How many of you have heard the term, “One of the best ways to lead is to lead by example?” What about this one – “Character is what you do when you think no one is looking?"
I can remember 5th grade history class like it was yesterday. I was sitting at my desk listening to Mrs. Hibbert teach about World War II and how though it was a great tragedy, great things came after it. She referred to the people that fought in the war, grew up during the preceding depression and came back from the war to rebuild America as the “Greatest Generation." I can vividly recall thinking, "if they’re the greatest generation, what can the other generations that follow possibly do to compare?"
Other journalists aside from Tom Brokaw have named some of the other generations over the years: The Lost (20's), The Silent Generation (50's), Baby Boomers & Generation X (those born after the baby boom).
Friends, I have a question for you: When these tough times we’re in now are over, when President Obama’s legacy is being written, and when we turn our America over to our children and children’s children, WHAT WILL THEY CALL OUR GENERATION? Names have meaning and I'm not sure I like what I see.
Let’s take a look at things from a very high level shall we? We'll start with the government, it's an easy target! Three examples come to mind:
1. We voted to approve a nearly $800B stimulus package in order to "rescue" the country and pull us out of a recession. I'm not saying that we should have done nothing along these lines, but $800 Billion? Here's my issue with this - what kind of debt will future generations be stuck with because of our unwillingness to deal with this problem responsibly? This action epitomizes passing the buck in my mind. This country was built on the backs of people that were mindful of the future and our posterity. This narrow-minded focus seems awfully selfish to me.
2. We’re doing everything we can to prevent big companies like GM from going out of business by giving them money when they’ve proven they can’t responsibly handle their own! In what dream world to the people making these decisions live in? When I was a kid, hell even now, if I don't do my job, my boss would fire me, not give me more responsibility! What kind of example are we setting here? Is it just me that's confused?
3. We’re printing more money today than we ever have in the history of our country – it’s just paper!! And worth about as much as a sheet of paper! Enough said.
Ok, so maybe the business world is better?
1. Madoff, Ebers, Skilling, Nacchio – all these names have something in common: none of them chose to play by the rules and now many Americans are still suffering the consequences. Regulatory Compliance (while it's helping pay my bills) is out of control because of a few that decided they were above the rules!
2. What about our selfish mentality? Of course we all want to work to get ahead and provide for ourselves and our families, but at what costs? Business today is moving faster and faster and leaving behind it a trail of debt and destruction all in the name of making $5 for every $1 we spend. It's scary to me to think about what implications this greedy mentality will have on our future as a nation.
3. Our National Pride really sucks. We send more and more work everyday to offshore, nearshore, and outsourced international companies. All in the name of saving a few dollars, and we wonder why we’re having a hard time finding jobs for everyone???
The Business world is not better.
So that leaves our private, family lives. That's got to be better right?
1. Stuff = Status – 80% of Americans are living beyond their means. We have enough debt as Americans to pay off the national debt of China (ok that's a joke). We have created a culture where the more cool stuff you have, the more status you have. I'm not pretending that I don't want the "stuff", because I do, and I actually have too much of it already, but my concern here again is what are we teaching our kids?
2. Instant Gratification: Nothing new here. The art of saving money is LOST! Amy and I are currently taking a money management class. We've found that when you have a baby, the dollars need to be stretched and saved even more. I bring this up because our instructor used this example in class that rocked me to my core. He pulled out an old "Budget Book" from the 1940's. It was basically what looked like a small day planner, but it had envelopes in it instead of pages. He pointed out that among the envelope labels of "Groceries", "Bills", and "Clothes" there was one envelope that simply said "Hawaii." OH MY GOSH!! WHAT A CONCEPT! SAVING FOR A VACATION? You mean they didn't just put it on the Visa and acquire debt? This is the mentality that's missing. It's not about what we deserve in life, it's about what we earn! Our instructor eloquently said, "Ladies & Gentlemen, the best vacations in the world are the ones that don't follow you home." AMEN!
