CHAPTER 2

TIME FOR A NAP

1 P.M.

Baseball is a game of routines, and, whenever we had night games on the road, my routine included afternoon naps. A midday snooze always seemed to give me a fresh start. But, of course, Game Seven of the World Series was neither an ordinary night game nor an ordinary road game. Thinking it would help my focus, I tried my best to treat that final day like it was any other, but it was nearly impossible.

It was also a hectic morning. Cole still wasn’t feeling well and his chest was tight, so Hyla grabbed a cab and rode around downtown Cleveland in search of an open pharmacy. By late morning, Cole started to feel a little better. That allowed us to relax—and for me to take a sixty-minute booster nap!

The first of two Cubs team buses to Progressive Field was scheduled for 3:30 p.m. The early bus is usually crowded, and my nerves were starting to kick in again. Hoping it would calm them, I decided to walk the six blocks to the field. I thought it would help me relax and enjoy the moment. It was a comfortable afternoon with temps in the mid-sixties and overcast skies.

I got dressed and was ready to walk out the door of our hotel suite when I turned to give Hyla a good-bye hug. My wife has been my rock throughout my professional baseball journey. I was always the emotional one; she was always calm, cool, and collected. In fact, if Hyla gets emotional about anything, good or bad, she gets even more reserved and keeps those feelings to herself.

This time the roles were reversed, and it caught me completely off guard. I looked at Hyla, and her green eyes gave away her thoughts.

She was crying.

DAVID’S iPHONE JOURNAL

2/15/16

Nerves are starting to kick in!! It’s Monday night and I’m flying out Wednesday. Feel like this off season has flown by. Got my last three work outs in and trying to hug my wife and kids as much as possible! Not sure if as an adult I give my kids enough credit for knowing what’s going on. They have asked me at least 10 times this month when I’m leaving. It must be on their brain much more than I thought. My daughter has started sleeping in the shirt I got her for when I leave and my son is glued to my hip. I think he is going to have the toughest time. I’m really excited to get out to AZ with the boys but I have the biggest pit in my stomach about leaving. All of these feelings, and the fact that it is really tough getting my body where it needs to be, are all signs that help me realize I am ready for this to be the last year.

Meeting Hyla turned out to be one of my life’s great blessings. And, for the record, she called first and asked me out, though she likes to say otherwise.

I was a junior at Florida High in 1994 and Hyla was a sophomore at nearby Godby High. Hyla’s older brother Jason had transferred to my school from Godby and was playing baseball as a senior. Hyla and her younger sister attended our games to watch Jason, who initially wasn’t keen on his sisters hanging around the team. Even during our spring tournament when everyone was at the hotel pool between games, Jason wanted his sisters to keep their distance. But we all had mutual friends, and Hyla and I got to be friends. One day Hyla called and said she wanted my help to set up a double date—her best friend with my best friend. Hyla and I were supposed to keep them company.

Half of the plan worked out perfectly. Hyla and I started to date.

Even then Hyla was a straight shooter, and said exactly what was on her mind. I thought I was a bigwig on the Florida High campus, the star baseball player being recruited by the best college teams. My mom was the type whose love means she’ll do anything for her kids, and she did everything for her son. If I wanted something to eat, Mom cooked it. If I wanted something to drink, Mom got it. Hyla marched to a different drummer. While at her house when we first started to date, Hyla asked me if I wanted something to drink. I said, “Please, thanks. I will take a sweat tea.” Hyla pointed toward the kitchen and said, “It’s in the fridge, you can get it yourself.” I knew immediately she was a keeper.

I signed to play baseball at Auburn University and Hyla attended Auburn a year later. But the out-of-state tuition was too expensive, and she returned home to Tallahassee and transferred to Florida State. Hyla earned a degree in nursing and became a pediatric ICU nurse. For my part, I moved from Auburn to Florida and then, in 1998, was drafted by the Los Angeles Dodgers in June. Hyla and I dated off and on in college, at one point taking nearly a two-year stretch off.

