Author: Aubrey Huff

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My Unleash The Power Within Experience With Tony Robbins

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My whole life I’ve considered myself a winner.  Even as a kid I hated to lose. I think about all my accomplishments to date with two World Series rings, thirteen seasons as an MLB player and millions in the bank… yet I still feel that fire to achieve.  It’s something that I love about myself but also loathe. Due to my desire to constantly achieve I find it hard to find inner peace, settle, relax and be content.

Since I’ve retired I have had an incredibly hard time transitioning into post-baseball life. I’ve been very transparent with my anxiety, depression, and Adderall abuse as a player.  What I haven’t been transparent about is the fact that I’m secretly dying inside due to lack of fulfillment.

This is where my journey with the self-help industry began.  Back in 2014 after I had seriously begun contemplating suicide, I knew I needed to reposition my life. I was riddled with daily panic attacks and crippling depression.  I hit rock bottom with a persistently negative thought process.  I became, for whatever reason, a “worst case” scenario philosopher. I would wake up and think, “Life will never be as fulfilling as it used to be with baseball. I’ll never be as happy again.”

I was only 37!

When you tell yourself something long enough it tends to become a reality.  I became hopeless and decided to turn to the self-help section of the library.  I read every book I could on personal development.  Many were o.k. …most sucked.

Walking down the personal development isle at Barnes and Noble made me feel like a loser.  I used to think the people that needed to read this shit to get “pumped up” were weak minded individuals who needed to man the fuck up.  I even thought of the self-help industry as a scam.  A money making scheme to fuck people who are struggling in life out of money resulting in actually making them more miserable.  In my mind Tony Robbins was the ultimate scam artist.  All this “motivational” nonsense he spewed, and the poor suckers that guzzled his “kool-aide”.

Despite my outlook on the industry, I began to read the books.

After all…I was miserable.

I also began to work out daily, and instead of having music in my ears I downloaded and listened to motivational speakers. People like Les Brown, Greg Plitt, Eric Thomas, and yes, even Tony Robbins.  Needless to say, listening to this playlist while I worked out began to slowly shift the way I thought.  Ironically, Tony quickly became my favorite guy to listen to because of the actual science of the psychology he used.  He didn’t just talk shit to motivate you, he was teaching me skills to use so I could motivate myself and change my thought process.  It was at this time I purchased his DVD series, “The Ultimate Edge.”  I listened to the entire audio in 3 days.  I was hooked.

I found myself still struggling to find a purpose, value, and fulfillment in my everyday life despite the fact that I was slowly beginning to “buy in” to what was being said.

Then the magic happened.

Halfway through my divorce, I got the answer I was looking for.  I had just finished a set of bicep curls, and upon admiring myself in the gym mirror, a quote from Tony sent shock waves through my brain.

“Success without fulfillment is the ultimate failure.”

That was my holy shit moment.  Despite all I had accomplished in life I knew I was still unfulfilled thus a failure.

I was pissed!

How could I have not allowed myself to feel fulfilled?  I had chosen the negativity for years, and I was willing to do anything to find a positive mental state. I began researching Tony Robbins and his upcoming events.  Ironically enough his Unleash the Power Within tour would be coming to Los Angeles in March of 2019. I had no excuse not to attend.

I still had doubts.

I still thought of the people that attended his events as insane Tony “groupies.” I could never picture myself jumping up and down, screaming at the top of my lungs and crying in front of perfect strangers like a little bitch.  I put off signing up until a good friend, Destiny Davis, who had been twisting my arm for months to go to the event, sent me a text.  She asked if I had signed up yet.  When I read the text I was at my house sitting on the couch, alone, on my third glass of scotch feeling sorry for myself and the life I had created. No bullshit, there was even a tear streaming down my face as I received the text.  I immediately hopped on my laptop and signed up while I still had some liquid courage in me.

On March 14th I walked into the LA Convention center with 15,000 insane Tony Robbins fans not knowing what to expect.  I have to be honest, it was ridiculously uncomfortable being there. I decided to settle in with an open mind and see what the weekend had in store.

Moments before Tony hit the stage the lights went out.  All at once a laser light show overpowered my eyes as The Alan Parsons Project song “Sirius” played at insane volumes.  An announcer yelled, “LA are you readddddddy for Tony!!!!”  The music switched to Darude’s, “Sandstorm” as Tony busted out onto the stage with his massive presence.  The crowd went fucking wild, jumping up and down, and screaming at the top of their lungs.  I stood there looking around at all these idiots while I put a couple of silent fist pumps in the air just for show so I wouldn’t be judged.

Once the music died down Tony quickly went to work.  He was passionate, sincere, loving, informative, educational, real, raw, and surprisingly funny; dropping the type of language I had only heard in a baseball dugout.  I loved him immediately. The first half of the first day was really uncomfortable for me.  I had to “high five” and hug perfect strangers.  Hell, I even had to massage a guy I had never met for two minutes.

I was way out of my comfort zone.

Then Tony repeated the quote in the gym that got me to attend. It was almost like God had to hit me over the head with a hammer!

“You ever notice how it’s the rich and successful people of the world who are most miserable?  Success without fulfillment is the ultimate failure. If that’s you, I promise you, by the end of this seminar you’ll have the tools you’ll need to live a life rich with fulfillment.”

I have always considered myself a pretty unemotional guy.  I don’t like to cry in front of people.  But after he said that I couldn’t help myself.  I began crying while bright white lights shined down on me. I didn’t care what anyone thought.  It was in that moment that I let go.  I bought in and dedicated that whole weekend to not worrying what others around me thought.  It was at that moment that I decided to take control of my life once again, after floundering for years in retirement.

I consider day three to be the most “eye-opening.”  Tony began teaching us about limiting beliefs.  We all have them, and they hold us back.  At this point in my life, I had not given this much thought.  In this environment, however, my mind went to places I never knew it could.  We all had to dig deep into our subconscious minds and see the lies we told ourselves on a daily basis.  As the meditative music played I began to access a part of my brain I didn’t know was alive.  I began to have an “out of body” writing experience.  I went to places in my past long forgotten and found incredible lies I had been telling myself for years.

Tony wanted us to write down three limiting beliefs.

Mine were:

  1. I will never know how to be a real confident man since my father was murdered when I was six.
  2. I don’t know if I even know what love is.
  3. Men only want to be friends with women because they want to be with them sexually.

After we found our limiting beliefs Tony had us all stand.  The lights turned completely off while an ominous musical ballad played in the background. Tony began to ask us where our lives would be in 5, 10 or 20 years if we continued accepting our limiting beliefs.  At times he was talking to us aggressively…almost taunting the crowd.  He wanted us to feel the massive pain our futures would hold if we continued to believe the lies we told ourselves.  This process went on for 45 minutes.  There was monstrous pain all around me.  People yelling at themselves, cursing at themselves.  It sounded like I imagined Hell to sound with people crying out as their souls burned.  It was a very negative, emotionally draining, scary, yet cleansing moment.  All I could do was hit my knees and wail, whimper and bawl as I had never done before.

When the lights turned on I felt purified as the guilt, resentment, pain, sadness, anxiety, and depression of my past beliefs disappeared.  Those feelings were replaced with the opposite statements of what I previously believed:

  1. I am a strong, inspirational, confident man and strong presence for my boys to emulate.
  2. I love myself, and I love other people like family.
  3. Women are a gift, and they can and will be some of my best friends.

I seriously wanted to feel that at peace for the rest of my life. As the lights turned on, Tony told us to give ten hugs to anyone around us.  I hugged everyone I could and wanted to hug everyone at the conference.  I had never felt this much love for others in all my life.  After the hugs, a celebratory song came on and I jumped, screamed, and danced with enthusiasm.  I was free and happy.  I remember at that moment I didn’t give two shits what anyone thought about me anymore.  I felt like I did when I was a child… innocent of the world and all of its constraints.

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After the Menthol Gates Opened: My Introduction to Adderall Part 2

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Most nights after a game I’d retreat to the hotel bar, drink a few beers and go to sleep wishing it was the off-season. 

Not after my first game on Adderall. 

The chain-smoking, menthol-encrusted party had just begun.  I gathered a few teammates and made plans to hit Maestro’s Steakhouse off North Dearborn Street in Chicago, even though my appetite would be considered petite by most if they could have peeked inside my Adderall lit mind. 

The funny thing about Addies are that you’re never hungry and I didn’t even want to eat. However, booze and the great scenery at Maestro’s sounded amazing.  At dinner, I force fed myself an 8-ounce filet and a hefty side of beer.  I was totally lost in the moment, marveling at my new heightened sense of awareness and don’t give a fuck attitude.

After dinner, the fellas wanted to head back to the hotel.  I had a different idea that involved more booze, more music, and definitely more “atmosphere.” I plucked an easily impressionable teammate from the herd to join me at a nightclub a few blocks away.  This club was set up with “beautiful babes” as far as the eye could see. 

At this point any morals or guilty thoughts about being unfaithful to my wife had gone out the window. The change had come out of nowhere, I had never once considered cheating on my wife sober.  My wife was the most amazing, gorgeous woman I’d ever been with.  Not to mention we were dynamite behind closed doors (at least she was anyway). The desire to just bang another woman never crossed my mind until ‘Adderall’ and ‘Menthol’ took up residence – one on each shoulder, bumping Conscious off onto the floor.

I remember heading outside to smoke yet another Marlboro menthol.  I looked into the pack that the visiting clubhouse attendant at the stadium had adorned me with.  To my surprise, it was half empty (a pessimistic attitude I know).  When I was down to my last few drags, standing on the curb, I was approached by two beautiful twenty-something-year-old women who had come outside to ‘bum a smoke’. 

I lit up another smoke to join them as our conversation instantly evolved.  One of the ladies had hypnotic blue eyes, long gorgeous brown hair with legs and an ass that just wouldn’t quit.  I took an immediate interest in her as I could tell she was curious about me.  The conversation flowed as if we had known each other for years, and the eye contact and chemistry felt flawless.  As we finished up our heaters she invited me to an “after party” at her house. 

Immediately I was on board, but from somewhere deep inside my adrift and out of control prescription drug riddled mind, my guilty conscious began to silently speak.  Visions of my wife back home snuggling my 1 year old baby boy jolted me into an instant state of criminality.  As much as I wanted to spend the evening with this beautiful woman I just couldn’t make myself do it. 