3. A Hard-Earned Buck – 48% of American kids between the ages of 13 & 18 today have some kind of access to their parents’ bank accounts. WHAT? There are so many things wrong with this on so many levels.
If they wrote a history book chapter right now about the state of the nation today – would it compare to the attitude and values exemplified by the Greatest Generation? I think not.
I would like to issue a challenge to those of you who have made it this far through my rant. We are at a point in our own history where it is more critical than ever, to LEAD BY EXAMPLE.
So what does that mean? Am I asking you to change the way the President thinks? NO.
Am I asking you to protest big business? NO. Am I asking us all to live a neat little self-contained life where we do not indulge or enjoy the world around us once in a while? NO.
I’m asking all of us to take responsibility for our own actions to make peace with our own circumstances and stop blaming everyone else for the challenges we’re facing today and to stop making excuses and start producing results. The next generation is watching. They're watching what we do, what we say and more importantly, how we act and make decisions in the face of adversity. We need to teach our children and encourage each other that there is great pride and ultimately greater chances for success for those that chose to take responsibility for themselves. Our actions speak much louder than our words.
We have to CHOOSE to see these times as an opportunity to change the future for our children and our children’s children. There is no greater testimony to what our generation stands for than to simply look at the legacy we leave behind. I for one, hope that we all choose to stand for responsibility to ourselves and to others.
We must chose to lead by example with our own lives and with our own choices. Our future, and more importantly the future of posterity depends on it. If we can grasp that concept, then maybe, just maybe, elementary school teachers will someday talk about another "Greatest Generation."
3.10.2009
2.25.2009
Play Ball!
Today, February 25, 2009 is a great day! Today, the past becomes completely irrelevant. Today, everyone gets a chance to start over. Today, marks the official beginning of the 2009 Major League Baseball Season! Yes, it's true that Spring Training started two weeks ago, but it's never really official until two teams square off in Florida or Arizona in late February. Spring Training is its own animal - third color jerseys, guys wearing numbers north of 50 on their backs, rookies taking the field with or against the guys that they idolized growing up, catchers lined up 12 abreast catching bullpens, and hundreds of fans coming out to see the game. It brings a feeling of a fresh, new beginning each spring that you won't find in any other sport. Players are gearing up for a grueling marathon that will consume their minds for the next 6 months, and only those that are determined, committed and even lucky enough, will be playing in October for eternal glory.
It's baseball. Our national pastime. The only game in the world where the ability to endure failure and rise above it is truly a daily occurrence. This season will no doubt be remembered for it's own version of drama - walk off homers, maybe a no-hitter or two, perhaps we'll see the last 300 game winner ever?
It will also be remembered for another thing. America is at a crucial turning point in its history. Unemployment is the highest it's been in a long time, people are going to jail for tax fraud, insider trading, cheating the government, and banks are disappearing over night. What was once the leading, free market economy in the world is now a hollow shell that makes the "good old days" seem light years away. Baseball represents a return to simplicity. A return to what is...normal; an example of what has carried us through the tough times in the past, and it can do it again!
As Americans usher in a new beginning in this baseball season, I can't help but feel we'll also usher in a new sense of hope. Not because of our President, not because of a ridiculous stimulus package, but because of the grit, determination and pride that this great country was built on. We all come from a long line of brave, proud, old-school people that are responsible for weaving the tapestry of this country that has represented strength and the ability to achieve anything to the rest of the world.
We all have a decision to make, and I hope we all decide to roll up our sleeves and get tough. We need to remember who we are and that it's up to us to own our future. Be positive! Be confident! With all that said...PLAY BALL!
It's baseball. Our national pastime. The only game in the world where the ability to endure failure and rise above it is truly a daily occurrence. This season will no doubt be remembered for it's own version of drama - walk off homers, maybe a no-hitter or two, perhaps we'll see the last 300 game winner ever?