We were busy with life, but even so, Hyla and I never lost communication with each other. Truthfully, I really missed her. In 2001, while I was with the Jacksonville (Florida) Suns, the Dodgers’ Double-A affiliate, she showed up unannounced at one of our home games. Before she left for the game, Hyla’s mother had asked her, “Honey, what if he has a girlfriend in the stands?” Hyla smiled and said it would be a quick trip in that case. It turned out to be the trip of a lifetime. I was so happy to see Hyla that we got back together, this time for good.

Nurses can have flexibility in their jobs, and Hyla was able to relocate to Jacksonville in the summer of 2001 and took a job at Wolfson Children’s Hospital. Though we also got engaged that year—I popped the question during a dolphin swim at Discovery Cove in Orlando—she wasn’t thrilled about living the “baseball life,” which can be unpredictable, especially for minor-league players.

Jacksonville in 2001 was already the fifth team I had played for in four years, all within the Dodgers’ minor-league organization. Stops included Yakima, Washington; Vero Beach, Florida; San Bernardino, California; San Antonio, Texas; and Jacksonville, Florida. Hyla’s plan was to wait for me to be done with baseball before we were married. She really enjoyed her work as a nurse and felt she would give up a part of herself if she followed me around in baseball. I was never a prospect or a star in the Dodgers’ organization, so we figured I’d play for another year or two and then move on to another career. That is why our engagement went into extra innings—as in four years.

I loved baseball and always thought it would be a part of my life, but I was realistic. Playing in the major leagues was never a goal. Many of my teammates over the years were in the game one day, out the next. That’s how the game works. Every June, more than one thousand draft-eligible players are selected in Major League Baseball’s amateur draft. That doesn’t include the hundreds signed as free agents.

When I played at Triple-A Las Vegas in 2002, Hyla remained in Jacksonville and worked, visiting Las Vegas when time allowed. When I was called up by the Dodgers and made my big-league debut on June 29, 2002, at age twenty-five against the Anaheim Angels—I pinch-hit for Shawn Green in the top of the ninth inning and struck out swinging against reliever Aaron Sele—Hyla wasn’t able to attend. (She did make it to St. Louis seven days later on July 6 for my first career start, a 4–2 win over the Cardinals.)

Hyla wanted me to succeed in baseball and for us to be married, but she didn’t want to be married to baseball. Her parents were divorced and she didn’t want to go down that path, either. Hyla had worked too hard to become a nurse and her career was important. In Hyla’s heart, she wanted us to be together full-time when we were married. In the meantime, she was patient enough to wait out the uncertainty surrounding my baseball career.

Now that I’d made it to the big leagues, however, the calculus had started to change. It was during a visit to Los Angeles late in the 2004 regular season that Hyla had a change of heart. She sat in the stands with the wife of one of our coaches—Hyla admired and respected this woman—and they talked about “baseball life” and “real life.” The woman asked Hyla, “What are you doing?” Hyla responded, “What do you mean?” Hyla explained she enjoyed being a nurse and wasn’t interested in getting caught up in baseball life. Hyla admitted she was fighting against that lifestyle of following me from city to city. The woman asked Hyla if she loved me, and explained how a player’s career in professional baseball can end at any time. She encouraged Hyla to enjoy the baseball journey, as well as her career in nursing. The message hit home because we were married that off-season in St. Petersburg, Florida, in 2005.

DAVID’S iPHONE JOURNAL

2/16/16

Night before I leave and laying down with my kids. So sick to my stomach about leaving my family tomorrow. Can tell my wife is anxious, and kids just started balling after dinner. Landri wants more time and Cole keeps telling me he is going to cry his head off in the morning. I have tried to just let the day go as normal but they keep bringing it up. I’m afraid that I’m going to have one of those ugly, trying to hold back tears, cry faces while dropping them off at school in the morning. I know it will all be fine once everyone settles into the new routine but that is not helping the sick feeling I have. So many things will have changed next time I see them Harper will look like she has aged two years! I know I’m not a perfect dad but knowing how much they will miss me makes me feel like I’m doing something right. I love these guys!

Hyla is a wonderful mom, and one of the strongest women I know.