I told her I was flattered and if I wasn’t married I’d definitely be making a different commitment.  I wished her and her friend well and reluctantly walked back into the club still fighting the urge to run back towards a fantasy.

I knew at that moment, that if I were to continue to take Adderall, it would only be a matter of time before all loyalty and culpability were ripped away.

I found it incredibly hard to not hit on women the rest of that night, ultimately fighting off my shoulder demons who urged me to the contrary. As we closed the club, my teammate and I innocently took a cab back to the hotel. 

Breezing through the doors of the Westin lobby I immediately noticed the bar was closed, much to my disappointment. Despite all the booze and atmosphere, I had recently experienced I still wanted more.   With my teammate now heading to the elevator to escape my needy clutches, I said to myself, “Maybe I should just shut it down and try and get some fucking sleep.”

I showered to get rid of the smell of my sins and, of course, the Menthols.  I hopped into bed with 20 milligrams of Adderall, and an inderminent amount of nicotine and beer coursing through my veins.  My heart was racing and I felt as if I could jump out of bed and relive the entire day again, at that moment, without a second thought. 

I had no concept of when I finally fell asleep that night, but that didn’t stop the alarm on my phone from buzzing at 10am. I had to get packed and ready to go to the field. As I sat at the side of my bed trying to gather myself I was surprised although I wasn’t hungover, I felt overwhelming hopelessness.  It was as if my soul was an empty void of depression, sadness, and guilt.  I had never felt this low in all my life. I remember fighting off the urge to cry, sitting on the side of my bed with no idea why I suddenly felt this way. 

Sitting on the bus on the way to U.S. Cellular Field for the final game of the series against the White Sox, I couldn’t help but replay the events from the night before. 

I was astonished and worried at the number of cigarettes and beer I had consumed while the amphetamines were cascading through my veins.  But the biggest thing that bothered me that night was my insatiable urge to want to be with another woman.

That scared the fucking shit out of me. 

I knew I didn’t do anything wrong physically, but in my mind, I had cheated on my wife without a twinge of guilt. Sitting on that bus, I knew right then and there if I continued to use Adderall it would only be a matter of time before I actually took the physical leap. 

As we pulled into the parking lot I gazed up at the stadium, snapped back to reality, and wondered, “How the fuck am I going to play again today?”

As soon as I asked myself that question my brain had an immediate answer. The answer was simple…another Addie please!

The bitch of this whole cycle was the fact that I actually loved playing baseball again while using. If I stopped using, I would have to face the guy that lived in misery, playing the game with zero joy, love or excitement. 

I started to believe that Adderall made me “THE ALPHA MALE.” A man who was confident and fun… a leader on the field and in the clubhouse.  Adderall was going to resurrect my floundering career. 

The temptation to choose confident, joyful, baseball over misery and depression, no matter the trade-off, proved too much for me.  I was willing to risk it all including my family, health, and sanity for baseball.  My mind was made up.  The vicious cycle had begun.

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My Introduction to Adderall

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Have you ever had a moment in your life where you wish you had a time machine so you could go back and change a life altering decision? One that would no doubt result in making your life and others’ lives better? If you answered yes, then you and I have something in common.

I remember that day vividly. It was July 18th, 2009 and I was a Baltimore Oriole attempting to pull it together for our 1pm game against the Chicago White Sox. We were in the middle of the dog days of summer and we were getting our asses kicked on a daily basis. It was the second game of a three game weekend series, and the aches, pains, and mental grind of the game were starting to mount. I was also feeling the full weight of the debauchery from the night before. The last thing I wanted to do was play a fucking baseball game. All I wanted to do was lie down and sleep.

Still dressed in my party clothes from the night before, I sought out an overtly secret and dark part of the visiting team locker room. It came equipped with my own personal, decrepit throne; in the form of a leather Lazy Boy recliner that smelled like ass. Eyes closed, I began to drift in and out of a single thought. I had visions of me as a kid in Texas, kicking dirt on my home town Little League field, dreaming of when I would make it to the pros. Simple enough, but a reminder of better times that allowed me, if only for a few minutes, to forget where I was and how I arrived here. As that thought and the excitement I used to feel about the game washed over me I was quickly pulled back into reality and the rank chair of doom. My hangover wouldn’t let me continue to drift. I wanted to fucking puke.

Nine years prior I had realized my dream. That kid kicking dirt on the field in Texas had made it. I spent 6 years with the Tampa Bay Devil Rays and was now in my 3rd season with the Baltimore Orioles. That dream was quickly losing its luster 9 years and One Thousand Four Hundred and Fifty Eight games later. The aches, pains and mental grind of the game were beginning to poison me. Not to mention the fact that I had basically been getting my ass handed to me over the course of those One Thousand Four Hundred and Fifty Eight games playing in the American League East. I was sick of baseball, sick of losing, and sick of being shit faced choosing dark corners of locker rooms and leather lazy boys to hide out in.

A teammate of mine crossed into my seemingly secluded corner of the locker room blocking out the one minuscule ray of light that swept across my closed eyes. I could almost see the smirk on his face and definitely felt his energy. He sarcastically laughed, “Tough one last night Huffy?”

That was an understatement.

Thirty thousand screaming Chicago fans were waiting to rip me to shreds in a matter of hours and I was in no shape to shake that shit off, let alone charge towards the field leaving behind my perfect seclusion.

“I’ve got something that will make you feel invincible.”

I perked up, attention grabbed, eyes suddenly able to open. “What you got man? I’m desperate.” In true infomercial style he replied, “I got an Adderall, and in thirty minutes you won’t be hungover anymore and you’ll feel like you’re twenty.”

Snap! Just like that, my journey with Adderall began. It was that thoughtless, that desperate, that mindless and that instantaneous. I never gave it a second thought.

Major League Baseball tests for Performance Enhancing Drugs and Adderall is definitely considered a PED. All drug tests are random. After any game of choice an MLB drug tester could show up, unannounced and select a handful of players to randomly piss in a cup. If a player failed a drug test the first offense was a slap on the wrist. The second offense… a fifty game suspension with no pay, and a 3rd offense basically pulls the sheet over your career. I had never been tested positive for any PED in my career and at that moment I was feeling lucky.

At the time my attitude was toxic. The way I saw it, I was really getting fucking sick of baseball, so if somehow I got caught and was kicked out of The League for taking drugs, I really wouldn’t have given two shits. The beer and booze filled nights along with the physical grind of the game, the constant travel, being away from my family, and a long losing streak were taking a toll on my body and my mind. I clearly was troubled and was no doubt numbing myself from deeper seeded issues that I was unaware of at the time. I felt numb, I didn’t care…I was drifting. And I was about to embark on using pharmaceutical drugs to help me function.

Aubrey Huff Adderall AddictionAs I reached for that little orange and white 20 milligram capsule it never occurred to me that something so inappreciable and insignificant would turn out to be so considerable within the course of my adult life. I just wanted a quick fix for the torment I was feeling.

Thirty minutes later the dark corner of the locker room I had exiled myself to began to open up. The dim lit room I was hiding in began to get brighter and brighter, mimicking a perfect sunrise. My senses were firing on all cylinders. I noticed every stain on the carpet, every imperfection in the ceiling, even the offensive smell I had been drenched in all night seemed to emit a hint of crisp mountain air after a fresh snow fall.

I felt like Bradley Cooper in the movie, “Limitless” when he took his first pill of NZT.

Hangover??  What hangover?!

I hopped out of the Lazy Boy and rushed with a surge of excitement to get my uniform on. I had always been the guy who hated going out early to stretch. I loathed hearing all the bothersome autograph seekers and asshole insults. Most days I’d be the last one strolling out from the locker room moments before the first pitch.

Not today!

I bolted out of the visitor’s dugout and charged toward the right field line to get loose. I  stretched. I did 30 sprints. I also did pushups, sit-ups, and hell I couldn’t even believe it, jumping jacks! Hardly exercises you’d see Major Leaguers engage in before a game.  I must have looked like a fucking crackhead.

I remember at one point lying face down on the grass breathing it in for what seemed like hours. It must have looked like I lost my mind, but I didn’t give a shit. There wasn’t a more important, confident, or happier man on the planet than Aubrey Huff! Even the asshole Chicago fans firing insults at me entertained me as I began to taunt them in return. For every insult I returned fire. Ironically enough I  could tell they were actually enjoying our back and forth banter.  Filled with power, exuberance, and a newfound love for White Sox fans I even went over and signed autographs; and no doubt made some new fans that day. I couldn’t remember the last time I went over to sign autographs before any game.

Who the fuck is this new guy?  I love him!  How the hell have I played this game this long without this shit?  How did I ever manage life without this?

We lost the game 4-3 and I went 0 for 4. I usually would have been miserable and pissed off, starring into my locker wishing I could ride off into the sunset. Today was different. I felt like I was 4 for 4 and wished we would have gone to extra innings.

It’s no secret I had always enjoyed a beer of two after a game, but the thought of having a beer on Adderall was the only thing on my mind. I remember popping open that first Bud Light, the angels singing, and the gates of heaven opening. It tasted like the nectar of the Gods.

After that beer and for reasons I still can’t explain, I wanted a cigarette. Not just any cigarette, a menthol! I found this odd as I was never really a smoker. Sure, every so often when I was shit faced I would suck one down socially, but I had never bought my own pack.

The clubhouse attendant scored me a Marlboro menthol and I retreated to the clubhouse laundry room and pulled down my first menthol ever. It was absolutely magical. The mix of the Marlboro menthol and Bud Light satisfied my deeply engrained white trash DNA.

That very first drag was spellbinding. Every major sense in my body was at euphoric levels. I had never felt this free. I thought to myself, “shit if every person on the planet was on Adderall the world would be a better place.”

I know many of you right now are probably reading this and about to make a call to your local shrink to try and score your own script.

Please don’t!

It’s too easy to get. Doctors push this shit like Skittles. This is not a drug to be glorified as it has caused much destruction in my life. I want to give you  a very intimate snap shot of what I experienced the first time I took this very addictive, and dangerous substance, so you can understand the allure and how easy it is to get addicted.

I abused Adderall from 2009-2011. I abused it while winning a World Series and ironically having one of the best seasons of my career.

But at what cost?