It will also be remembered for another thing. America is at a crucial turning point in its history. Unemployment is the highest it's been in a long time, people are going to jail for tax fraud, insider trading, cheating the government, and banks are disappearing over night. What was once the leading, free market economy in the world is now a hollow shell that makes the "good old days" seem light years away. Baseball represents a return to simplicity. A return to what is...normal; an example of what has carried us through the tough times in the past, and it can do it again!
As Americans usher in a new beginning in this baseball season, I can't help but feel we'll also usher in a new sense of hope. Not because of our President, not because of a ridiculous stimulus package, but because of the grit, determination and pride that this great country was built on. We all come from a long line of brave, proud, old-school people that are responsible for weaving the tapestry of this country that has represented strength and the ability to achieve anything to the rest of the world.
We all have a decision to make, and I hope we all decide to roll up our sleeves and get tough. We need to remember who we are and that it's up to us to own our future. Be positive! Be confident! With all that said...PLAY BALL!
2.07.2009
Great Quote
"Wonder is rooted in the deep reverance for the God who made all things."-- Ben Patterson
Recently I was listening to some old sermons from college and I came across this one-liner from Ben.
What a great thought to meditate on!
Recently I was listening to some old sermons from college and I came across this one-liner from Ben.
What a great thought to meditate on!
2.06.2009
Making Sense Of All This
This week has been an interesting one! It's amazing when you look back on a week like this one and you realize all that you forgot, all that you wish you'd have done differently, and all that you did somehow manage to experience.
This week, I kept thinking back to C.S. Lewis' quote: "If we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered to us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased."
Indeed, if I'd taken two extra minutes each day to put things in perspective this week, I would realize that we've been promised so much more than what we have. Let me elaborate...
The newest source of joy in my life is my 3 month-old son Brady. When I hold him, look into his eyes, talk to him and hear him talk back to me in "goos" and "gaas" I am overcome with gratitude, love and amazement over this beautiful little life that God has blessed me with. When I see Brady and play with him or just hold him and watch him sleep, it makes all my worries, all my frustrations and all my issues just melt away. If you're not a parent, you've never experienced anything like this feeling, I promise. However, God has put on my heart the thought of these "unblushing promises" that Lewis references this week and I must say it has really wrapped me around the axle. Even something so sacred and close to the fiber of my being as holding my baby boy just pales in comparison to what our Father has in store for us! The human mind cannot comprehend the depth of that kind of love!
What we can do is rest in it and declare it to our hearts. We are so loved by the Father, that not even the love of our own children is comparable. The Father chose us, He blessed us, and He has made these promises to us!
Friends if you read this, please don't make the same mistake that I have. Take a moment, reflect on what gives you pure joy, and then remember that so much more is offered us! It'll rock your world.
This week, I kept thinking back to C.S. Lewis' quote: "If we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered to us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased."
Indeed, if I'd taken two extra minutes each day to put things in perspective this week, I would realize that we've been promised so much more than what we have. Let me elaborate...
The newest source of joy in my life is my 3 month-old son Brady. When I hold him, look into his eyes, talk to him and hear him talk back to me in "goos" and "gaas" I am overcome with gratitude, love and amazement over this beautiful little life that God has blessed me with. When I see Brady and play with him or just hold him and watch him sleep, it makes all my worries, all my frustrations and all my issues just melt away. If you're not a parent, you've never experienced anything like this feeling, I promise. However, God has put on my heart the thought of these "unblushing promises" that Lewis references this week and I must say it has really wrapped me around the axle. Even something so sacred and close to the fiber of my being as holding my baby boy just pales in comparison to what our Father has in store for us! The human mind cannot comprehend the depth of that kind of love!
What we can do is rest in it and declare it to our hearts. We are so loved by the Father, that not even the love of our own children is comparable. The Father chose us, He blessed us, and He has made these promises to us!
Friends if you read this, please don't make the same mistake that I have. Take a moment, reflect on what gives you pure joy, and then remember that so much more is offered us! It'll rock your world.
