CHAPTER 12

SMALL REDEMPTION

10:07 P.M.

Cubs Lead, 5–3

A wild throw, a leg-tangling wild pitch, and, just like that, I had allowed two runs to score in the bottom of the fifth inning of Game Seven of the World Series. There are times in games, especially in the playoffs, when every pitch, every play, and every at-bat counts, and this was one of the moments. Players are under intense pressure, but that’s no excuse for making errors.

As upset as I was, I didn’t have much time to dwell on those five crazy minutes. I was scheduled to bat second in the top of the sixth inning, and I needed to calm down and get my thoughts in order.

After Lester struck out Lindor to end the fifth inning, I looked his way as we walked back to the dugout, mouthing, “Sorry, buddy.” He gave me that “Don’t worry about it” look. He is such a pro!

As far as the other guys, everything said to me back in the dugout was positive and quick. Everyone was focused on the top of the sixth inning. We still had a two-run lead, 5–3.

Trying to shove aside my disappointment in my play, I took off my catcher’s gear, grabbed my batting helmet and bat, and headed to the on-deck circle.

Andrew Miller had come in to relieve Cleveland starter Corey Kluber. Andrew, a six-foot-seven left-hander and a former teammate of mine in Boston, is one of the best relievers in the game. I caught him a bunch of times in Boston, so I knew what to expect.

Miller’s slider is nasty. It’s a pitch I don’t think I could hit even if I knew it was coming. It’s that filthy. A former first-round selection out of the University of North Carolina in 2006, Andrew started his Major League Baseball career primarily as a starting pitcher. He moved to full-time relief in 2012, and served in all three roles—middle relief, setup, and closing.

The odds against Miller were not in our favor—or mine. Heading into the 2016 World Series, the Indians had won the last 16 games in which Miller had pitched. I faced Andrew in Cleveland’s 6–0 win in Game One of the Series in Cleveland, and it didn’t end well for me. I struck out swinging on an 84 mph slider out of the strike zone on a 3-2 count with the bases loaded.

Cubs shortstop Addison Russell led off the top of the sixth, and Miller got him to pop out to Cleveland first baseman Mike Napoli in foul territory for the first out.

My turn.

My intention was to take Miller’s first pitch, no matter where it came. In the back of my mind, though, I knew he might throw me a first-pitch fastball. Second-guessing myself, I swung through a first-pitch slider inside.

My emotions still were running high. I told myself to relax and wait until I saw a pitch I could hit. Miller’s next pitch was another slider—this time right down the middle. I didn’t swing. Strike two.

Earlier in the season, I had changed my approach at the plate when I faced a count with two strikes. I choked up on the bat for better control and squatted a tad in my stance to shorten my stride. I also moved slightly closer to the plate to take away the outside strike. Prior to the 2016 season, I never had a two-strike approach at all. After Joe Maddon talked about the importance of a two-strike strategy in spring training, it really changed my year. I hit six or seven of my ten home runs during the regular season with two strikes.

With an 0-2 count, I just wanted to battle. I had no intention of making it an easy at-bat for Miller.

Miller threw me a fastball, up and away. Ball one. The thing was, I saw that fastball really well. I told myself that if he threw that one again, I would see it. When Miller was set on the mound and looked in for his sign from catcher Roberto Perez, he shook off the next pitch.

I had watched video of Miller and noticed he shook to a fastball a lot. He liked to throw his slider—and threw it about 60 percent of the time, according to our scouting reports—so when he shook, it usually meant a fastball would be coming.

For whatever reason, this time I expected a heater. If he had thrown a slider, I probably would have swung and missed. But instead he hurled a fastball right down in the zone where I like it. I put a great swing on it and felt my bat make solid contact.

I knew I hit it pretty well, but it was to straightway center field—the hardest part of the ball park to hit a home in. Did it have enough to carry over?