I have certainly paid for many of the mistakes I made on Adderall since my retirement. I lost my career as I felt I had more to give in the end. I am convinced Adderall was the sole reason for my crippling panic attacks in 2012 that drove the final dagger through the heart of my career. The searing and deep depression I came to grips with in my retirement was only amplified by my abuse of the drug. I lost my sanity, my wife, my faith at times, and my confidence to the point where I thought my life was worthless. I had suicidal thoughts because I started to wonder if perhaps those around me would be better off if I put myself six feet under.

I intend to cover countless stories of my abuse and destructive behavior with Adderall in future blogs. I’m not shitting you when I say, “I will have close to 10 blogs in the upcoming year that touch on how out of control this drug made me.”

If you are considering using Adderall, currently on it, or abusing it now, I hope my future stories scare you straight…or at least give you pause in order to reflect on how dangerous this drug can be.

DISCLAIMER REGARDING ADDERALL – (SHIRE PHARMACEUTICALS/TEVA): AMPHETAMINES HAVE A HIGH POTENTIAL FOR ABUSE. ADMINISTRATION OF AMPHETAMINES FOR PROLONGED PERIODS OF TIME MAY LEAD TO DRUG DEPENDENCE AND MUST BE AVOIDED. PARTICULAR ATTENTION SHOULD BE PAID TO THE POSSIBILITY OF SUBJECTS OBTAINING AMPHETAMINES FOR NON-THERAPEUTIC USE OR DISTRIBUTION TO OTHERS, AND THE DRUGS SHOULD BE PRESCRIBED OR DISPENSED SPARINGLY.

MISUSE OF AMPHETAMINE MAY CAUSE SUDDEN DEATH AND SERIOUS CARDIOVASCULAR ADVERSE EVENTS.***

***For people that actually have ADHD, Adderall may have benefits. But for a guy like me that doesn’t have ADHD, it turned me into a monster.

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Don’t Fall for Travel Ball

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Little League season is upon us and as a coach for my boys’ team, I’ve had something on my mind for quite some time. In keeping with my direct, no B.S. manner of speaking I’ll be blunt. Travel sports is a scam! Yes, you read that right, it’s an absolute scam and total ripoff! Don’t get me wrong I love coaching youth sports, especially getting to really shape, mold and make a difference in children’s lives, including my own boys. Let me clarify; I’m not digging on coaching or sports, just the concept of year-round travel sports for young children. I have a different take for high school aged kids and I’ll cover that later. If you’re a parent who has a child playing in sports, whether it’s baseball, soccer, tennis, you name it, it’s no longer seasonal anymore. Kids are expected to train 365 days per year instead of being able to have fun and play and just be kids–all in the name of money. It has become a racket, a dirty scheme.

I love sports, obviously.  I’m a firm believer that children should play some form of team sports. Being part of a team brings out the best in kids. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I’ve coached kids who walked onto the baseball field for the first time and couldn’t look me in my eye or let alone say one word to me. These kids had zero confidence. They had never played a team sport or picked up a baseball in their lives, but by the end of the season, I saw these kids significantly grow in confidence, athletic ability and even their ability to interact with others vastly improved. Sports teaches kids the concept of a team where they develop social skills, learn and understand failure, perseverance and how to win with dignity and humility. Some discover they’re leaders, they become independent and understand the true meaning of competition. I firmly believe that kids who participate in team youth sports in a healthy manner are equipped to become successful with some even destined to become our leaders of tomorrow.

However, over the last twenty years, I’ve seen an alarming trend in youth sports: year-round travel sports. It seems to me that the entire thing has become a system of monopolizing kids’ sports. It has become a huge business opportunity for many wannabe pro players to cash in on kids by taking advantage of parents’ desires for their children to become a pro athlete. These guys instill fear and doubt in parents. They tell them their kids will never get a shot at the pro ranks without their much-needed coaching and counsel. In reality it’s all just a ruse in order for these no talent hacks to make a cheap buck. Many of these coaches will sell you on how they were destined for the Big Leagues but a devastating injury kept them from their dream. In reality they may have been the back up right fielder on their high school baseball team. So in their attempt to hold onto a game that didn’t want them, or they were never good at in the first place, they found a way by making money coaching and scamming parents. It makes me want to blow chunks when I listen to the instruction from these travel ball coaches. Believe me, I’ve heard a bunch of stories from parents and kids alike about the poor instruction that these morons are giving.

I’m saddened when I see parents fall for this trap. We live in a society that screams perfection. There is undue pressure on kids that begins at a very early age. In order to get into a high-end college, you must start at a very young age getting straight A’s, playing sports, playing an instrument, belonging to all the right clubs and having as many extracurricular activities as possible. All with the expectation that by doing this your will score a first-class job making hundreds of thousands of dollars immediately upon graduation. ALL BULLSHIT! In many cases, these poor young men and women end up with crippling college debt which takes years if ever to rebound from. They start life already buried. I believe the traditional educational system is a broken and majorly flawed system screaming for reform, but that’s for another blog. The travel ball system is no different. It can be beneficial for high school aged and sometimes junior high kids, but the little ones, ages six to twelve, it’s the worst thing you can do for them. I’ve seen and heard stories about parents who spend thousands of dollars to get their kids on the best travel ball squad in their areas. I know a guy who coaches travel ball in Texas. Parents and their kids fly there from all over the country for the whole summer. They spend large amounts of money on travel, on their monthly rental home and the travel ball coach’s program that costs thousands of dollars. And he has many squads for kids 8-14. These parents honestly mean well, but are getting suckered into this travel ball scam with lofty promises of getting their child on the starting high school team, a division 1 scholarship, or even in front of area big league scouts. It’s all such bullshit. The odds of any kid becoming a Major League Baseball player is staggering low. Check out these stats:

  • High school senior players who go on to play NCAA men’s baseball: Less than three in 50, or 5.6 percent
  • NCAA senior players drafted by a Major League Baseball (MLB) team: Less than eleven in 100, or 10.5 percent.
  • High school senior players eventually drafted by an MLB team: About one in 200, or 0.5 percent. Drafted baseball players almost always go to a minor league team. These teams abound; there are over 150 of them, compared to 30 in the majors. The big leagues have 750 players, yet the 2004 draft alone took 1,500. Hence some estimate that only one in 33 minor leaguers ever makes it to the pros. If that’s correct, the chance of a high school player making the big leagues is one in 6,600, or 0.015 percent. That’s slightly better than a thief guessing your PIN number on the first try, which is roughly one in a million.

I can’t tell you how many of my boys’ friends’ parents have called me and asked if their kid should play travel ball. These kids, in some cases, are only 8, 9, or 10. My answer is always a resounding NO! I had a conversation with a father about this travel ball subject just last year. He told me he had a freshman son on the high school baseball team and that the only way players were allowed to play for that particular high school was for the kid to have played year-round travel ball. Can you believe it, they made it mandatory! I wonder how many of those high school coaches got kickbacks or even coach travel ball themselves.

When I was a kid, Little League was a place where you could play on a team with all your friends from school. My mom would sign me up for fifty bucks which paid for the season. Our league would allow us to put together our own teams. There were no evaluations, no drafts, no recruiting; just a desire for fun, growth, learning, playing, and competing. I had so much fun playing with all my friends from school, even though some seasons we really sucked.

Now in today’s youth sports, we evaluate every child, we hold drafts, we judge these kids as little as six years old. I’ve been to many of these drafts over the last several years and it always entertains me. So many dads take this so seriously. You dads that are obsessive, ask yourself, “why?’ Did you not get to play because you weren’t good enough so you want to live vicariously through your kid, shoving your dreams down your kids’ throats? It’s gross to witness coaches who load up their eight to ten-year-old teams by recruiting the best athletes around the area. They then go undefeated for the season by dismantling the other teams every week. What are you teaching a team like this? They will never get better if they continue to prey on weaker teams. Once they get older and everyone else catches up with them they will be in for quite a shock. It certainly doesn’t teach humility or the love of the game. It only teaches a warped desire to win at all costs. Baseball is a game, let’s not forget that and kids want to have fun. The notions of destroying other teams or building dynasties aren’t what kids want or even know anything about. These are the sick desires of fetish parents, and coaches who never played the game themselves. Just ask many former or current pro-player, coaches and managers what they feel about youth travel sports and all the other antics like drafts and such that go on. They almost universally think it’s ridiculous and absurd that kids aren’t allowed to have fun anymore. Here’s a few examples of pros speaking out against travel sports.

Jered Weaver, former MLB pitcher, Tweeted on January 23:

My 5 year old son had tryouts for baseball the other day..tryouts??? aren’t you supposed to play w your friends and have fun at 5??? I hope he likes golf better.

Chicago Cubs World Series Championship manager Joe Maddon said:

I hate the specialization of kids when they’re on these travel squads that are only 12-13-14 years olds that are only dedicated to one thing, traveling all the time, paying exorbitant amounts of money to play baseball with hopes of becoming a professional baseball player. I think that’s crazy.

Doug Carpenter has more than thirty years of experience with professional baseball as a player, coach, and scout. He is now a scout with MLB’s Cleveland Indians. He absolutely echoes my every opinion on this subject in this brilliant take:

Let your child play all sports (football, basketball, soccer, etc.). It helps round out their overall athleticism. When the baseball season is over THROW the glove in the closet! You will be amazed at the passion shown when baseball season rolls around again. Can you make them better? Yes. Can you push them too hard? YES! There is a fine line between the two and unfortunately, most parents don’t know where that line is. Major League Baseball players are very blessed athletes and there is more than just “ability” involved. Makeup, instincts, fundamentals, and work ethics are just a few factors that also affect player upside/value. How many times do we hear, “Oh…that Bobby is gonna play in the Big Leagues.” Reality check: there are only 750 Major League player jobs available during the season. And if Bobby is a shortstop he has to be one of the BEST 30 IN THE WORLD or he is not going to be a Major Leaguer. I think it’s less than .001 percent of kids playing youth baseball get the chance to be a Major League Baseball player. Yes…a lot of kids get the opportunity to play in the Minor Leagues (I did so for 7 years) but unless you got a big bonus, as the band Boston once sang, “you barely make enough to survive. Bottom line: let your kids be kids. Let them enjoy all the sports. If they are meant to play pro ball…their natural ability will one day allow them the opportunity. I am a firm believer that Major League Baseball players aren’t made…they are born.