3.26.2008
Futures at Fenway
Last summer, I got to go and watch my brother play a minor league baseball game at Fenway Park. It was an amazing experience that I will not soon forget! The following is a quick brain dump of my experience that I wrote at 3:00am after seeing Steve play at Fenway earlier the day before...
Futures at Fenway Game – Fenway Park - Boston, MA
Saturday, August 11, 2007
“Ray, people will come Ray. They'll come to Iowa for reasons they can't even fathom. They'll turn up your driveway not knowing for sure why they're doing it. They'll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past. Of course, we won't mind if you look around, you'll say. It's only $20 per person. They'll pass over the money without even thinking about it: for it is money they have and peace they lack. And they'll walk out to the bleachers; sit in shirtsleeves on a perfect afternoon. They'll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes. And they'll watch the game and it'll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces. The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it's a part of our past. It reminds us of all that once was good and it could be again. Oh... people will come Ray. People will most definitely come.”
--Terrance Mann, “Field of Dreams”
I came. I came to Boston. When I woke up this morning I felt normal, until I was sitting on a train headed for Boston from Lowell, MA. It still hadn’t set in with me that I was on my way to Fenway Park. Maybe the fact that I wasn’t totally ecstatic to be making my second trip to the most storied baseball field in history says something about my upbringing, or my lack of emotion, or both. When we got off the Green line train in downtown Boston, everything changed. As we climbed the stairs up to the street, I saw something that suddenly triggered every nerve in my body and I was literally trembling with excitement. The large “CITGO” petroleum sign that was mounted above one of the many downtown office buildings was instantly recognizable to me. This might be one of the most recognizable ads to any red-blooded, American baseball fan ever. If you’ve seen the movie “Field of Dreams” you know what I’m talking about. This sign, either during the day, or illuminated at night is easily visible as it is at least 75 feet wide. The most notable thing about this sign, however, is that it lies only three city blocks and across the Massachusetts Turnpike from Fenway Park. When I saw this sign, I knew we were close!
My parents and I could not believe the amount of people in Red Sox garb, it was unbelievable! The Red Sox weren’t even playing today. I was looking down at my feet as we walked and just trying to ponder the ridiculousness of what I was about to witness. As I began to lose myself in my thoughts about baseball I looked up and there it was. Perhaps it looked just like any other baseball field to the average eye, but to me it was unmistakable. Just beyond the next block stood a pure white light tower anchored to the green railing that sits atop the most well-known wall in all of baseball, the Green Monster. We had arrived! I could hear the organ music playing from more than a block away and all of a sudden it hit me that today would be unlike any other day I have ever experienced in my 25 year love affair with America’s National Pastime.
We kept walking, not a sound from anyone. Mom, Dad and I all realized for the first time that day what we were doing, where we were, and how big this whole day really was. We stopped and I pulled my camera out, I zoomed in perfectly on the street sign that was backdropped by a perfect blue sky and snapped the picture, “Yawkey Way” showed up perfectly on the preview screen, we were now officially at Fenway Park. It’s true that any baseball junkie will be able to tell you that when you go to a game at Fenway, it takes you back in time to the way baseball used to be. The food is greasy, it smells like beer and peanuts and everything around you is the same as it was back in 1912. The underbelly of the ballpark is not attractive because back in the day, it was all about the game between the lines; the seats were closer to the field and the whole setting was intimate. Today going to a baseball game is completely different with the sushi joints and premium wine bars you see in the new ballparks. The seats are more spread out and there are more options when it comes to tickets. But how many people truly stop and admire the details of Fenway from the outside? I did.
