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Idiot: Beating "The Curse" and Enjoying the Game of Life Paperback – September 13, 2005
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I know what you’re thinking: Couldn’t he have come up with a better title?
My mother agrees with you, but unfortunately Genius just doesn’t have the same ring.
Let’s get something straight right away. I may be an idiot, but I’ve tried to do more in this book than just revisit the Red Sox’s Miracle Season.
I want to give you a sense of what it’s like to grow up with baseball dreams, to spend long years climbing the ladder, and then over the course of three years to see the building blocks of those dreams fall into place.
In this book, you’ll be reading about the son of an Army staff sergeant—a thrill-seeking Orlando kid who at age thirteen was gifted with a man’s body, including rare speed and reflexes. It was some straight talk from my brother that kept me from abandoning that talent, which led to my eventually catching on with the Kansas City Royals and later the Oakland A’s.
Starting in 2002 with the Red Sox, I got to see what can happen when a determined front office decides to roll the dice and acquire players who, like me, leave the thinking out of it—who trust their instincts and play team baseball.
Forget what you’ve read about the posse of long-haired rebels who eventually made up the 2004 Red Sox. I'll give you the straight dope, including who's got the biggest mouth (hint: his first name is Kevin); what Pedro Martinez was doing all those times when you couldn’t find him on the bench; what game David Ortiz should never play; and why I sometimes question Curt Schilling’s sanity. Memo to Curt: the statue of you is being erected.
What’s it like being responsible for the hopes of millions? In the fall of 2004 my teammates and I got to find out. What I’ve tried to do in these pages is bring you inside, show you the black humor that erupted when it seemed we could do nothing right, and the immense joy that followed when 25 guys took turns picking each other up, and by sheer force of will reached baseball’s summit.
Red Sox Nation (both natives and new arrivals), this one’s for you.
—Johnny Damon, #18
- Print length258 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherThree Rivers Press
- Publication dateSeptember 13, 2005
- Dimensions6.15 x 0.64 x 9.13 inches
- ISBN-100307237737
- ISBN-13978-0307237736
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About the Author
Peter Golenbock has written numerous New York Times bestsellers, among them The Bronx Zoo with Sparky Lyle, #1 with Billy Martin, and Balls with Graig Nettles.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
I was standing out in center field under the bright lights in Oakland. The Red Sox were playing the A’s, my old team, in the first round of the playoffs in the fall of 2003. Jermaine Dye, probably my best friend in baseball, hit a lazy fly ball my way. I remember thinking it was going to be an easy catch. I ran over to get it. Then I blacked out. Damian Jackson, our second baseman, had run out for the ball, and just as it came down, we both went for it and collided. His hard-ass head struck me in the temple, knocking me out cold for a few minutes. If you look at the replay, I fly into the air, and my whole body goes numb. One of my arms starts shaking. It was the hardest whack I ever got. When I was playing football in high school, Warren Sapp hit me pretty good but Damian Jackson’s head-on-head collision was definitely harder.
While I was on a stretcher being put into an ambulance, I gave a thumbs-up. When they carted me off the field, everyone thought I was okay, but I wasn’t. I’d suffered a bad concussion. My mind was scrambled. I actually thought I was wearing an Oakland uniform and that I was walking off the field waving to the Oakland fans, saying, “Thank you for supporting us this year.”
After the medics loaded me into the ambulance, they put some fluids in me and hooked me up to an IV. But as they were sticking it into my left arm—people think everyone’s right-handed—the ambulance hit a speed bump on the way out of the coliseum and the IV rammed into my veins. I ended up with a bruise from my wrist to my bicep that pained me for weeks.
When I arrived at the hospital, I asked one of the staff to turn on the TV, but I hardly remember anything about the game. Richard Halpern, a friend of mine from L.A., came to see me. He was wearing a shirt that said “Boston Red Sox vs. Oakland A’s, 2003 ALCS.” I kept looking at it thinking, “2003? When did Boston and Oakland play?” And I continued to think I was part of the Oakland A’s, who I’d been with in 2001. I remember thinking, What just happened to those two years? I had no clue.