I saw Indians center fielder Rajai Davis running back and I actually remember thinking, Aw, man, do not rob me of this home run. I was going to run right out of the tunnel and go home if he caught it. When I saw Davis jump and the ball sail over his glove and out of the park—it traveled an estimated 358 feet—I was just so thankful.

The first thought that crossed my mind as I rounded first base was, Well, at least I got a run back for us. I had given up two and, boom, I got one back. It was now 6–3.

Later I found out that, at 39 years, 228 days, I was the oldest player to hit a home run in Game Seven of a World Series. The previous record was held by the Pirates’ Willie Stargell, who was 39 years, 225 days old when he socked one in Game Seven of the 1979 World Series. It also was my second home run of the 2016 postseason. I hit a home run in the National League Division Series against the Giants to become the oldest catcher to hit a home in postseason history, surpassing the Angels’ Bob Boone from the 1986 American League Championship Series and the Indians’ own Tony Pena from the 1995 American League Division Series. Records are nice—we old guys have to stick together—but the record books were the furthest thing from my mind as I rounded the bases in Game Seven.

I also found out later that my wife, Hyla, had called my home run from the stands—with help from “Memaw.” It had been a long and trying day for Hyla as she dealt with our son, Cole, who was feeling ill. He was still feeling miserable and Hyla just wanted to go somewhere and put her son to bed. She actually nearly missed the team bus to the field from the hotel on account of Cole. Since we had checked out of the Westin, Hyla thought she’d have to make a reservation at a different hotel and possibly miss the game. In the end, they all made it to the stadium—Hyla, Cole, and my daughter Landri.

I didn’t help Hyla’s stress level in the fifth inning when I allowed those two runs to score on my wild throw and tangled feet. Hyla was next to my agent, Ryan Gleichowski, in the stands. After that mess of an inning, Ryan hurried off and purchased two vodka drinks—a double for Hyla and a single for him. When Hyla asked why he didn’t buy himself a double, Ryan said, “Oh no, I saw them make yours.”

When I came to bat in the sixth, Cole was seated next to Hyla, and Landri was behind Hyla in the next row. When Cole stood on his seat so he could see, Hyla leaned over and asked Cole during my at-bat if he thought his Memaw was watching.

“Memaw” was my grandmother who had lived outside of Tallahassee in Havana and watched or listened to all of my games until she died in 2015. Cole said he didn’t know, but Hyla told Cole she thought Memaw was watching. And that maybe “she could help carry Dad’s ball over the fence.” Just after Hyla said that to Cole, I hit the solo home run. Hyla said it was such a surreal and emotional moment for her in the stands, the first time she had ever asked for help from a “guardian angel.”

I was all business during my home run trot around the bases. I remember first base coach Brandon Hyde yelled when the ball sailed over the fence as I rounded the bag. Third base coach Gary Jones smiled slightly but still looked serious when he reached out to shake my hand as I rounded third base. This wasn’t on my mind, but before the season began, I had made a bet with Kyle Schwarber and our traveling secretary, Vijay Tekchandani, that if I hit 10 home runs in 2016, I’d postpone my retirement. I actually finished with 12 home runs (10 in the regular season and 2 in the postseason) but I knew the timing was right. And little did I realize my story would end in such dramatic fashion.

I clapped a few times as I neared home plate, but I intentionally didn’t show much emotion rounding the bases. I was in full concentration mode. The moment wasn’t about me hitting a home run as much as it was getting a run back for us. We also had four more innings of work left—don’t get too excited, we ain’t done nothing yet. Anything can happen at any time. That’s why sports are exciting.

Plus, with all the adrenaline surrounding the Series and the season, I was such an emotional wreck inside anyway. By the end of the postseason, your body and mind are just worn out. It was as if the World Series were a season in itself. The start of the playoffs seemed like months ago—another time, another universe.

I thought if I released any emotion as I rounded the bases, I might totally exhaust my supply. I was running on fumes. Remember, I am a grandpa!