Washington Post columnist Fred Bowen remembers asking Cal Ripken, Jr. at what age he started playing baseball year-round:

When I signed a professional contract at 18.

The Hall of Famer told him. Ripken also happened to be an all-state soccer player in high school. Where do you think the shortstop’s legendary footwork comes from? And come to think of it, injuries never really seemed to be much of a thing for Cal, did they?

Speaking of injuries lets dive into the epidemic of Tommy John surgeries for so many young MLB pitchers. According to Wikipedia, in the 70’s, 80’s, and 90’s only fifty-two Major League pitchers had Tommy John Surgery. From 2000 to today that number has exploded with a staggering 307 players going under the knife. Travel baseball has been around for quite some time, but it didn’t become obsessive and now mandatory by some of the high school coaches until the mid to late 90’s. I think there might be a correlation between the rise of it and the birth of the self-esteem movement. Society now bombards and pressures parents into making sure their kids keep up to a level that is turning these kids into obsessive maniacs over a sport that more than likely they will never play as an adult. Then as if society’s pressures aren’t enough, you have the parent who has to live vicariously through their children. They couldn’t make it so they’ll burn their kid out doing something they couldn’t or even wouldn’t do, yet now think they should have. So you can see these shocking Tommy John numbers directly correlate to the increasing pressure of young kids pitching year round. These are real numbers, facts, and if you’re offended because you’re one of these parents or hack coaches, I don’t care. Facts don’t care about your feelings. A human arm isn’t designed to make that motion on a consistent basis. It’s imperative that the arm has an offseason to rest, and heal. If you insist on your child playing travel baseball I highly recommend he doesn’t pitch, and only plays a position. Because trust me, the majority of those coaches who are getting paid handsomely don’t give one shit about your kid’s arm. He only cares about wins, and dollars so he can pay the bills.

When I was in high school, I didn’t just play baseball, I also played basketball and tennis. I’ll admit now that I only played tennis to impress a girl who also played but after a season of tennis my footwork was better, it made me quicker and ready for the next season of baseball. As it pertained to baseball, I’ll also admit that I wasn’t the best player on my team. As a matter of fact I was a scrawny high school shortstop that hit .300 with only a single home run his senior season. These are hardly the stats of a future big leaguer. To expand on the irony of my high school years I want you to guess what you think I was better at, baseball or basketball? Well, it was the latter and I was good enough that I received a scholarship to attend a division 2 school in Kansas to play basketball. Needless, to say I didn’t take it. I could shoot but I was like Woody Harrelson in WHITE MEN CAN’T JUMP. Even with the other opportunities, I went with my passion and held a vision that I would be a Major Leaguer and ended up walking on at Vernon Regional Junior College in Texas. The rest is history.

Where travel sports can be beneficial for some is in their high school years. I didn’t need it, but some high schoolers can hone skills, etc. They’re old enough now to be making the choice themselves, it’s not some frothy parent or guilt shaming coach forcing it on their parent. So if you’re a high schooler and think it can be helpful, sure try it.  I still recommend playing other sports to hone your skills as a baseball player will more than playing solely baseball itself. I realize this may sound weird but it’s the truth. 

Something else that is happening to young kids because of year round travel ball is burnout. I have a personal experience in regards to this. My oldest son, Jayce now ten, showed great promise as a baseball player from ages six to eight. One particular season he was invited to play in a travel ball team, and I was asked if I would volunteer to coach. I was initially against it, but I asked Jayce if he really wanted to do it that I would do it with him. His answer was, “Yes.” Now mind you, we had just finished playing the spring Little League season which lasted a few months. With him adamant on playing travel ball, we went right into another three-four month season. The schedule had us at two practices a week, and usually a tournament every weekend. Midway through Jayce began to complain about not wanting to go and I’ll admit, I was getting tired of going. It was all consuming, every single weekend, there was no time for life. To make matters worse, Jayce was missing out on school work. He fell behind in math forcing me to hire a tutor. Then something happened, I still remember the day. We were supposed to go to practice and he was against it, I told him he had to and he said the magic words, “I hate it.” There it was, my boy who had loved baseball so much before, now despised it. I had made a tactical error by having him join at his age. It wasn’t the game that burned him out, it was the intense scheduling, the non-stop in your face competition, and I was to blame. Yes, he said he wanted to play, but come on, he was a kid, an eight-year-old, they don’t have the mental capacity to make these type of decisions. I had gone against my better judgement and let him play. I was heartbroken and pissed. I should have known better. I was an ex-athlete and pro who knew that travel ball is bullshit yet I let myself get hooked thinking that maybe…well don’t just let my years of being a pro convince you, let my own experience be a guide, don’t do it.

I’m a two-time World Series champion, played professionally for thirteen years, yet I never once played travel ball nor wanted to. Hell, my mom was a single working mother raising two kids. She couldn’t have afforded it even if I had begged her to. Trust me if your kid is good enough you don’t need travel ball. However, if you’re looking for a sure fire way to burn a kid out or you’re a hack, wanna-be coach or dad who always dreamed of playing but couldn’t cut it, then sure, sign your kid up for travel ball at six and take every ounce of joy away from the game for them. Turn them into another sad statistic, with a major overuse injury by the time they’re twenty. But there is another way, be an example, stop the madness, let your kids play a diversity of sports, let them play have fun and learn. Let them be kids!  And if they show they have a real natural talent then nurture it without turning it into a damn job for you and the kid. Remember people, your kids only get to be kids for a short period of time. Allow them to relish in their youth, joy, and innocence. Don’t force them to grow up too fast. I promise you’ll regret it if you do.

Spring Training Itch

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It’s that time of year again. The time when I start to get anxious, excited and covered in goosebumps. You might have guessed it; it’s Spring Training time! Each spring, my mind goes from the dullness of winter to the thrill, excitement, and anticipation of a new season of baseball. For these young players, it’s the opportunity to do something special with the anticipation that something great is on the horizon; a real chance at championship glory. For me, I’m taken back to the purpose, camaraderie, excitement, and passion of when I played the game. Spring season was something I actively participated in for almost half of my life, then in a snap, it all went away–except for the memories and the feelings associated with it. Those never go away. My mind and body remember it as if I’m still in it. I can literally feel the energy and vibrancy of this time of year as if I’m about to roll out of the locker room and into the dugout. It’s odd that at forty-two and retired, the springtime brings with it the need to travel, to prepare, to train, and to just be out there playing ball. It even brings the need for something as simple as having a schedule. It’s always sobering when I realize I will never again feel that magical, unforgettable feeling I had when I was a player. I miss the game more this time of year than any other. I miss the excitement of reporting to spring training with twenty-four other men that are like brothers, like family.  I miss the fans screaming passionately and asking for autographs. I long for the camaraderie, jokes, and shit talking I had with my brothers in the clubhouse. The one thing I’ll always find most alluring about my time playing was the excitement, that nervous energy leading up to opening day. Yes, everyone gets nervous about the first game, even pros. Who doesn’t want to get off to a good start for the season? But instead of walking into the locker room, I’ll be reporting to the same small round table at Starbucks with my laptop so I can type away on another blog. It sucks to not be there with those guys all pulling on the same rope with dreams of championship glory.

When you’re playing the game, the off-season feels like it goes on for years. The first month or two is much needed to rest your mind and body, but by January you are counting the days down to spring training like a child counts down to Christmas. Yes, we are that excited for spring training and there’s good reason. We get to see all our old teammates, coaches, and meet all the new ones as well. We get to try out all the new gear, from spikes to bats to gloves, etc. We do countless interviews, and commercial shoots for the upcoming season; it’s just all so fresh and new, no matter how many years you have done it. However, like anything, the excitement does wane, so I won’t say it’s thrilling every day until the regular season opens. After about a week the excitement dies down and is filled by the monotony of standing around for hours on end and doing things like countless eyewash drills.  While I look back and appreciate the training, I remember wanting to just go play real games. I was over spring training games about halfway through because it’s hard to get pumped up to play when wins, losses, and stats are irrelevant. Have you ever noticed that the most celebrated superstars always seem to be hurt for the majority of spring training, then when the season starts they start raking? That’s no coincidence. They just make up some bullshit hamstring injury that keeps them from playing the extra games. I’m not gonna lie I’m guilty of that myself, especially the older I got and the longer I played. To be honest I’ve never met a teammate who by the third week of spring training wasn’t completely over it. The regular season is 162 games long, not counting playoffs. Do we really need forty fucking games in the spring? I digress, but that would be one of the negatives of spring training.

The first spring training that came around as a retired athlete was no doubt the most confusing, but surprisingly not all that hard to take as I was still fresh off the roster and filled with excitement for whatever my future career would be. As I set out on my new career path I threw my hat into many different arenas. I started off as a sports talk radio DJ for 95.7 ‘The Game’ in San Francisco. Having to get up a 4 AM every day sucked, but I got to talk about all things sports in SF to include my clear favorite, the Giants. I eventually found the gig negative. It felt like every caller wanted to bitch about someone and could never find anything good to say, even if the teams won. I found it incredibly hard to be brutally honest about players I used to play with on the Giants that were having a shit year. I mean I wouldn’t want someone trash talking me. I couldn’t bury my former teammates with blistering attacks, so I came to find that it wasn’t a good fit. After four miserable months, I left.

As the weeks turned to months, and then to years, desperation to do something, anything was beginning to build in my heart. I was pathetic. I had the opportunity to do anything I wanted but deep down I was paralyzed. I felt so off. It was really fucking weird. It got so bad that I honestly contemplated working at Starbucks or driving for Uber just to keep busy. I’d have those thoughts then quickly snap out of it. What was I thinking? I’m not built for working a nine to five job or something like that. I am just not wired that way. No ex-athlete is. I wanted, no, I needed a career that gave me identity, purpose, excitement, and fun, but where would I find that? I would have loved to get back into the game as a coach in the minors or majors but the desire to be present daily in my two boys’ life wouldn’t make that a good fit. I didn’t want to be away from them as much as I had already been when I played. I kept thinking and came up with a plan to volunteer as a coach for a local high school team. Unfortunately, I found it not enjoyable as the kids’ passion for the sport was lukewarm. Being the hard charger that I am, I attempted to train these kids hard. With that not working, I thought about coaching college, but every college I called, no matter how interested the sports department was, couldn’t get the head coach to agree to take me on. At first, I was like, WTF, then it dawned on me. What head coach would want a thirteen year MLB veteran with two World Series Championships on his staff? I wouldn’t if I was him, as I would be the natural choice to take his job should the opportunity arise. No one likes to hire their replacement as they say.