My girlfriend Michelle, whom I’d later marry, was in the room, and I kept asking her, “Did we win? Did we win?”
“We won,” she kept assuring. “The team is going to New York.” But then a few minutes later I’d ask her, “Did we win? Did we win?”
I kept asking the same question over and over, 10 times, driving Michelle crazy. She told the doctor, “Every question he’s asking me, I’m answering the same way, but he’s not taking it in.”
That’s because my brain was scrambled. I knew what I was asking, but the answers I was receiving didn’t register. They say that when you suffer a serious concussion, you get thrown into a loop of questions. No matter how much your questions get answered, you don’t comprehend. That’s exactly what was happening here.
The doctors sent Michelle back to our hotel so she could take a nap. After she left, I kept asking for her. “Where is she? Tell her to get back up here.” When she returned, I figured she’d been away 10 minutes. But she’d taken a 2-hour nap before coming back.
When I was released from the hospital and returned to my hotel room, I kept asking, “What kind of game did I have? Was I doing good?” I really had no idea what had occurred that night. I didn’t know if I’d struck out four times or hit two home runs.
“You had a good game,” Michelle assured.
About five months later I got to watch a replay of the game. That was the game in which Derek Lowe finished off the A’s in the ninth by striking out the last two batters looking on two of the most hellacious pitches he’s ever thrown. It was a satisfying first-round win that had my teammates celebrating while I was lying in a hospital bed.
Hours after defeating Oakland, the Sox left for New York without me. Our head trainer, Jim Rowe, an incredible guy, made it his job to stay with me. He didn’t get to celebrate our advancing on to the next round of the playoffs, but he never complained.
The next morning one of our owners—I’m not exactly sure which owner—sent his private jet over to fly us into New York.
Before the series with the Yankees, the team doctors were debating whether to even put me on the roster because they knew how messed up I was. I went to Grady Little, our manager, and I said, “I can pinch hit if you need me.”
“You don’t look like you’re all there, son,” he said in that southern drawl.
“I’m ready to pinch run for you. I’ll be ready to play whenever you need me.”
“You don’t even sound right, boy.”
Grady may have had that slow drawl, but he was a very smart man. What a great guy to play for. He knew he couldn’t keep me off the roster, nor did he want to, even though I sat and watched those first two Yankee games from the bench.
I don’t remember those two games at all. I know we won the first one with Tim Wakefield on the mound. In Game 2 Andy Pettitte beat us, but I had no clue. Every time I’d stand up and grab a bat or do something to get loose, Grady would look at me and say, “Sit down, boy.”
When we got back to Boston, I went to the team doctor, and he said everything was checking out fine, that I was regaining some of my faculties. But the truth was I wasn’t close to normal—it took me four or five months before I had a clear, vivid picture of what was going on. When it rained the day we were supposed to play our first game in Boston, I got in one more day of recuperation. I don’t get much time off, even in the off season, and in all I ended up resting five days, which was huge. Everything started to feel fine. I felt like I was pretty strong.
Only a couple of people knew how beat up I really was when I started against the Yankees in Game 3. Not only was I not playing with a full deck upstairs, but my left arm was still bruised from the IV and was absolutely killing me. I was playing with one arm. I couldn’t move it.
I have an unorthodox swing where I release the bat just after contact. The pain didn’t allow me to do that. People said, “Your swing really changed for the Yankee series.” It wasn’t because I was scared in the box. It was because I had no motion owing to what had happened in the ambulance.
Before the game I didn’t even take batting practice. I just stepped out on the field and tried giving it what I could. Thinking about it now, I was in no condition to play. I’d start the games, and every game by the third or fourth inning I’d experience a painful migraine brought on by the concussion. I’d always been able to relax before a game, but not now. As soon as I started feeling stress or exerting energy, I’d get a migraine. Every day before the game was half over I’d just be wiped out. I would be standing out in center field, and my head would be throbbing. But being the kind of person I am, I still thought we were a better team with me out there. I just wish I’d been a little bit healthier for that Yankee series.
