media standing three feet away, khakis and polo shirts ready to pounce. Sometimes, the best motivation happens in the privacy of our own homes, in our own minds, in our own time.

What I Did On My Winter Vacation

Today is my last day off before the start of spring training. The report date for pitchers and catchers is tomorrow. The family flies down to Orlando today around noon and then we take the drive to Fort Pierce. The girls are still furious that they're going to spend the next six weeks in Florida schools instead of at home, but them's the breaks when your dad loves you.

It's been one of the more eventful off seasons I can remember in which my team did not win a world championship. The last big one like this in a bad team year was after the 1994 season, when I was traded from Chicago to New York and then I signed that huge (at the time) 5 year, $30 million contract. While the money is gone, long ago spent on products to stop my premature balding, I'm still with New York, about to start my 14th spring training with the team.

I met with team psychiatrist Henry Cochegans yesterday to talk about this busy off season. It was our seventh meeting since December. Due to the nature of the non-disclosure agreement he forced me to sign (not at gunpoint; rather, he threatened to make me blame all my problems on myself instead of my parents), I cannot reveal anything he said during our meeting. I can, however, let you know what I said.

Dr. Cochegans:
Me: There's no thread that connects all the stuff that happened to me this off season.
Dr. Cochegans:
Me: Say that to my face.
Dr. Cochegans:
Me: I know, I was just kidding. But seriously, the only, uh, controversial stuff that happened was my contract dispute with the team, my occasional flareup with my brand new favorite manager Rick Churches...
Dr. Cochegans:
Me: Yes, I was being facetious. May I continue?
Dr. Cochegans:
Me: You're funny when you're sarcastic. But getting back to me, there wasn't much more controversy than what I just said. Oh, maybe the stuff that happened that made me not speak with the media anymore and just blog instead. And...Um... Also when the team fined me $500,000 for the content of those blogs. Oh! There was my bad, then good, then bad again rehabilitation from the elbow injury. Uh, I had a little tiff with teammate Corey Belle before his arrest. And our home was vandalized three times.
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: Nope. The bad people are still on the loose.
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: How do you think that makes me feel? I'm happy for them.
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: You're funny when you're sarcastic. Back to me, redux. I guess the last two issues from the off season were my dad, "Red" Scott coming back into my life to be one of the team's TV broadcasters and then, I guess, needing an arbitrator to settle another dispute I had with the team. I'm going to win that, by the way.
Dr. Cohegans:
Me: Whatever. Is there a conflict of interest here, since team management wants me gone, you work for the team, and I tell you all of my personal, most innermost thoughts?
Dr. Cohegans:

Quite frankly, I spaced out during the doctor's response. He went on and on about professional courtesy, patient/doctor privacy issues, etc. When I awoke, he asked me again if my off season issues had any common thread.

Me: Bitter, angry conflict with authority figures?

He rang a big bell with a large metal pipe, which made me think I was right. But then I remembered that was his way of telling patients their sessions are over.

Is there a common thread? Was I right? I don't know. It doesn't matter. Those conflicts happened. I can't take any of them back. If I could, I don't know if I'd want to. It would have been a pretty boring New Jersey off season if all I did was watch Scooby Doo reruns morning, noon, and night. No, this was the way to end it. My final off season, my final winter vacation. Starting next October, I'll probably be done for good. Then, every day will be a vacation.

I just hope it comes with a little less conflict.