Before I knew it, the second spring training as a retired player came around and I was really starting to feel the depression, and anxiousness of not playing. I simply wasn’t equipped to handle the real world it began to seem. I believe we need to do more for athletes as their career is winding down to help them realize this transition is no bullshit. In my desperation to be a part of something and be around people, I was approached by a friend to become a distributor for a Network Marketing company. For a time it made me feel great. I was around people again, and I was at least busy, but there was a huge problem; I hated being on the phone 24-7 or holding meetings where I would speak about the same shit over, and over again. It wasn’t just exhausting, it was monotonous and boring as fuck. I just wasn’t passionate about pushing pills, and products for some company. I know you’re probably thinking that I’m a fucking diva or something, but I’m sorry; God makes all different sorts of people, and sitting at a desk or cubicle on the phone just sucks to me. I think I’d rather eat a bowl of shit daily than do that. I will say that network marketing is a great model for making money and becoming financially independent from home but it just wasn’t for me. I felt like I was trying to convince someone to be a part of something they didn’t want to be a part of.

By the time the 2015 spring season came around I was literally suicidal.  Seriously, it was that bad. Only three years into retirement and I was living in such a dark place. Besides my wife and kids, I felt like life had zero meaning. People aren’t meant to be retired by the time they are 39 but that’s where I found myself at this time in my life. Countless studies have concluded that high percentages of seemingly healthy individuals die within 5 years of retiring. This tells me that people are dying not because of health issues, but because of a lack of purpose. Like Mickey says in Rocky: “You know kid I know how you feel about this fight that’s comin’ up, cause I was young once too, And I’ll tell you something if you wasn’t here I prolly wouldn’t be alive today, The fact that your here and doing as well as you’re doing gives me, what do you call it motivation, huh to stay alive, Cause I think that people die sometimes when they don’t want to live no more, and nature is smarter than people think, Little by little we lose our friends, we lose everything, we keep losing and losing until we say ‘aw what the hell am I living around here for I got no reason to go on’.”

As that 2015 spring training ended and the season started, I was lost and mentally coming apart. I had no career, no purpose that got me out of bed so I figured I’d do the one thing that made sense, the only thing I identified as and that was being a major league baseball player. I went back to training and decided I’d make a huge comeback at age forty. Looking back now I realize how crazy, and out of touch I was, but in my mind at that time I knew I was going to make it. During that year of training I didn’t have depression, or anxiety. I was around athletes at the local training facility, I had dreams, a vision and a reason to get my ass out of bed every day. I even set a goal of making comeback player of the year, and helping lead my new team to a World Series title. I was filled with purpose and passion which filled with boundless excitement. It just shows how powerful, and positive your mind is when you are working toward a passionate goal, no matter how crazy it may seem to other people. Paste training video here: Aubrey Huff comeback.

The 2016 spring training rolled around but I wasn’t in it, nope; I trained my ass off yet I didn’t have one offer to a minor league deal, or even a team in Mexico. It was a kick to the nuts, and sunk me into an even more dismal void of darkness mentally. If you haven’t read my blog,” From the Diamond to the Darkness.” I go into great detail on how I was able to finally transition successfully from the game, but man was it fucking tough. Even now as I type this I have to admit that I would give my left nut to be reporting to spring training so I could compete again. It’s important to know yourself and I know that I’ll always thrive in a space that requires competition, I’m built for it; I crave it. Baseball gave that to me and I am and always will be grateful to God for allowing me that time and the skills to play at the level I played. Baseball is in my blood, I poured in my soul and it gave just as much in return. It blessed me and my family with a comfortable life and friendships and memories that are deep and fulfilling. But it took me a while to realize that while I love the sport, I am more than it; I’m a father of two incredible boys who need a loving father and so while I long for the allure and excitement I can finally appreciate it from afar.

Today makes seven seasons since I retired and this time of year still gets me going, but it’s more of an itch than a nagging pain that leads to depression for losing what I thought was my life. When I need the ole’ itch given a good scratch, I hop on a place and head to Scottsdale, there I kill two birds with one stone.

First, I’m surrounded by the excitement and energy. It’s amazing the electricity. Even for you die hard baseball fans or hell anyone if you haven’t been to Scottsdale, Arizona for spring training you are missing out on one hell of a time. I highly suggest you put it on your bucket list. There is no better place on the planet than Scottsdale in the spring. The air is crisp and clear. The smells of the freshly cut green grass fills your nostrils, and the sun shines on your back with the perfect 75 degree temperature daily. The restaurants and bars are at maximum capacity, and the people are beautiful, especially the women. So if you’re in need of a good time, the place won’t let you down.

The second thing and really most important is going to Scottsdale stadium, conveniently where the Giants play. I get to hang around some familiar faces from my days like Bruce Bochey, Buster Posey, Brandon Crawford, and Madison Bumgarner. Seeing them feels good, we share memories of our days as World Series champs and talk shit like it was back then. When I head home, I now walk away satisfied and don’t have that darkness hanging over me, but man I can’t lie that the lure of baseball is powerful. I sometimes think it may never go away, but fortunately I have learned how to deal with it more and more every year.

I’ll finish with this, I’m writing this blog to help touch the lives of many ex-athletes who feel the same as I do and haven’t been able to cope. If this is you, then please know that you’re not alone. Know that the game is great and was good to you, but you’re bigger than it, yes; that might sound crazy to say, but if you read my blog, you’ll know the odds were slim you even made it to becoming a major leaguer. What I’m saying that if you can be a major league baseball player, you can do anything, the first step is stepping away from the notion that you’re entire self being or existence is baseball. Once you make that separation you’re on your way, then make a choice with the same passion and vision you had that got you to the diamond for whatever else you want and I bet you’ll get it and in return find that purpose again.

Now if you’ll excuse me I have to book my flight to Scottsdale, I’ve got a scratch to itch.

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Real Men Are Fathers

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          Is it me, or are so many children today just little shits?  No respect, gratitude, manners, appreciation, or communication skills and more importantly, zero confidence.  There are plenty of theories out there on why this may be happening.  Many point to the increasing use of devices, video games, social media, and television but I think those are just the symptoms of the real problem.  The parents or lack thereof are who is actually responsible for why kids are acting out today.  No, I’m not talking about single parent families, I’m talking more specifically about those that have a mother and a father but the dad is checked out.  So my question is, where the hell have all the real dads gone?  Oh, I hear the groaning, “I’m so busy with…” –I don’t give a shit how important you are at your job, how much money you make, how much of a demand people outside of your family require out of you.  What you need to realize is that the most important job you will ever have on this planet is being a father.  I don’t care if you’re the President of the United States, your most sacred duty is to your family, especially your children.  A prime example of what being a great father is all about is former president George H.W. Bush.  His son, former president George W. Bush, gave a heartfelt eulogy calling his dad “the best father a son or daughter could have.” He went on and on about how loving a parent his father was. Even a former president speaking about another former president summed up the other as a great dad above all else.  So if that example doesn’t get you moving, then you’re just a deadbeat.  

           Yes, I know what you might be thinking, “Easy for you to say, Aubrey! You’re retired and have all the time in the world to be with your kids.  I work long hours, and it’s hard to see my kids as much as I’d like.”  Yes, I know some of you work very hard to provide for your family and your time is a precious commodity.  But there isn’t anything more precious than the development and well-being of your children.  You can’t tell me you can’t eliminate shit in your life that in comparison to your children really doesn’t matter or have value. For instance, are you hitting happy hour after work, golfing on the weekends, playing video games, watching T.V.,  or checking social media?  If you answered yes, then guess what, you have time to spare.  We all have the same twenty-four hours a day.  What’s happening to some of you is that you have not prioritized your children.  It’s amazing to me once you declare something a priority that it gets the attention it needs.  Let me clarify some more, it’s not the total amount of time, but the quality of that time that matters.  If you’re going to carve out thirty minutes to toss a ball around or just simply sit down and chat with them, put your damn phone away and be with them.  Trust me, the world won’t end if you don’t have your phone connected to you at all times.  Human civilization has been around many millennia without mobile phones so don’t give anyone the excuse you need to be checking it every time you hear it beep.  In fact, if it’s distracting, mute it and put it away. Then go be with your child, be present.  

           Make it a point to make quality time with your kids daily, with no distractions.  And don’t just take them to the park while you sit on your ass playing on your phone.  Get involved.  Play games with them, help them with the homework, go on a bike ride, whatever it is you can do with them, just be there with them one hundred percent.  It’s in those moments that they learn and grow.  And what a gift you’ve been given in return. You get to be their teacher, their mentor. Your influence is tremendous and impactful. You are shaping a life! Let that sink in.  It’s absolutely sickening to me as a coach in basketball and Little League to see a ten-year-old kid who doesn’t even know how to play catch or dribble a basketball.  I don’t blame the kids, I blame absent fathers.  If the former leader of the free world had time for his kids, you can make time too. Stop making excuses. Stop being lazy. 

        I recently spent six days with my boys (ages ten and eight) at a dude ranch in Colorado.  One particular night we had dinner with another family.  Their family of four consisted of the father (who screamed beta male), the mother (who seemed as stuck up and uninvolved as they come) both around forty-five years old, the son about ten and the daughter, five.  We were all talking about our day.   My oldest, Jayce was excitedly telling the father, “We got the snowmobiles up to fifty-five miles per hour, it was awesome!”  The look in my son’s eyes, and the excitement in his voice made me so proud and happy.  Jayce continued to tell him about the horseback riding into the mountains with snow as far as the eyes could see.   It was truly breathtaking and a memory my boys and I will NEVER forget.  Now I must admit it was 2 degrees and I was cold AF.  I was dead tired from the long day, filled with physical activities in the cold climate. It was a grind.  But it was a happy sacrifice I wanted to make for the memories, bonding, and well-being of my boys.