My memory of Game 3 is spotty. Roger Clemens started for the Yankees, not a very fun situation. When I came into the league in 1995, Roger was having a couple of down years. I’d say to myself, Hey, I see the ball pretty decent off him. Then when he got to Toronto he started throwing his split-finger pitch, and I thought, My gosh, this is one of the greatest pitchers ever. This is what they’ve been talking about!
Roger has been a workhorse. Against him that day the scorecard says I got three hits, but they were all softly hit to the left of the third baseman and to the right of short. I beat out a couple of tough hops on slow rollers which were credited for hits. I wasn’t going to complain, but I very easily could have been 0–3.
So even though I was in such bad shape to play, I went 3 for 3 against Clemens right out of the chute. I didn’t even consider myself a player in those games. Normally I’m filled with adrenaline. I hustle. Normally, I can do some special things on the baseball field. Against the Yankees, nothing was there, though the last thing I wanted to do was tell Grady, “I’m not really the guy you want to play.”
You just can’t ask out of big games, even if you have nothing going for you and your head is throbbing. That’s not how I was brought up as a ballplayer. You go out there because you think you’re the best option for the team.
Though I don’t remember a lot of that game, one incident does stand out: after Pedro Martinez hit Karim Garcia, tempers got hot and both benches cleared. I came running in from center field, thinking, No way in heck can I get in the middle of this thing. I have absolutely no strength, and I’ll get beat down something awful.
I ran toward the home plate area to find my best friend on the field, Jason Giambi, who was playing first base for the Yankees. When Jason and I were teammates in Oakland in 2001, we were very close.
“Hey, protect me if you can,” I said to Jason, “because I’ve got no clue where I am right now.”
Jason, being the great player he is, had to clear some guys off, but he kept coming back to me, making sure I was all right. While Jason and I ...
Product details
- Publisher : Three Rivers Press; First Edition (September 13, 2005)
- Language : English
- Paperback : 258 pages
- ISBN-10 : 0307237737
- ISBN-13 : 978-0307237736
- Item Weight : 11.2 ounces
- Dimensions : 6.15 x 0.64 x 9.13 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #4,650,002 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #9,373 in Baseball (Books)
- Customer Reviews:
About the authors
Peter Golenbock, one of the nation's best-known sports authors, graduated Dartmouth College in 1967 and the NYU School of Law in 1970. He has written seven New York Times bestsellers, including The Bronx Zoo (with Sparky Lyle) and American Prince (with Tony Curtis).
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I figure I'll just go through some of the complaints/issues/comments people have had on this book and give me own two cents, for what it's worth.
Debate Issue #1: Damon comes off as really taken with himself>>> I disagree. Honestly, it's actually really refreshing to have a baseball player just come out and tell the truth for once. What I mean is this: to get to play MLB ball, you have to be really freakin' talented. And you have had to be really freakin' talented since you were a kid. Damon isn't trying to sell himself to anyone; he's just telling it the way it is, like "I knew I had special talent as a kid because of reasons x, y, and z and yea, I knew that I was really good and could make it to the majors." Damon gives several examples of why he was special at the game, and he leaves it at that. It's not arrogance; he's just telling it the way it is. I wouldn't want him to be so unendlingly modest that the reader never quite knows why Damon made it to the majors; Damon tells us that he had a rifle throwing arm, a great batting eye, and impressive athleticism. Interestingly enough, one of the things that Damon is criticized for today is for having a weak throwing arm; as it turns out, Damon used to have a cannon for an arm, but he fell onto his shoulder during his school-ball days, and he injured it permanantly, and had to learn a whole new way to throw. So that explains his "weak" arm today.
I call Damon's honesty about his talent "refreshing," because I'm so tired of ballplayers downplaying their obvious talent; I don't want some steroid slob to be all "I'm the greatest in the world," but when players hit .350 with 40 home runs and 100 RBIs and say things like "Oh i just got lucky" or "oh i owe it all to my teammates" or "oh I"m really not that good," I just want to strangle them. It's like listening to a supermodel say "oh you should see me without makeup" or "I'm really just a dork!" It's enough to make you scream. Damon is honest about why he is good enough to be in the majors, and he leaves it at that.