Finally, as I reached home plate, I let a little bit out. My only thought was of my family. I wanted to give my Hyla, Landri, and Cole a little love. I raised both arms and pointed their way in the stands behind home plate.

As I headed to the dugout, the first player waiting for me was, of all people, right fielder Jason Heyward. Uh oh. He was giving me a look that could only mean one thing: the “cock bump.” It’s nuts, right? I am thinking, It is Game Seven of the World Series, let’s get back to work, and Jason wants to do the cock bump?

The name doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Jason leaned to his left and raised his right leg, and I leaned to my left and raised my right leg, and we celebrated my home run by banging our protective cups against each other. Then Dexter Flower appeared next to me. Boom, another cock bump. So now I think, Screw it, I’ve got to cock-bump everyone in this dugout.

I had to laugh when I thought about it after the game. I suppose it was karma that Jason Heyward was the first player to greet me after I hit the home run. I came up with the idea of the cock bump when I played with the Braves from 2009 to 2012. The story is kind of funny, if a little crude, and I’ll explain it after I tell you what an incredible man Jason Heyward is.

I met Jason, a top prospect for the Braves, when we played in Atlanta together. Fast-forward to December 2015. After Jason signed his eight-year, $184 million contract with the Cubs, one of the first things he did was to tell the team he wanted to pay for a hotel suite for me and my family on the team’s road trips during the 2016 season. It would cost a whopping $30,000. Jason said I served as a mentor to him during our three years together in Atlanta—we were locker mates when Jason made his major-league debut in 2010—and the hotel suite was his way of thanking me.

On January 13—two days before the Cubs’ thirty-first annual winter fan convention at the Sheraton Grand Chicago—the team’s traveling secretary, Vijay Tekchandani, informed me of Jason’s gesture. It enabled me to comfortably spend time with my family on the road. I could barely believe it.

I immediately fired off a text message to Jason: “Bro, Vijay just informed me you are hooking me up on the road!! You don’t have to do that buddy!!!… But if it puts me closer to your room then I’m in! Ha! Thank you buddy!! Don’t get freaked out when I give you a giant hug tomorrow!!! Love you brother.” Jason replied: “I welcome it Rossy! Thanks for being a part of what got me to where I am today! Love you too! *U Welcome.”

Jason’s amazing gift was such a cool and emotional start to my final season.

DAVID’S iPHONE JOURNAL

5/15/16

It’s funny to think about what you hear from fans. “Hit your 100th homer today” or “call a no-hitter today.” Hahaha, I love it!!! Our fans are coming to the games to see something special. That should tell you a lot about our team! And, the boys try to do it every game. Lester took a no-hitter into the seventh inning today. He had some nasty stuff today. The Pittsburgh team is a tough lineup. On my way to the airport. Lester is letting me use his plane hours again. This dude has done this like five times for me to be with my family. Get to take them to school, which is the best, and Cole has a baseball game. Maybe some pool time!

After I left the Dodgers in 2004, I bounced around the league. Over the next four years, I played for the Pirates, the Padres, and the Reds. I spent the last part of the 2008 season with the Red Sox but became a free agent at the end of the year. I was the definition of a baseball journeyman, so when I signed a two-year contract with the Braves on December 5, 2008, I was thrilled to have the stability of a perennially successful club.

I met Jason Heyward for the first time during spring training in 2009 at the Braves’ complex in Orlando, Florida. An athletic outfielder, Jason was a first-round selection in the 2007 Major League Amateur Draft out of Henry County High School in McDonough, Georgia, thirty-two miles outside Atlanta. Jason started his minor-league career at age seventeen and was considered one of the organization’s top prospects.

During spring training that year I shook Jason’s hand and said, “Good to meet you,” but I didn’t spend much time with him, simply because we were headed in opposite directions. He was sent to the minor leagues and I had to focus on my first season with the club. Jason flourished in the minors, with both Baseball America and USA Today naming him their Minor League Player of the Year. In 2010, everyone knew Jason had a chance to make the big-league team out of spring training. The guy hit bombs all over the place. One of his tape-measure home runs during batting practice at the Champion Stadium training complex in Lake Buena Vista, Florida, dented a Coca-Cola truck in the parking lot.

