Smile Because It Happened

It feels weird when the world moves on without you. But that’s what it’s supposed to do.

Photo by Rachel Xiao

It feels weird when the world moves on without you. But that’s what it’s supposed to do.

I’m not trying to be morbid. I just finished reading an article about former Kansas City Royals pitcher Danny Duffy and how he’s trying to make another comeback at the age of 34 following another injury.

It wasn’t all that long ago when I was a sportswriter and I was the one interviewing Duffy when he was on a minor league rehab assignment while trying to come back from Tommy John surgery. The minor league team he pitched for at the time ran the story in their monthly souvenir magazine.

I miss those days of sitting in the press box, interviewing players, watching baseball, talking baseball with managers, scouts, and broadcasters and writing stories about the game. I loved it. There wasn’t any money in writing about the minor leagues — not much anyway. But it was such a joy.

I hit a wall physically, though, and just couldn’t do it anymore. And nearly everyone moved on. All the broadcasters I used to know, all the players, all the writers, and every front office person except the president/general manager. And one of the photographers is still there too.

Again, this is the way it’s supposed to be. The game is bigger than any one person. We lost Vin Scully last year, who was the voice of the game, and yet it continues.

But one day, I’ll be in a nursing home, watching a baseball game with residents and someone from my past — a former player turned manager or a broadcaster — will appear on the screen and I’ll smile, wondering if I should share my story about the time I interviewed him, knowing nobody will believe me. But it won’t matter.

Don’t cry because it’s over, they say. Smile because it happened.