Another reason why he's not arrogant? He is constantly self-deprecating; he chides himself on making bad plays or a bad out more than once. When he was with the Sox, he makes it a point to say that everyone had a career year one season "except me." He takes the blame for stretching out the 2004 ALCS as long as it did, because he wasn't hitting and he was the leadoff man. Damon is constantly praising and admiring other players as well; it's always "this guy was a monster" or "this guy was the best pitcher I ever saw," and "so and so was remarkable", etc. Damon praises other players and teammates much more than he praises himself. All of the "praise" Damon gives himself is early in the book, when he's explaining why he was good enough to get to the majors. Other than that, he's more likely to praise teammates.
Damon mentions a few good plays that he has, once he says "this was the best catch I ever made" and so on, but he mostly talks about other guys' big hits, their walk-off wins, etc. In fact, Damon's huge grand slam that all but won the 2004 ALCS was so glossed over in the book, I had to go back and read it a few times to verify that Damon was talking about THE grand slam, one of his biggest moments as a BoSox player. Had Damon been arrogant, he would have focused much more time and energy on his biggest hit of the season, but he kind of rushes through it and focuses more on the pitching and the other guys' plays.
Some people also had issues with the fact that Damon talks about his hair too much; he mentions it twice, and I think you have to understand Damon's sense of humor. If you've ever seen him interviewed, you know how awkward he can come across. He says "what can I say, I have good hair, my hair is my strength" but the tone is oozing with humor; he's not entirely serious. He also mentions ripping off his batting helmet once to let his good hair "flow," and I was just laughing; he's just joking folks. He's like "yeah, yeah, it's all the hair, the hair is the reason I'm a good ballplayer!" He laughs at how his hair became such a big thing, how ESPN came to watch him get his hair cut, and he plays along like a good sport. But he's laughing all the way, he sees it as a kind of joke/karma. I think people are taking him way too seriously when they accuse him of being obsessed with his hair; rather, everyone else was obsessed with it, and he just gave the people what they wanted. In reality, he was just too lazy to cut it!
Debate Issue #2: Damon is a Man-Whore who Cheated on His Wife>>>>> This one is a bit more difficult, but here's the thing: there are two sides to every story. Damon characterizes his ex-wife Angie as a jealous, demanding, needy nag who was very insecure, and constantly accussed Damon of cheating on her, especially when Damon's baseball career began to take off. She was obviously no fool; she knew how women are with hot, young baseball players, and she was not secure enough in her relationship to trust her husband. So i can see her side of it, being a bit insecure. However, if Damon's portrayal of Angie is accurate, then wow, she sounds like a nightmare. Damon says that Angie would accuse him of cheating nearly everyday, for really no reason. Damon says that he wasn't cheating on her until much later, when he knew that their realtionship was going to end, and he had fallen out of love with Angie. I can understand Damon's perspective as well; it's never fun to be accused of cheating constantly, and Damon also brings up the fact that Angie was not very supportive of his baseball career; Damon says that when he returned home after a long season, he would just want to "surf, fish, relax" and "not pick out furniture." I get the feeling that Damon, in other words, just wanted to kick back and have fun and Angie was one of those "oh good, not that you're back you can do this, this, this, and this." It's can't be easy being the wife of a pro-ballplayer, but Angie chose not to move to Oakland with Damon, and she routinely stayed behind.
Damon goes on to say that once he had finally been pushed to the point of not loving Angie anymore, he did cheat on her. He doesn't try to justify it, nor does he seem particularly proud of it, but he's just telling it like it is. Yes, he does mention that he had a separate cell-phone exclusively for women, and I was lauging my head off. Why? Because Damon's tone sounds like he was just in awe of this whole thing, that suddenly because he was young, handsome, and a major-league ballplayer, every woman in town wanted a piece of him. He does have some pretty funny stories about how he would have a one-night stand and then he would hear on the radio the next day that the woman had said she was his "girlfriend" and blah blah blah. Damon would just be like "oh my god, this is insane" and marvel at this new, crazy lifestyle. At some point, he also met his future-now wife Michelle, and he did start dating her when he was still technically married to Angie.
