On one of my bookshelves rests a signed baseball. Aficionados of the sport would not recognize the signature. The man who signed the horsehide may hold the record for the shortest major league career in history.
His name is Bobby D.
Many years ago, as a still-wet-behind-the-ears pastor, I met with Bobby and his fiancée. They had come to me to perform their wedding. Since they were not part of the church, I insisted on a series of meetings so that I could be sure of their spiritual standing and readiness for marriage. When Bobby entered the room, I immediately noticed something unusual about the man. He stood tall, had a quick smile, a keen sense of humor, and a positive outlook on life. At first, that surprised me.
It took no medical training on my part to see that he had been in an accident. His right arm hung crooked and bore a long, white scar. His right eye didn’t track with his left when he looked around the room. This man had been through the mill.
His fiancée was a dark haired beauty with keen eyes and spoke as a woman of high learning. I felt a little uncomfortable since they were older than my less than thirty years. After some small talk, I learned the story.
Bobby D. had been a baseball player. He was one of those rare people who are called “walk-ons.” The San Diego Padres held open tryouts one year and Bobby decided to give it a whirl. Turns out, he had a good right arm and became one of the pitching staff. The day came for his first outing. He took the mound, and for the first time pitched before tens of thousands. He lasted just four innings, but that’s not bad for a first go, and certainly not bad for a walk-on player.
That night, Bobby and a few of his friends went celebrating his debut in the major leagues. One auto accident later, Bobby lost the use of his right arm and right eye. Too much alcohol-lubricated celebrating had cost Bobby his career—a career of just four innings. Before him, lay surgeries and uncountable hours of frustrating and painful therapy. Thanks to the quick action of medical personnel and a very special doctor, Bobby got to keep his arm, although it would never pitch a fast ball or slider again.
The person responsible for saving his arm sat next to him in my office. Bobby D. was about to marry the neurosurgeon who had worked on him many months before. Patient and doctor where about to become man and wife.
I performed the wedding and the couple began to attend our church. One Sunday, I watched as the ushers came forward with the offering. Inside the plates, nestled among envelopes and paper money was a white orb—a baseball with Bobby D.’s signature. The ball has no value to collectors, but it means a great deal to me.
Novelists struggle to create scenarios that will be interesting, captivating and stretch the mind of the reader while remaining credible. The irony is that real life is often more creative than fiction. Bobby D. and his wife are a great story of God’s plotting skills. A man thinks he has it, then looses it all, then finds faith and the love of a brilliant woman to be far more than he ever had before.
There’s a book in the tragic tale of Bobby D. In fact, there are many stories in the lives of the people around us. No matter how skilled the novelist, fiction often pales in the light of actual human experience.
Experienced any good stories lately?
Al
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