Jason had started most of our spring training games and was doing all the right things—getting to games early, getting his at-bats, getting his work in, and getting his rest. He made a good impression on everyone and didn’t do anything stupid. But, as a rookie, there was always a teachable moment around the corner.

We had a road game during spring training in Port St. Lucie, against the Mets. The starters were broken down into three groups, and those groups hit first. When you weren’t hitting, you were in the outfield shagging balls. And once those three groups are done, those players can head into the locker room while the remaining players on the trip bat. Jason wasn’t in the starting lineup that game, but he still was scheduled to hit with the first three groups.

When he was finished shagging and hitting, he went into the locker room like he had always done. I followed him into the locker and shouted, “J-Hey!” I had a serious tone, but I also had a smile inside because I didn’t want to bust out laughing—even if I needed to air him out in front of the team to make a point. Jason answered, “What’s up, Rossy?”

I asked Jason if he was in the starting lineup today, and he said no. I said, “Okay, if you’re not starting I need you to get your ass outside for the rest of the BP group and shag with the rest of us nonstarters. That’s the way it goes. If you’re playing, you don’t shag the whole time. If you’re not playing, you shag the whole BP and then come inside.”

Jason wore it well and said, “Okay, my bad, Rossy, it won’t happen again.” About that time, pitcher Billy Wagner, a sixteen-year veteran who played his final season in the majors that year in Atlanta, saw Jason and laughed. “God dang, kid,” he said, “you are already messing up.”

That was how I welcomed Jason to the big leagues.

Jason’s locker was next to mine in Atlanta for three years. It was obvious the guy was a special talent and a special person. Heck, in his major-league debut against the Chicago Cubs on April 5, 2010, he hit a home run on the first pitch he saw. Jason finished his first major-league season with a .277 batting average with 18 home runs. He also reached base in 36 consecutive games and made the All-Star team.

But numbers and honors are only part of the game. There are tons of guys who are great talents but aren’t great teammates. I wanted Jason to know that I cared for him as a person and as a player. He was a guy who listened first and talked second, if at all; he wanted to do the right things. Jason respected the game and respected his teammates. He was that way in Atlanta and in Chicago when we were teammates. Jason’s struggles in 2016 were dissected by the media but he was a huge part of our success. We were World Series champions because of what Jason did for our team, including the players-only meeting he called during the rain delay of Game Seven. You take a piece out of that winning formula, who knows what happens. Everyone has a good year when you are World Series champions!

I always wanted to be the guy my teammates depended on, the guy who was consistent in my approach. I demanded the best out of myself and the best out of my teammates. The constant thought in my head was, Why are we all here? Let’s try to make each other better and try to win as many games as possible. That was part of the message I wanted to convey to my teammates, including Jason.

And Jason Heyward soaked it all in, becoming one of the great teammates I’ve ever had.

DAVID’S iPHONE JOURNAL

5/17/16

Home was amazing! Got to pitch to Cole’s Atom League team. That was cool. Cole said, “Dad, I was trying to impress you.” Funny what goes on in those little brains. He doesn’t even know he impresses me every day. We got beat tonight, got to get a win tomorrow!! Starting a long road trip, need to get off to a good start. When you win so much, you lose one or two games, losing feels terrible!! “We’ll see.”

After Jason played five seasons with the Braves and one season with the Cardinals in 2015 (the Cubs beat the Cardinals three games to one in the National League Division Series that year) he became a free agent for the first time. One of the first things he did after he signed with us was pay for hotel suites for myself and assistant hitting coach Eric Hinske on our road trips. The suites made a huge difference in terms of comfort for my family.