We’ve enjoyed a good life, but like every family we’ve had bumps in the road. One of the scariest was when Hyla had our youngest daughter, Harper, on August 26, 2015. I didn’t know if either my wife or daughter would survive. Hyla was rushed to a Tallahassee hospital for an emergency cesarean section, two months ahead of her scheduled due date. Hyla had suffered a partial abruption, which is an uncommon yet serious complication of pregnancy in which the placenta separates from the uterus.

We were in the middle of my first season with the Cubs, and I rushed back from Chicago to be by her side. I was an emotional wreck by the time I arrived from Chicago. Doctors explained Hyla could have bled to death, and Harper could have died due to a lack of oxygen. Thankfully, the emergency C-section was a success. When Harper was born she weighed a mere 3 pounds, 11 ounces and was 17 inches long. She had to stay in the neonatal intensive care unit for the next month, but by the time she left the hospital, she was as healthy and happy a baby as you could hope for.

That wasn’t my family’s only trip to the emergency room. In March 2014, while I was in spring training in Fort Myers, Florida, with the Boston Red Sox, my son Cole experienced trouble breathing and his mouth was turning blue. He ended up being fine, but the scary incident revealed that he suffers from asthma and that he would need medication and an inhaler. Again, Hyla was strong as a rock, while I was an emotional mess.

Hyla never gets too high or too low, and she can keep “baseball life” and “real life” in perspective. Me? Not so much. My emotions can be on full display, on and off the field.

Hyla always knows how to keep me in the right perspective, too. I can still remember it clear as day. In August 2006, when I was with the Cincinnati Reds, I hit a game-winning, two-run home run in the tenth inning to beat the first-place St. Louis Cardinals 8–7. There’s nothing better than a walk-off home run, and I was on cloud nine. I hit a 442-foot home run off Cardinals reliever Jason Isringhausen that landed on the roof of the batter’s eye beyond the center-field fence. It was a big win for us because we were still battling with the Cardinals in the National League Central division. We had just had our daughter Landri, so Hyla did not attend the game, and I couldn’t wait to get home to tell Hyla all about my heroics. I walked in the door and Landri was still up, screaming because she had an inner ear infection.

Hyla said, “Here, take her and try to be a dad. I know you’re a hero, but I need a break.”

On the afternoon of Game Seven, I gave Hyla a “What’s wrong look?” as we stood at the door of our suite. I was ready to head to Progressive Field but Hyla, my rock, had started to cry. As I tried to focus on the game, the emotion of our journey together in professional baseball had bubbled to the surface. She didn’t know why it had hit her at that moment, but it did. I laughed, only because, for once, the roles were reversed. Hyla was thinking about me and how my career was coming to an end. I was more stressed about the game and retirement was the furthest thought from my mind. We hugged and she shooed me out the door.

I stopped at the Starbucks in the hotel lobby for one last iced coffee. I get a Starbucks coffee in the morning and a Starbucks iced coffee in the afternoon. Like I said, I’m a man of routine. I tell Hyla it makes me a better dad. I need the energy for when the kids get home from school. As I started toward Progressive Field, my coffee in hand, I put my headphones in and turned up the country music group Old Dominion.

About halfway to the stadium, I bumped into baseball writer Jon Heyman. We walked together and chitchatted about baseball life. Jon asked me about what I planned to do after baseball, but I didn’t say much. I thought to myself, I don’t care what I am doing after baseball. We’ve got Game Seven in a few hours. When I reached the stadium and our locker room, I made sure to greet everybody, a ritual I started early in my career. It was around 4 p.m. and plenty of guys already were in the locker room. Dexter Fowler, Anthony Rizzo, and Tommy La Stella were playing the video game Mario Kart. They were the everyday players when it came to Mario Kart and they really got after it, too. Part of me said, All right, they are nice and relaxed. Another part of me said, Hey, we’ve got the World Series tonight.

As soon as the guys saw me, many of them started to make it about me. Outfielder Matt Szczur asked how I felt, was I excited: “Hey, it’s your last game.” I appreciated it but I told Matt and the others I was fine, that I was really just focused on winning. There was so much emotion surrounding this game, but I tried to be completely unemotional when it was about me. Game Seven was the last game of my career but it was the furthest thing from my mind as I sat in front of my locker and got dressed.

Still, I knew I would be pissed for the rest of my life if we lost this game.