          I proceeded to ask the father what they did today as he was cutting his son’s steak into little pieces and feeding him as his kid was totally focused on an iPhone game.  The kid never looked up once.  All he did was open his mouth like a helpless baby bird.  It was a pathetic scene.  I stared in disbelief, I wanted to intervene and tell the ten year old to put the fucking iPhone down, and to cut his own damn meat.  The dad said, “We didn’t really do anything but hang out in the cabin and chill.  The kids just didn’t want to leave the cabin.”  It was clear that their day was spent inside because both parents allowed their kids to play on technology all day, so they could check out themselves.  The parents tried to blame the kids for not getting outside at a dude ranch. But the kids were not the ones to blame.  Their sackless dad and self-absorbed mom were the culprits.  I could tell just by speaking with him for five minutes he was beaten down by life, with zero confidence and passion.  His wife had his balls deep in her three thousand dollar Gucci purse, with her smug look and mink fur coat.  Lady, this is a dude ranch, not Rodeo fucking Drive.  The only thing missing was their European nanny, sorry, au pair; nannies are so bourgeoisie. 

          I felt so bad for those kids.  I’m willing to wager that most of these kids’ lives are spent on technology. Now don’t get me wrong I’m not an iPad Nazi, I let my kids play on their iPad and they are only allowed to have a flip phone. No smartphone, because why the hell would they need one?  And I have a great system for the iPads that I encourage you to use.  I charge their iPads once on Sunday night, starting Monday they have their iPads to use but only have that one charge, so they need to use it sparingly.  If they use it all up in 4 hours one day then so be it, or they can drag it out for the week here and there.  I’ve discovered it’s taught them how to value their time. 

 

          I believe kids today are softer than ever because the father isn’t around, or worse yet he is around, but he’s soft with no backbone to discipline them and teach them how to become respectful, independent, strong, confident happy adults.  Where many men lack the desire or “time” to raise them, mothers are left to do the majority of the rearing.  Mothers by their very nature are loving and nurturing.  If a kid falls down on the playground I see a lot of moms rush to their child’s side as if they just got shot by a sniper.  I’ve seen it so many times while coaching.  I call these moms “helicopter moms.”  Where mothers tend to worry about their children’s safety and well-being, involved fathers encourage their children to take risks.  These dads are more likely to encourage their children to overcome obstacles, to talk to strangers, and teach them how to become successful men.  And when children realize they can take calculated risks, they learn to handle themselves. They become tougher, independent, and confident.  Next time you’re at a swimming pool and there are infants there with their parents notice the different way a father will hold the child versus a mother, it’s pretty much universal and instinctual.  A mother will cradle the child and have their child’s face towards them, while a father will hold their child, face out.  What does that say?  A lot!  The research on involved fathers and the development of their children is eye opening: 

          A study done by the U.S. Department of Education found that children of highly involved fathers were 43 percent more likely than other children to earn mostly A’s and 33 percent less likely to repeat a grade.  They are also less likely to have behavior problems at school and to experience depression.

          According to the Father Involvement Research Alliance review, girls with involved fathers have higher self-esteem, and teenage girls who are close to their dads are less likely to become pregnant.  Boys show less aggression, less impulsivity, and more self-direction.  As young adults, children of involved fathers are more likely to achieve higher levels of education, find success in their careers, have higher levels of self-acceptance and experience psychological well-being.  Adults who had involved fathers are more likely to be tolerant and understanding, have supportive social networks made up of close friends, and have long-term successful marriages.

 

          I have a saying that I live by: “I’d rather spend my money on memories, than things.”  When your kids are adults they won’t remember the shit you bought them, but they will remember the memories, travel, and QUALITY time you spend with them. This is why I take my boys camping with an organization called ‘Indian Guides,’ sponsored by the YMCA (Troll Alert, No I’m not getting paid to post this part, so don’t even go there).  For all you fathers out there looking for something fun to do with your sons, I highly recommend this program.  And for you dads with daughters, they have one for dads and daughters as well called the ‘Indian Princesses.’  It’s one weekend every month and allows fathers and their sons/daughters to explore, play, and socialize wherever, and with whomever they want.  They are also free of the opposite sex so if you have a boy and a girl; it looks like you’ll be doing it twice per month.  Each time we go, I see my boys grow from the experiences and adventures they have.  Their chests are always stuck out, heads up and shoulders back.  They’re more social, funny and expressive than after a weekend at home.  These campouts have taught me something very important as well, that they can handle themselves. That they’re tougher and more independent than I thought. I’ve learned to let go of my fear and worry that something bad could happen to them if I’m not there as I’ve seen they’re growing more and more capable.

 

          I remember in one particular weekend, we camped at Joshua Tree.  While all the dad’s sat around campfire bullshitting, I looked up at this massive rock outcropping that towered over one hundred feet and must have been at a sixty-five degree angle, yes; it was that steep. The kids had been on there earlier unsupervised and guess what, they were having the time of their lives.  As I really took in the size and slope of it, I found myself in awe.  Not in awe of how my boys could have gotten hurt, hell; they can trip in their bedrooms or slip getting out of the tub.  I was in awe that they had scaled it, yes; it was a challenge for them, but they did it and all by themselves.  Think of the confidence that builds!  I’ve done dozens of these campouts and each have something similar to that rock outcropping and guess what, never have any of the children gotten hurt, yeah; they might get a scrap, but that’s not hurt.  It’s truly amazing to know what our kids our capable of if we just let go and let them be sometimes. It not only builds them up but it also gives us parents the confidence that we can allow them independence. Some of you are probably curled up in a ball, crying out that I’m risking my kids to falls and broken bones, I feel the opposite. If you never allow your kids to know they can do shit, you’re putting them at greater risk when they become an adult and don’t know how to do anything. Remember, your job isn’t to coddle, it’s to prepare them to be an adult and they’ll live eighty percent of their lives as that, so stop hovering over them.

           There isn’t a greater purpose, or passion in my life than being the best father I can be to my boys.  I do so not just out of a deep sense of responsibility but also because I wanted to be the father my dad was unable to be.  I have only one vivid memory of my father from when I five years old.  I was sitting on my living room floor in our single wide trailer in Mineral Wells, Texas watching TV.  I wanted to play with my dad so I turned to look at him as he sat in his recliner with a cigarette in one hand and a Bud Light in the other with a look of absolute misery on his face.  I walked over tugging on his jeans asking him to play and he didn’t even acknowledge me.  I walked away sad, hurt, and feeling not wanted.  All I desperately craved was my father’s love, but for some reason he couldn’t give it.  

           Later that year, December 15th 1983 and five days before my sixth birthday he would be dead.   According to the Abilene Reporter-News December 16th 1983:  A man and woman were shot to death at the Royal Orleans Apartments, the man was my father, Aubrey Lewis Huff, Jr; he was only thirty; and the woman was Kerri Jo Hughes, twenty-three.  Police arrested Travis Ray Hughes moments after the shooting with two witnesses identifying him as the man who fired the shots.  The first officer on the scene, Bryan Smith found, “a white male lying face down on the east side of the office and a white female lying behind a desk almost directly in front of the door.” 

          There was nothing peaceful about the way my father left this Earth but I can say that he went out a fighter, defending the innocent and that makes me proud.  My father was an electrician at the apartment complex and as he was headed to the front office to clock out for the day he heard a couple arguing very loudly.  As he approached the couple to defuse the situation, Travis Ray Hughes pulled a .357 Magnum on him.  According to eyewitnesses, my dad’s first reaction was to slap the gun away but Hughes pulled the trigger.  The round struck my father in the hip, dropping him to the floor.  Travis Ray Hughes then turned to his estranged wife, who was cowering behind the desk, and shot her once in the chest, and once in the head, killing her instantly.  

          According to court documents, Travis Ray Hughes then pointed the gun towards apartment complex manager Nee Jackson but before he could squeeze off another round, my dad leapt, shoved her Mrs. Jackson out of the way and tackled Hughes.  When the two hit the floor, the gun was knocked out of Hughes’ grip.  Like a scene in a movie, the two wrestled on the floor, but the match was unfair as my father was weakening due to extreme blood loss from the hip wound.  Hughes got the better of my dad, grabbed the gun, and cowardly shot him in the back of the head, killing him instantly.     

           Despite my father never being around, and seemingly depressed and distant, I am incredibly proud to know he sacrificed his life for someone else.  He wasn’t the most attentive husband or father, but one thing I’m confident in was that he loved us.  I just don’t think he knew how to show it.  

           As I write this tears are streaming down my cheeks and dripping onto the keyboard.  I’m still wounded from my past, not because of his murder so much, but because he was never around even when he was he wasn’t present.  This is why I make sure to make every day count with my boys, and I encourage you to do the same because you never know when it will be your last.  

          The pain of not having a father in my life made it extremely hard for me to be a true masculine man.  The greatest thing that helped me was to forgive him, to let go and know his actions were his and not in any way due to anything I did.  Forgiveness is a powerful tool, I strongly encourage you all to forgive those you feel might have hurt you, let go of that pain and transform it into love. 

          Now you know why I’m so passionate about my role as a father, and want more fathers around the United States to become more for their kids.  I don’t want to be the same distant father I remember mine being.  I don’t want my boys to have to struggle learning how to be a man, I want them to feel the love from their father that I never got.  Looking back now, I can say I was statistically fortunate to have made it out alive but for many kids especially boys; they aren’t so lucky.  The stats are in, and according to the U.S Department of Justice, children from fatherless homes account for:

     63% of youth suicides.

     90% percent of all homeless and runaway youths.

     85% percent of all children that exhibit behavioral disorders.

     71% percent of all high school dropouts.

     70% percent of juveniles in state-operated institutions.

     75% percent of adolescent patients in substance abuse centers.

     75% percent of rapists motivated by displaced anger.

     85% of youths in prisons grew up in a fatherless home.

          And according to the US Department of Census, daughters of single parents without a father involved are 53% more likely to marry as teenagers, 711% more likely to have children as teenagers, 164% more likely to have a pre-marital birth and 92% more likely to get divorced themselves.  Adolescent girls raised in a two parent home with involved fathers are significantly less likely to be sexually active than girls raised without involved fathers.  And most shocking of all, one-third of all American children are growing up without their biological fathers in the house or in their lives, that’s just sad and will no doubt manifest itself in negative ways for generations to come.                                 