I intentionally snapped a lot of pictures to capture the significance of today from all possible perspectives. I took shots of the banners outside on Yawkey Way telling me that I was at Fenway Park, Home of the Boston Red Sox. I took pictures of the dark red bricks that were coated with dust and soot from almost 100 years of hosting the Boys of Summer in Boston. Then I focused my attention on the sign that proudly overlooked the main gate, “Fenway Park, 1912”. As I walked through the turnstiles out in the middle of the street (Fenway was built such a long time ago, that the main gate is literally on the sidewalk of Yawkey Way and can’t safely accommodate today’s much larger Red Sox Nation, so they shut down the entire street.) I could hardly contain myself. Down the ramp, around the hot dog stand and past the souvenir booth, through the tunnel and out into the sun-drenched Saturday late morning. The organ was playing “Runaround Sue” and the field was set up for batting practice. I walked through the tiny red and blue seats that have witnessed so many great moments in Red Sox history up to the three foot brick wall that separates the fans behind home plate from the field. As my eyes frantically searched the field, they suddenly locked on a familiar set of hands held just above the helmet.
Twirling the bat above his left shoulder, he set himself, loaded and cracked a screaming line drive that shot between first and second and rolled into the right field corner past Pesky’s Pole. Immediately afterward he pulled his helmet off and filled it with baseballs that were sitting in the cage and ran them out to the mound and dumped them into the bucket. He walked slowly back to the cage, grabbed his bat and circled around behind it. After my initial shock, I raised my camera and snapped some quick photos. He wore his pants up, his shirt was sweaty and I’ve never seen him smile so big, it was my baby brother, and he had just finished taking batting practice at Fenway Park.
As I watched him walk back to the dugout I was overcome with emotion. I don’t think that I’ve ever been more proud of him in my entire life than I was today. As I studied his confident stride to the dugout I realized that he was enjoying himself. He wasn’t nervous and he wasn’t overcome by the fact that he was playing baseball on a field that most people would pay thousands of dollars they don’t have just for the opportunity to walk around on. I followed him as he grabbed his glove and hat and trotted out into left field and then I saw it. Stephen Vogt trotted out into left field and stood under the shadow of The Green Monster. I made my way to the left field line and snapped about 35 more pictures and as I lowered my camera, I saw something that I will never forget.
The bat cracked and Steve took two steps back toward the wall and turned to face the wall. The ball caromed off the Monster and on one perfect hop into Steve’s glove. Stephen Vogt played a fly ball off of the thirty foot left field wall just as a few guys named Yastrzemski and Ramirez had done before him.
I stood there and just watched my brother in awe. As he walked the warning track in left field and shagged fly balls for the remainder of BP, I realized how much he has grown up into a young man that any parent, brother or relative would be blessed to have. He was confident, strong, proud of what he’s accomplished and most of all, humble. It hit me that today was about so much more than baseball. It was about hard work and dedication to something that you’re passionate about. It soon came to me that what I was watching was the fulfillment of a dream. Steve is a hard worker and possesses the unique ability to mentally overcome obstacles that can potentially hinder his progress. I have had the privilege of watching him not be intimidated by things that would get the best of most people and I attribute this to his determination and confidence.
As my thought process began to get the best of my emotions, I was jolted out of my head and back to reality when Steve whistled at me and jogged over to where I was standing. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out an official Major League Baseball and slapped it into the palm of my outstretched hand. Hundreds of thousands of people flock to major and minor league ballparks each summer with the hopes of securing a coveted baseball. There’s something about getting a baseball from a pro ballplayer that makes even the most seasoned baseball junkie act like a little kid again. I don’t know what it is and I won’t attempt to explain why people go nuts over getting a baseball.
I think for me, it was the significance of the gesture that meant so much to me. Steve and I dreamed of being pro ballplayers for as long as I can remember and he is the one that made it happen. I viewed this gesture as his way of sharing his pro experience with me. There’s no way I’ll ever field a fly ball on a pro baseball field and I’ll never have a pro at bat, Steve has done both of these things professionally for more than 400 innings already in his short career. He knew that one way to connect me to the game today, even if it was just a little bit, was to come over and hand me a ball. If I hadn’t been moved to tears as I had the day before today when I saw him play professional baseball for the first time, this might have pushed me over the edge, but not today. My displays of emotion are few and far between and I wasn’t about to have a breakdown two days in a row.