Was Damon wrong to cheat? Sure. But it's a difficult situation; Damon says that he only stayed with Angie "so I would get to see my kids" (he had two with Angie). That's hard; divorce means that one parent is going to get to see the kids more often, and Damon obviously loves his kids. Like I said, I can't be on a high-horse about this because I don't know the whole story and I obviously wasn't there. Damon is very honest about how he felt about his marriage towards the end, and I really don't think he adds in the womanizing thing to show off; I think he's just trying to give people a sense of the temptations that are out there when you're a pro ballplayer.
Debate Issue #3: Book is Repetitive, etc>>> To a certain extent, yes I agree. In fact, unless you really kind of already know the game of baseball, you might get a bit lost in the translation. Damon goes really in-depth into certain games, and gives play-by-plays of others, and he throws around a lot of player names, dates, and statistics that might be lost on some people. Like I said, I enjoyed it, but I'm a huge baseball fan who's played the game and seen my fair share of MLB matchups; if you just like Damon but don't really know much about baseball technicalities, you might become a bit bored. I found myself skimming a couple of times, mostly when Damon is going play-by-play over games that I've already watched, such as the 2004 ALCS; a couple of times I was like "dude, I was THERE! I don't need such a detailed recap!!"
Where this book really sparkles is the personal stories that Damon shares about his teammates and the inner-goings-on of the clubhouse; Damon's sunny demeanor really shines through when he talks about the fun times he's had with Boston teammates, such as running across the street to a bar with his teammates in full uniform to celebrate a big win, getting called up onstage to sing with his favorite bands at concerts, and playing pranks on newbies (there is a pretty hilarious gem Damon and the BoSox pulled on Kevin Youkilos). Damon talks about how Kevin Millar would crack jokes about guys' bodies when they would shower, and how certain teammates would throw a football around the clubhouse and you had to watch your back if you "didn't want to get smoked with it." Damon's free-spirited nature that most Boston, and now Yankee fans, are familiar with shines through as he talks about doing pull-ups completely naked, or how Kevin Youkilos would set up a dozen chairs for Damon to knock over. I love reading about things like this, like the commaraderie that comes from being on a team, and the funny things like the above mentioned that guys do to loosen up. Apparently, David Ortiz would yell "you're all a bunch of bitches" and then laugh while everyone else had no idea what brought that up. Manny Ramirez would pit his Reebok rep against Damon's Puma rep and threaten to switch right then and there.
There is also a pretty funny story involving Damon, a pot of mums, and a pumpkin, but I won't spoil anything. Honestly, Damon is the type of guy who is like "Wow, they are paying me millions just to play ball?? SWEET!!" He's just a guy who loves the game and loves to have fun; he says a couple of times that he would be happy just playing in a beer-league. He's very laid-back, but serious about his personal game. He comes across as someone who really revived what was a tired, bitter Boston clubhouse. Damon didn't do it single-handedly, nor does he claim that he does, but he basically says "this is why we were special this year." Any boastful quotes that Damon has have to be taken with a grain of salt; it's a guy thing, and it's a ballplayer thing, so I didn't have an issue with it.
