Big Game, Small World; Chronicles of a Traveling Ball Player

I would be lying if I said that being able to tell a good story is not one of the biggest reasons why I have decided to do this.

In fact, throughout the years, I have often said aloud ‘fuck it, at least it’ll make for a good story to tell’ either before or after “it” happened. And, as I have learned, “it” can be absolutely anything on the grand spectrum of experience.

“It” can range from playing baseball in Barcelona, to running away from bulls in Pamplona. Anything from winning the French all-star game MVP, to getting a french girl so high from an edible that she probably thought was going to die (note: it wasn’t on purpose, and I felt terrible).

The spectrum can include nights where you hit a home run, literally and figuratively, and nights where you hat trick and/or get held up by Ukrainian bouncers at 6 a.m. and get robbed for $200 (it wasn’t my idea, and we got our money back).

Regardless of the fact, the point it is, they are stories. For better, or for worse, they are stories that I will tell until my brain is no longer able to repeat them without some level of accuracy.

With that said, it is actually my hope that in some way this will help with that.