November 12, 2012

From Ex-Major League Pitcher Dirk Hayhurst

It’s silly. I miss the feel­ing of run­ning out to the mound to music I picked. My walk-out jam. The clos­est thing a play­er has to his own, per­son­al super­hero theme song, since, after all, he is dressed in a hero’s cos­tume while it’s play­ing. The dra­mat­ic entrance, the announc­er call­ing my name, the fans clap­ping mod­er­ate­ly to reflect my obscu­ri­ty… Music has such a strong tie to mem­o­ry that when the songs from my super­hero past hit me, in the car or gym or wher­ev­er, I go back. Back to the scent and sound and nerves and hope that coa­lesce into what a play­er calls life, or some­thing like it. Some­thing that, even in those moments of music and nerves and hope, I never truly under­stood.

The irony of a life lived in the moment is that it can only be appre­ci­at­ed when the moment is over. But how hard it is to face that moment. How trag­ic it is to know that we can never fully embrace the moment since we have no idea how it will unfold, nor can we go back and enjoy it when we can final­ly make sense of its unfold­ing?

Thank you music, for tor­tur­ing and humor­ing me with a sound track to my mem­o­ries that will never match the real thing, but never let me for­get it was once real.

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