The book isn't perfect; I have certain issues with it. For example, Damon's portrayal of the Yankees is very biased, at best. He really does paint the Yankees out to be "the Evil Empire," and he makes Boston out to be the scrappy, good-guy underdogs while the Yankees are the overpaid, uptight, classless millionaires who just keep stealing Boston's championship hopes away. He calls Alex Rodriguez out for slapping the ball out of a Boston player's hand, and calls it a "disgrace" and "cheating." Interesting, because Damon is quick to say that he does not think that steroids are cheating when he talks about how his good friend Jason Giambi got busted. So Alex alledgedly swiping a ball away is an absolute disgrace, but steroids aren't? Hmmmm. To be fair, I don't consider steroids cheating either, but I think Damon poured on the "Yankee evil" a little strongly at times. Also, he mentions that after the Yankees took a 3-0 ALCS lead in 2004, Mariano said that Boston was "finished" and Gary Sheffield called them "a walking disaster." I dont' ever remember these quotes. First of all, I highly doubt that Mariano would have said anything like that, and if he said anything it all, it was misconstrued by the Boston press. Sheffield would say something stupid like that, so I have no doubt that he did, but not Mo. He's too smart to say something so jinx-worthy. Damon is quick to jump all over that, and portray the Yankees as classless, arrogant a-holes. So it was pretty one-sided at times, and like I said, the play-by-play that Damon gives can get a little tiring when you've already seen the games. I would rather have Damon's perspective as the games are going on, or what was being said in the dugout during those games.
On a final note, it was interesting to read this because there is some foreshadowing; there were already clear signs that Joe Torre, Damon's future manager, did not care for him. Though Damon had the numbers two years running, Torre failed to select him for the All-Star team (and there were rumors around the Yankees that Torre thought Damon was a clown). Damon is clearly miffed about that in the book, and we now know that Torre had some less than flattering things to say about Damon in his book "The Yankee Years." In addition, at the end of the book, Damon sounds like he wants to be a Red Sox forever; we all know that it didn't turn out that way because, well, he plays left field for the Yankees now and we're more than happy to have him. It's just strange because Damon was clearly really into being a Red Sox when he wrote this book, and you have to wonder what exactly changed to make Damon sign for the Sox's arch-enemy. We know that the Sox refused to offer Damon a 5-year contract like he wanted, and would only offer him a 3-year. Damon comes across as the type of player who is affable and cheerful, but also someone who can be sensitive and get hurt feelings; Damon was probably hurt by the Sox's offer and felt that he wasn't being valued enough in Boston, and so he went to the team that offered him a longer contract. Who knows. All I know is that this book is a fun, interesting read and it's humorous tone is perfect for the baseball enthusiast or Damon fan. I had fun with it (except for the Boston winning parts). If you already don't like Johnny Damon, then you're not going to like this book. It's very Damon-esque; slightly awkward in some parts, slightly crazy in others, very funny, and almost unendingly friendly; rarely does Damon talk about anyone negatively, except for his ex-wife and occasionally A-Rod (but who didn't have a problem with A Rod a few years ago?). I enjoyed this book, and I enjoy watching Johnny Damon play ball.
A must for Red Sox fans but fans of the game (of life too?) will find it a great read and a perfect way to spend time whether or not you can get to "the park".
I love the Red Sox and I still love Johhny Damon as a baseball player, but as an author, Mighty Johnny has struck out!
- misspelling people's names (including Sox bench coach Brad Mills)
- in the same paragraph referring to Jim Edmonds correctly and also as Jim Edwards
- talking about David Ortiz hitting a 2-run homer in game 1 of the ALCS to bring the score to 8-7...no, it was a 2-run double
- describing Mark Bellhorn's homerun in game 6 of the ALCS as going to right-center....no, it went to left field.
This is just the tip of the iceberg. Do you blame Damon for this? Maybe - shouldn't he know the name of his own team's bench coach? But again, Peter Golenbock supposedly contributed to this book, but I don't see how that's possible.
It's still an enjoyable, if quick, read, but you will have to look past tons of mistakes.
As someone else mentioned, he does come off very cocky. Pinpoints certain stats in certain years to make himself sound like the league MVP. He calls out teammates/ex-teammates for specific plays/decisions.
I was hoping that this would be an "inside" look at the 2004 Sox from the player/clubhouse standpoint. Don't buy it if that's what you're looking for. Unfortunately, it's just an inside look at a player who thinks a lot of himself. I was surprised that he came off like this. I expect it from someone like Schilling, but really thought Damon was more down to earth. Oh well. I'll wait for Bill Mueller or Tim Wakefield to write a book before I buy another one.