Epilogue
My locker in the Rays big league spring training complex was right next to Cory Wades. He, like me, had come to the Rays after getting let go by his former team; in his case it was the Dodgers, thanks to an injury. Cory explained the whole thing to me, how the Dodgers overused him, how his shoulder didnt hold up to the constant abuse, and how, after he got hurt, they basically rehabbed him and tossed him. I told him that I got released by the Jays because, aside from being hurt, I went insane for a little while and promised to write incriminating things about everyone I came into contact with and sell it to the highest bidder. I smiled, shook Corys hand, and said, Nice to meet you. Glad were locker buddies. Then I offered him a signed copy of my book.
I was just meeting Cory, but I already knew a lot of guys in the Rays clubhouse. Mike Ekstrom, Cesar Ramos, and Matt Bush were all former Padre teammates of mine. That dude who slept in a bush in Vegas was also back in my life again, which was, uh, something . I even had a former college teammate, Andy Sonnanstine. Maybe it was the fact that Id already shuffled teams before, or that I was older and more experienced, but I felt immediately welcome in the Rays organization.
I also made a lot of new acquaintances. The Rays were young. More upbeat and socially savvy. Most of the older guys were not the ruling parties in the clubhouse, but hired guns brought in for their experience. Evan Longoria, B. J. Upton, David Price, James Shields, and Ben Zobrist were the core of the team, and I was older or as old as most of them. The older guys like Johnny Damon and Manny Ramirez were brought in not simply because they were talented vets, but also because they had personalities that fit with the teams general persona. I appreciated this and, after only a few days of spring training, it was easy to see the group was much looser than any team Id been with in the past.
Youth played a factor, but there was also our manager, Joe Maddon. On the first day of camp, Maddon, sporting his white spiked hair, thick-framed glasses, and easy California vibe, greeted us all. He did all the standard manager rah-rah stuff that managers are supposed to do: laying out goals and projections and high expectations. But it was after all the bureaucratic talk was out of the way that Maddon really impressed.
Maddon said he wanted to meet us all individually. He wanted to know us, and us to know him. He wanted to talk to everyone about their strengths and weaknesses, and why they were in camp, and said that he wanted everyone to feel comfortable around him. He hated the cone of silence. He hated walking around the complex, putting players on edge because they were afraid of him. He wanted players to engage him, to know him, and to feel comfortable. With him and with each other. Like a family.
That was the second time Id heard a coach use the word family in my playing career, but in Maddons usage it took on a completely different feel. Coupled with his charisma, confidence, and penchant for funky-themed travel dress requirements, you couldnt help but believe him. In fact, when he and I had our private meeting, I went in wondering if I was going to be lectured about writing, and instead came out with two lists: great wines and must-read books.
Speaking of books, I was finishing up a chapter in my second book that happened to feature Manny Ramirez. In it, hed just hit a home run off of me, number 524, effectively putting the last nail in the coffin containing my debut as a Padre. When I asked him if he remembered the homer, he said he remembered because Id struck him out so many times before. I said, Manny, that was the first time I ever faced you. You took me out to the opposite field. Its how I made SportsCenter for the first time in my life.
Oh, sorry, Papi, Manny said.
I didnt believe he was sorry at all. But, after a spring-training game against the Pirates in which I went six up and and six down including two Ks, he met me in the dugout and hugged me, saying, See, Papi, Im glad youre on my team now!
I was glad I was on his team too. Ben Zobrist and I became fast friends through Baseball Chapel. David Price, who had a Twitter account with a zillion followers, told me hed happily plug any media I produced in the future. Evan Longoria asked me if I could make a Garfoose stuffed animal for a Playboy centerfold model who was into him. Johnny Damon invited me to a team party on his yachtat last, a real boats-and-hoes party! And Kyle Farnsworth, despite several facts pointing to the contrary, did not tackle me or beat the shit out of me, which I considered as good a sign of friendship as any. The Rays were a good fit.
Four weeks into spring training with the Rays, I was sitting at my locker checking my Twitter feed. Brice, along with a couple of his cronies, had created accounts and were actively engaging the fan base with banal tweets about where they ate, which football teams they liked, and how much they loved fansthe same fans they openly cursed only months earlier for being dipshits who didnt deserve access to anything they did.
I guess were all hypocrites, because I found myself jealous over how many Twitter followers they had and wanted to get back to the bigs just so I could have more than them. I was pathetic.
I felt a hand tap me on the shoulder. It was Jim Hickey, the big league pitching coach. I need to talk with you for a second, Digs, he said.
I sighed. If a coach says he has to talk with you in spring training but cant do it in public, it means youre getting sent down. This isnt going to be a happy chat, is it? I said, standing up and following him out of the locker room.
Sorry, pal, he said, leading me down the green mile to a meeting room.
Sitting at a large conference table inside the room were Joe Maddon, general manager Andrew Friedman, bullpen coach Stan Boroski, director of minor league operations Mitch Lukevics, andseating himself after I enteredJim Hickey.
I was offered a seat and took it. Friedman was the first to speak, and told me that I was, indeed, getting sent to the minors. I told him I understood. There were a lot of very talented arms in contention for only a few bullpen spots, and most of the arms didnt have a year off before coming to camp.
Maddon went on to say that he thought I was a big leaguer; that based on the way I pitched in spring training, how I carried myself, and my manner around the locker room, I definitely fit with the Tampa Bay Rays. He liked me, which made me giddy because I had come to respect Joe greatly even in the short time wed spent together.
