If you haven't been able to take a look at Part I, feel free to give it a quick look! We were talking about Chipper Jones and the way that he is gracefully retiring from the game of baseball at the end of the season...on his own terms. He is not being forced out of the game or sitting around waiting for the phone to ring with that one final contract offer. This sort of behavior is not typical of professional athletes, who tend to endlessly rage against the dying of the light. Just as we learned something from Chipper's decision, so too can we learn from those who fight the inevitable.
I don't know if anyone saw, but Roger Clemens signed earlier this week with an independent team and will be starting on Saturday. He is 50 years old and has not played in the Majors since 2007. Rickey Henderson, the all-time stolen base leader and Hall of Famer, played in the semipros for multiple seasons after he was released by the Dodgers in 2003 but never got another big league call-up. Ken Griffey, Jr., Jose Canseco, and Jerry Rice held on far too long. Jamie Moyer had Tommy John surgery at the age of 48 so that he could come back and pitch. He was signed by the Rockies and started 10 games, then was released. He was then signed to a minor league deal by the Blue Jays, then released again. A few days later, he was signed to another minor league contract by the Orioles, then released once more. He's run through three organizations in less than half a season, and still does not consider himself retired. He wants to come back and keep it going. Why?
America's greatest waffler, Brett Favre, retired once after the 2007 season, after the 2009 season, and after the 2010 season. He couldn't make up his mind and kept returning to the thing that he was, at one time, the best at. But Brett Favre did not go out on top. He was injured, his last play providing him with a concussion that kept him out of competition for good. Was it all worth it?
What is it that keeps people from accepting inevitability? Is it that fear of change, or the pride, or something else unrelated? Athletes likely feel that they have a lot to prove, to their fans, to their teammates, and to themselves. These prideful feelings are not exclusive to athletes. I believe that they run through all of us. We're always trying to prove to ourselves that we've got it, that we can still compete, that age hasn't caught up with us, that we haven't changed, that we're still the same person we were three months ago, three years ago, and three decades ago. As much as we fear change in circumstances, I believe we also fear that change in ourselves. While it's true that a large part of self-change is deliberate and important, it's those low-key changes that strike us when we're not expecting them that frighten us. Well, they frighten me at least. There's always that point when we think we're doing great and, all of a sudden, it changes. We've lost the ability to be the person that we once were. We lose the things that once made us, whether it's athletic abilities, business acumen, looks, a positive mindset, or a host of other things. When those things begin to leave us and we become a shadow of ourselves, our perception from others changes as well.
Sometimes when we change we take a long time to realize it. I think that is true of athletes for sure, and, I'd say, for all of us. At some points we may take our relationships, skills, and occupations for granted. We settle into a routine that robs us of the drive that got us there in the first place. Perhaps this is how ballplayers feel as well, that they took their athletic abilities for granted and, now that they realize they've lost it and they're no longer wanted, they rededicate themselves to the game...but it has passed them by. They waited too long and their former employers and fans have moved on to the next big thing. That's a big pill to swallow.
Again, this sort of situation is not the exclusive domain of athletes or those of high stature. It's true of all of us. We change, and people are affected by those changes. Sometimes those changes are brought upon ourselves, perhaps for self-improvement or some other (hopefully) noble reason. But when those changes catch us unawares, we're not the only ones who have to deal with them. Those closest to us, the ones who have the pleasure to spend so much time with us, see it too. And it doesn't always jibe well. I sometimes like to think that I'm immune to change, that I can rise above it and fight it. It doesn't always work. There are things that we cannot change.
It's also hard when change affects those close to us and we can't do anything about it. Change is everywhere. Some of it is good, and some, as we've seen, can be detrimental to relationships and careers. At some point, the only thing that is left is how we react to those changes.
Change is inevitable. Fighting it doesn't always work. The romantic notion that fighting change, really fighting against it, rallying up all possible strength and trying to kick it in the behind, is not always realistic.
But you know what? Sometimes it does. Michael Jordon retired at the top of his game, on his own terms. He then came back and won three more titles. What does this all mean? There are two basic ways to approach the end and the change that follows it...we can fight it, or accept it with grace and civility. I don't have any conclusions. One may seem so much better, on paper, but is it? Is there something to be admired by those who refuse to quit?
What is the answer?
Stay tuned for Part III tomorrow. Just some extra thoughts, but I can't promise any answers.
No comments:
Post a Comment