             Believe me when I say that I’m not a perfect father, that’s not what I’m saying here.  What I’m saying is I see a problem in our society as it pertains to our children and the family unit and I don’t think it has anything to do with much of the bullshit some people are saying it is.  It boils down to how our children are being raised which includes the values being instilled in them, the discipline and expectations we shoulder on them.  What I’m trying to impress on you is that we’re the reason some kids today are little shitheads, rude, ignorant, fat, etc.  We so often will say, “Kids these days are…” But the reality is it’s not the kids fault, it’s the parents.  Recognizing my role in my boys’ lives I’ve made the decision to step up and ensure that they grow to be men, true men.  Responsible, productive individuals who flourish and eventually create the same foundation in their homes one day.  The raising of children is not the government, nor the schools responsibility, it falls directly in the lap of the parents.

             In the end all we can hope to do is love on our children and grow them to be able to take care of themselves, and make their own decisions.  We aren’t going to be able to protect them when they go off to high school, and college.  They will even have to learn that the garbage the majority of liberal colleges are trying to indoctrinate them is bullshit and a topic for another blog.  They will be exposed to alcohol, drugs, and pre-marital sex before college even starts, but if we’ve done our job as parent’s they will have a strong foundation of values that will guide them to make the right decisions and strength to know that if they do fail that failure is merely an opportunity to learn and grow.  So please, take time out of your day to be with your kids, show them love, be present, guide them, and finally because it hasn’t been said yet, don’t be their fucking friends, they have enough of them, be their parent; it’s a special position and one that we must take pride in and one more thing, any asshole can have a kid, it takes a real man to be a father.

 

diamond

From The Diamond To The Darkness

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       What happens when we die?  It’s one of the most important questions in our lives because it’s one thing we all have in common no matter who you are.  It’s a fact that you’ll die.  Ben Franklin so accurately stated that the two certain things in life are death and taxes.  Some people believe they are reincarnated. Others; like myself, believe you die and depending on what you believe and how you lived your life, you’ll either go to Heaven or Hell.  Chicken shit Islamic terrorists believe they will receive seventy-two virgin maidens in paradise as a reward for killing innocent people. They are in for a very rude awakening because I think they’re going straight to Hell.  And finally there are a vast majority who believe that when you die, that’s it, darkness, the empty void of nothingness. 

       It’s been said that “Professional athletes die twice” and as an ex-professional athlete, I can attest to that, and to that feeling of darkness.  It was as if my chest was ripped open and my heart and soul emptied out.  There’s a good reason why many of us feel this way upon retirement.  In order to get to the top of any athletic field you have to live it, breathe it, sleep it, and love it; but unfortunately, you can’t play forever.  Age, injury, PED usage, you name it, brings an end to something that defined us.  It’s as if our identity was stripped away and now we’re standing naked with nowhere to go. And more critically without a defining purpose at an young age when others are establishing their careers.    

       Before I go further, let me be clear. I’m not asking for your charity or sympathy. That’s what Liberals do. I was blessed to live a life that 99.9 percent of the men on the planet would give their left nut for. Being a Major League Baseball player is a dream many young boys share, but only the select few are able to make it to the top.  Once you get there you’re treated like a rock star. Flights to the most glamorous cities with flight attendants catering to your every whim. Lavish five-star hotels with first-class amenities, not to mention a fully stocked mini bar!  A fat wallet, with VIP access anywhere you want to go. Countless droves of adoring fans, who scream your name. Women want you, and men want to be you.  Hell, some men even ask you to have sex with their wives. It was like Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride at Disneyland.

       Then you retire and it all comes to a grinding halt.  When the dream I had since I was six came to an end it was like getting whiplash.  I went from hero to zero. There wasn’t any retirement party, the first class flights with doting flight attendants stopped, also gone were the screaming fans, ex-teammates barely returned my calls or even seem to care about me. I even felt like my family and friends started seeing me in a different light. When I tried to make new friends outside the game, they mostly used me for my contacts, money, investment opportunities, or just to make them look cool.  It was almost impossible to find normal friends outside the athlete bubble.  Like Kenny Powers once said, “When you’re on top of the world every mother fucker wants to get a piece of your ass.  Then when you take a little time off from being unstoppable, just to regroup and relax.  No one will give you the time of fucking day”.

My ex used to tell me Kenny Powers was my alter-ego. I took that as a compliment.

My ex used to tell me Kenny Powers was my alter-ego. I took that as a compliment.

       The camaraderie with my twenty-four other brothers I was so used to every day vanished. I was with them as much as my real family for more than a decade and suddenly they were gone. The bullshitting, competition, excitement was also gone and replaced with…. darkness.  And just when you think it couldn’t get worse, it does. The longer time goes by without finding another passion the darkness expands, it gets darker if that’s even possible for something void of light. I weathered the darkness for the first six months, eventually, though I succumbed to the heavy weight of it all as I lost my self-worth, my confidence was shot, and worse yet I felt like I was losing my mind. I found myself with no schedule, no purpose, no joy, no motivation and worse yet, a crippling guilt.  I know now that guilt was born from the fact that I had everything in my life that I had always wanted.  I had a supportive wife, loving children, tons of money, big house, nice car, two rings, and I was still young, having called it quits at thirty-seven.  I had an entire life still ahead of me, but I couldn’t understand why I was unable to be happy.  

       That unhappiness infected my marriage, effectively ending it.  I was unable to pull my own head out of my ass in time.  Looking back at how much of a pity party I had for myself after I retired it’s a miracle I wasn’t divorced sooner. Divorce in America is at an all-time high, with roughly fifty percent of all first time marriages ending in the big D.  But for the ex-athlete after retirement, that number skyrockets to seventy-five percent.  What also doesn’t help the retired athlete’s cause is that a whopping sixty percent of athletes are broke within five years of retirement. And what does this all add to? The Darkness. 

       Ex Female UFC Champion Ronda Rousey said in an interview on Ellen, “Honestly, my thought, I was in the medical room and I was down in the corner, and I was like, ‘What am I anymore if I’m not this?’” Rousey continued, “I was literally sitting there and thinking about killing myself, and that exact second I’m like, I’m nothing. What do I do anymore? No one gives a shit about me anymore without this.”

       For many ex-athletes, suicidal thoughts begin to manifest in their heads soon after retiring. The regular world just seems fucked up, boring, dull, and lonely. Once all the fame, excitement, and money is gone, the athlete’s so-called “posse” ends up leaving after they have sucked out every possible dinner, bar tab, lap dance, and dollar out of them.  I’ll tell you this, you definitely find out real quick who your real friends are the moment you retire.  

       During my transition period, I had daily panic attacks and crippling depression. The panic attacks were strange because I literally had zero stress or so I thought. I have come to discover the reason I was having panic attacks was that I was bored.  My mind was so accustomed to a life of go, go, go that I didn’t know how to handle a life where I had tons of time to think and ponder. What I can tell you is this, anyone living in the darkness like I was, idle time is the devil’s playground, and bad for your soul. Often, I had this overwhelming feeling that I didn’t matter to anyone. I felt irrelevant and hopeless. I felt discarded and abandoned. I went from being a Major Leaguer, a World Series Champion, someone with an identity and purpose, to now feeling like a hermit. I felt like I had no one to turn to, even when I knew I did. I isolated myself from the world and all that did is make the darkness worse. I was lost, adrift at sea, mired in my own bullshit and depression, it was then that I began to entertain suicidal thoughts.

       Going back to Rousey and her question, “What am I if I’m not this?”  I can relate and empathize with her. Not too long ago I used to ask myself that very question, and each time I did, the answer was always, “nothing.” And that thought of nothingness brought with it a deep sense of depression. In a lot of ways retiring from baseball was harder than actually making it to the majors. You may be wondering how it could get so bad for so many ex-athletes. You don’t need to hear it from me. I believe Apollo Creed speaks on behalf of all retired ex-athletes in this clip: 

       The very sport we love was our greatest blessing and our greatest curse.   If we are lucky as athletes we get to play to 35-40 years of age.  What about the second half of our lives?  How the hell are we supposed to replace that excitement, adrenaline, identity, purpose, camaraderie, validity, and passion that our sport brought with it? It’s impossible to find all this in the real world. And like Apollo said to Rocky, “We have to be right in the middle of the action because we’re the warriors. And without some challenge, without some damn war to fight the warrior may as well be dead Stallion.” 

       I’m happy to say that I did finally transition successfully, but it took me about five fucking miserable years. And it may not have ever come if I didn’t come to a revelation, an epiphany of sorts. I realized I was still identifying myself as Aubrey Huff, the Major League Baseball Player. That made my mind confused, and my heart unable to move on and find a different passion, because I wasn’t doing any of those things daily to justify what I was telling myself.  If you’re an ex-athlete reading this and are still holding on to a game that doesn’t want you anymore. You have to find a way to let it go. 

       I’ll tell you a ritual that helped me.  Almost a year ago I decided to write a letter to myself thanking God for my baseball career, and the blessings that came with it. I told Him I had faith that whatever He had in store for me in the future was going to be perfect because it’s His will. I also gave myself permission to let the game go. I then grabbed a bottle of Macallan 12, turned on some sappy eighties country music and went to the fire pit with about a dozen old wooden bats from my playing days. I burned them one by one. As I watched the fire consume these tokens of my past life, my identity as a baseball player also began to melt away. It’s as if the fire was searing that part of my mind as well. As the orange flames continued to devour a part of my past and the identity that was connected to it, I allowed myself to have a good cry. It was a pathetic scene, but one that was needed. When the last bat was turned to ash and the bottle of scotch almost gone, I took the letter, read it aloud and threw it in the fire. When I look back on that night it felt like some sort of Viking funeral, with my old self atop the pyre on the boat set ablaze by the warriors in the clan. When the last remnant disappeared into coals, it took with it all my pain. I was finally cleansed. I know this might not sound manly, but it worked! 

      

I woke the next day with a hell of a hangover, but I felt great inside, where it mattered. It was the best hangover I’ve ever had. That simple ritual opened me up to let it all go, enabling me to be open to the amazing life I have ahead of me. Without all that bullshit clouding my mind, I’m able to be a good father, son, brother, uncle, and friend. It has even allowed me to be a better man to my boys and their mother who I truly appreciate when my heart could have given me so many reasons not to.  