Eric also was a teammate of Jason in Atlanta before he retired in 2013, following twelve seasons in the big leagues. Atlanta was a special place and time for all of us. The three of us had a unique bond from our days there. Jason was a teenager when he started professionally and now he was a grown-ass man. Jason wanted to show his appreciation and thank me and Eric for everything we shared and worked so hard for in Atlanta. He didn’t pay for our suites for any recognition. He was just thoughtful and generous, and he wanted me to be able to spend quality time with my family on the road and be comfortable. A suite was a luxury that I wasn’t accustomed to. The extra space was perfect for when the kids played, especially our youngest, Harper. She was able to run around from room to room. Plus, when she needed to go down for a nap, she had a room of her own. Jason’s gesture helped make the road trips, and my last season, a whole new set of memories for me and the family.

When we played in Miami against the Marlins, our team hotel—and my suite at the St. Regis Bal Harbour Resort—was on Miami Beach. It was a two-bedroom suite and the balcony felt like it was a hundred yards long. It has a great pool for the kids and we spent a lot of time on the beach, too. My parents made the drive from Tallahassee to Miami, so that made it even more fun. The family also joined me for a cool trip to San Francisco. We went to the redwood forest and hiked. It was a lot of fun to get up early and spend time with my family.

Jason’s struggles in 2016 were well documented. He batted .230 with a career-low seven home runs and was replaced in the lineup in the postseason. It was a difficult season for him, but he never complained. I saw Jason at his best, and I saw him have a tough year. But I know his behavior, his mindset, his mentality. He’s a stand-up guy who will never make an excuse. Baseball is a humbling game and it will humble every player at some point. It’s a game of failure and the key is how you handle that adversity. It will bury you if you’re not careful. Jason was there for me in 2016 100 percent of the time, and I will always be there for him 100 percent of the time. I’m glad I got to spend my last season in the big leagues with Jason. I was there when his big-league career started in Atlanta, and he was with me when mine ended in Chicago. That was pretty cool.

Did you think I was going to forget to tell you the origin story of the “cock bump”? Fear not.

One day when I was playing for the Braves I found myself sitting in a hotel room watching a story on ESPN about how Dusty Baker invented the high-five in 1977, when he slapped the hand of Glenn Burke after Dusty hit his thirtieth home run on the final day of the season. I thought to myself, The high-five is taken, so what can I invent?

I wanted to invent a shared gesture between two players to celebrate when one of them hit a home run. Suddenly an image flashed through my head—a painless, if slightly questionable, maneuver. Of all the physical gestures the human body is capable of making, why not the “cock bump”? Well, why not?

Basically, players bumped their protective cups together to celebrate a home run.

While we celebrated home runs that way while I was with Atlanta, I had actually forgotten about the cock bump until Heyward reminded me of it when he signed with the Cubs. He said, “Dude, where is the cock bump? We need to bring back the cock bump.” I said, “Hell yeah, I am bringing the cock bump back.” And we did.

The ritual might be spreading, too! Clemson linebacker Ben Boulware sent me a message and photograph across social media on February 2, 2017, that showed him and a teammate celebrating with a cock bump in midair following a big play in the Tigers’ national championship football victory over Alabama a month earlier.

I know it makes no sense to most people, but the game’s little gestures mean a lot. The game is built on signs. Coaches signal in plays with a tip of the cap or a tug on their sleeve. I flashed signs to our pitchers—and even wore bright pink nail polish so they could see my fingertips. Many players across the league flash signs back to the dugout after they hit a base hit.

They are simple things but they give teammates a chance to celebrate with the player. At first, when I noticed other teams showing off some secret celebratory gesture, it bothered me. I thought, What are they doing? But when I got to Boston in 2013 I realized what was behind it. The true meaning was everyone on the bench was checked into that player’s at-bat. A player got a hit, he flashed a sign back to the dugout, and everyone was fired up and shared in that hit.

Those signs are like high-fives. And everyone had a different version of a high-five.

My high-five just happened to be a “cock bump” that you got when you hit a home run.