       If you’re an ex-athlete transitioning into the real world and looking to find relevance, and identity again. Stop. It’s now time to start looking for peace, contentment, and happiness again. I mean think about when you were a kid. All you wanted was to be a professional athlete so that you could be happy, financially set, so you would never have to work a real job the rest of your life. Now you have finally gotten to that place in your life where you don’t have to grind and achieve. It’s time to enjoy your family and the fruits of your labor. It’s time to give back instead of continuing to try and validate yourself in a world that doesn’t make sense to you. Pour your life, and the lessons learned into people, into kids. Try and get outside your head, and see the impact you can make on others. It’s about giving, not getting. It’s about contributing not collecting. This shift in mindset has revolutionized my life in the last year.  

       Along with that ritual, I developed seven steps that helped me free myself from my past identity:


1. Let go of the game and your old identity: I know this is hard to hear, but you are no longer a professional athlete. Let it go. I know this is easier said than done. But I promise you you’ll never be free unless you do. Have a ritual like I did. Cry your eyes out and mourn your career if you have to. It doesn’t make you a pussy.  


2. Get out of the fucking house: Many of you might not have this problem, but I got so low that I didn’t leave my house for six months. I locked myself away. I was always the life of the party on and off the field, Mr. Social, but when I retired I felt like I had nothing to offer anyone. I had zero male friends and felt like a hermit. Even my communication skills waned with my wife and kids.  


3: Get a daily schedule: We were creatures of habit for so long. We knew exactly where to be and what to do. Workout, practice, film work, game, etc… whatever fucking crazy ritual you had in the game, you have to make in the real world. Try as much as you can to make a daily schedule. My routine is: I take my kids to school. Go to the gym. Run errands. Come home to shower, get a coffee at Starbucks while I write my blogs. Pick up my kids and take them to practices, or whatever they need to do.  


4. Get involved in the community: Coach your kid’s sports teams. Speak at local schools. Volunteer at your church, or local recreational center. You’ll be amazed how you feel. You will fill your heart and head with purpose when helping others, replacing that selfish need to feel relevant again.  


5. Work out and eat healthy: As an athlete, we are so used to keeping our body in prime physical condition. Continue to go to the gym and work out, eat healthy foods and treat your body kindly. If you take care of your body it will take care of you. Don’t do what I’ve seen so many guys do. Get shit faced everyday playing golf while eating a like a fat fuck. I’ve always said, “It’s easier to stay in shape than to get in shape.” 


6. Learn stress management skills:  Even though the stress of the game is gone, you’ll find the stress of having no longer having the excitement of your game stressful in itself. Learn stress managing skills. Pray, meditate. Do yoga. Hit the gym daily. Be grateful for such a blessed career.  


7. Love on your loved ones: The last thing you want to do is neglect your family in this difficult transition. Lean on your wife, or husband and be completely vulnerable. I know, I know we are taught to be warriors and not show any signs of weakness. But remember, you’re not a professional athlete anymore. It’s ok to show your heart and be completely open. Especially to the ones who love you. Remember, when all the fake friends and screams from the stands die down, they will be the only ones left standing by your side.  

       I’ll finish with this thought; you’re more than one thing during the years you live on this planet. If your life is a boat, then your past is the wake that’s made as it travels through time. The wake doesn’t propel the boat, it’s merely what’s left behind. What pushes the boat forward is purpose, a goal; find that and the darkness won’t find you.

crown

Christmas with Crown Royal

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This morning I woke up and had a magical Christmas with my kids. I was a bit worried how they would handle their first Christmas without their mom and dad together. But I have to be honest, I think kids are stronger than us adults are. They handled it like champs. They haven’t had the worldly conditioning you and I have had as adults. A world that tells us to be perfect. A world that defines happiness as having a big house, a great body, a huge bank account and a Lamborghini. By the way I always tell my boys, “A man that drives a Lambo has what I call small dick disease.”

Later on that morning my ex-wife stopped by to pick up the kids so she could have her Christmas with them and you know what, that visit with her was great. We had one of the most honest, engaging, and caring conversations we’ve had in our lives. It almost made me wonder why we got divorced in the first place…then I remembered and moved on. You ever think that sometimes the things we don’t want, are the things we really need? This morning for the first time I truly saw her not as an ex-wife, but as a friend, and a flawed human just like me, just like you; just like everyone in this world. You see my friends we are all fucked up and have our own personal battles to fight.

After they left my happiness shifted as the minutes turned to hours. The joyful banter of my boys was gone, replaced with fucking silence. Now I’m sitting in my house on Christmas afternoon alone. It’s the first time in my life I’ve been alone on this day and it’s harder than I thought it would be. Right now I’m on my sixth Crown and Coke, listening to superhero theme music and feeling pretty shit faced. I really didn’t think I’d feel lonely, hell I’ll admit it, I’m also sad and afraid. So that got me thinking, why shouldn’t I share what I’m feeling right now with you all? We live in a world where many of us are fearful of sharing our hurt and pain, much less our joys and pleasures. For me, I’m not doing that anymore, hence one of the main reasons I created this blog. I’m tired of living a lie and pretending that shit is always fucking roses or that I’m doing okay, because you know, sometimes life sucks and bad shit happens. I want to be free and free I’ll be by opening up. I encourage you all to do the same.

For men, it’s especially difficult to open up, it’s that pride thing that sometimes doesn’t allow us to be heartfelt, scared or vulnerable. We are told if we do so that we’re not being the strong, stoic beings were born to be. But I think that’s bullshit. However, that doesn’t mean you can be a bitch either, there is a time and place for everything and sometimes breaking down and sobbing after a fender bender isn’t the place to do it.

In 2018, I got divorced, and it was one of the most miserable experiences of my life. As a man and an ex-athlete, I’ve been conditioned to suck it up, be tough and not show any emotion. Just go out there kick ass take names, and dominate. Don’t let anyone see any weakness. It was something I learned in baseball, and I still struggle with today, but not as much as I used to. Today I feel like I’m becoming a more diverse man, one who can still clear a bar in a bar fight, but also be confident enough to sit down face to face with a beautiful woman and express myself with confidence.

Like I mentioned before, one of the biggest reasons for this blog was so that I could show my whole heart, so that I can encourage people on this planet to be transparent and heartfelt. So if you want to judge, go ahead that’s your business and I don’t give a fuck.

I’m sure of you are thinking, “Didn’t he say he was a Christian?” Yes, I am and a proud one! And as a Christian I feel like I’m being judged by everyone all the time. Judged that I got divorced, that I curse too much, that I drink too much, that I’m too judgmental or that I get the bad rap for telling people like it is. I’ve always had that no bullshit mentality. But you know what? I’m human. I have real world problems. Just because I played MLB doesn’t mean I don’t have the same trials and tribulations as the guy who works the counter at a 7-11, but yeah I know I can hear you. “You made millions and that guy makes minimum wage.” If you feel that way then I don’t know what to tell you, life is life, I’d love for that guy at 7-11 to make millions, I don’t have judgement about that, I don’t separate people into classes, that’s for our leftist friends, they do that. I judge a man by his character not by his paycheck, if you’re a good guy, share my values, and are good to people then we could be friends. But then again, if you think in regards to wealth equality and other bullshit like that, you’re most likely a fucking socialist and need a good throat punch.

Damn, I just slammed down another Crown and Coke and I can really feel it. And as if it was perfectly choreographed, “Hearts on Fire” from the Rocky 4 soundtrack just started playing. The hairs on my neck just stood up. As I listen to the words I can relate, we all need to have our hearts be on fire again. Hell I didn’t live that way for many years after my retirement, my heart was cold as ice. It felt hopeless, miserable, sad, and hurt; and all because I didn’t know how to handle retiring from baseball. I did finally figure that shit out, think I’ll blog about that next time. #spoileralert

Can I be honest? Of course I can. I know I’m not alone here but here it is, I used to have that mentality that blamed others for my ills and cast judgement on everyone. However, I shifted away from that this last year. I have come to find compassion for others, because I have had to learn how to become compassionate to myself. If you’re an alpha male reading this, like I feel in my heart I am, know that you can be more authentic, heartfelt, and emotional when you need to be, don’t bottle that shit up. I guarantee you your wife or girlfriend will approve. And by the way, don’t just do it for her, DO IT FOR YOU!

Each time I write one of these blogs I feel more and more like me again. More manly, more authentic, more inspirational. Yes I may piss off a lot of people. And yes I may not resonate with you all the time, but there are times I will and that makes it all worthwhile.

Holy shit balls “Indestructible” by Disturbed just came on my headphones. I think it’s time for a refill, I’ll be right back….

I’m back and refilled, this time a bit more Crown than the last one. Sometimes as a man of God I feel guilty that I’m writing this, that maybe I shouldn’t be so transparent, or drunk when I write. But hell, Jesus turned water into wine when everyone was already shit faced at a wedding, so He can’t frown upon having a few to many cocktails every now and then right? That’s my theory and I’m sticking to it. It’s been said that, “A drunk mind speaks a sober heart.” But I know so many others, especially Christians that struggle, and I want them to not feel so alone. We are so fucked up as humans in a world where sin and guilt run rampant. I know you guys. You envy money, material bullshit, even your neighbor’s wife. You may be an alcoholic, or suffer from drug addiction like I used too. Hell, you may even be addicted to jerking off to porn which I myself am guilty of, most likely even tonight. I’m no different than you. And in order to win this war we all need to step up and be authentic.

In the world we live in we try to be perfect. We try to impress people we don’t even like, all the while sacrificing our own sanity and happiness to do so. So I want you guys to know I’ve decided to write a blog monthly, hell maybe even weekly where I will have my cocktails and just type what’s in my heart. No shit I’m 1000 words in and it’s only been about thirty minutes.

I’ll finish with this, I was sad when I first started writing this, but now I’m happy and encouraged as I begin to close this out. Why? Because I have you all, I have kindred spirits out there who will read this and understand and yes, I had a little liquid courage to help me too.

I’ll leave you all with something to ponder and yes, I stole this from Aquaman the movie which I saw yesterday. I love Aquaman more than any other superhero because he isn’t a goody two shoes. He’s a man’s man. He get’s shit faced. He has an edgy free spirit about him. He is strong, and doesn’t give two fucks what people think. And if I was gay he’d be right up my alley. If you can’t tell I fucking love Superhero films. One scene in Aquaman really struck a chord with me. Aquaman’s mother says, “Kings protect their people, but a hero protects all people”. That’s what I want my life to be as I search my soul for a new purpose outside the celebrity life of a professional athlete. I want to be a hero. Not a hero to protect all people, but to inspire, all people. Inspire them to live true to themselves.

I love you all…… and need another drink.