One of my fondest and most permanent memories of this trip will always be of the 20 minutes my parents and I spent just talking with Steve as he stood on the field at Fenway and we sat on the short brick wall that separated the fans along the third base line and the field. We talked about growing up, about what it felt like to be at Fenway to watch him and how proud we were of him. We snapped pictures, gave hugs, laughed and even cried, but just a little bit. Soon after our conversation, Steve ran off to the clubhouse to change into his jersey, game time was just around the corner.
The organ music halted and the Boston Red Sox PA announcer broke the silence by announcing the starting lineup. I grabbed my camera and got ready and sure enough, it came: “Batting in the fifth spot for Hudson Valley, the left fielder, number 30, Stephen Vogt.” It sent chills up my spine, but there was no time to lose. I quickly snapped a picture of the jumbo-tron at Fenway that bore Steve’s picture and name. How many people in this country can say their name has been posted in a starting lineup at Fenway Park?
The game commenced uneventfully in the Top of the first inning, three up, three down. I immediately jumped up with my camera at the ready. Steve bolted onto the field, his strides hammering the dirt first and then the cool, deep green grass of Fenway Park’s left field. As I watched him effortlessly toss the ball back and forth with the Right Fielder I had one of those moments where all the noise around me ceased to exist and all I saw was my surrounding environment. The sun made the grass sparkle, the stands at Fenway Park were full and 34,746 people watched as the biggest, puffiest, whitest clouds you’ve ever seen floated by the light towers up against the blue sky; it was a perfect day for baseball. While the game rolled along, I was completely overcome by the fact that Steve was here playing baseball. I flew to Boston to see Steve play, I jumped on the subway to come see Steve play. I walked through downtown Boston to see Steve play and I came through the gate at Fenway Park, to see my brother Steve play the game that we both love.
What was without a doubt the best moment of the day came in the sixth inning. Steve stepped up to the plate to lead off the top of the inning. As he strolled up to the plate, the baseball player in me was very jealous. Steve was kicking at the dirt in the left-handed batters box at Fenway Park! As he prepared to step into the exact same batter’s box as Ted Williams, Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig, I could feel the collision of past and present happen right in front of my face. Fenway is a baseball cathedral of sorts, a hallowed shrine dedicated to some of the most storied players and events in baseball’s rich history and my brother was now part of a select group that has been allowed to stride upon that sacred ground.
It was then that I saw what will be my greatest memory of Steve’s career thus far. A 1-1 pitch was offered on the outside corner, I heard the wood bat pop as Steve tattooed the ball into the left field gap. The ball was hit on a line and as it took one hop, the steel of the out-of-town scoreboard on the Monster thundered as the ball hit it. Steve rounded first and slid into second base. He was safe, it was a double. Stephen Vogt had just doubled off the Monster at Fenway Park in front of 34,746 people. I jumped out of my seat, screamed for him and clapped as loud as I could. I high-fived my Dad, hugged my Mom and was overcome with pride and joy.
When I sat back down in my seat my eyes were on Steve at second base. The man behind me tapped me on the shoulder and asked, “I have to know how you know that young man. I have never seen anyone cheer like that for a player.” I looked this man that I knew I would never see again in my entire life right in the eyes and said, “That’s Stephen Vogt, he is my brother.”
The game moved on and in the tradition of Fenway Park, the whole crowd sang along in the middle of the 8th to “Sweet Caroline”. I was singing along with the sellout crowd as I again watched Steve warm up in left field. I looked hard and I’m pretty sure that I saw him singing too. The game ended after 9 of the most glorious innings I have ever witnessed. Steve’s team did not win the game, but for me, it was not about winning or losing; not today. Today was about pride, love, joy and commitment to my brother and wanting to be a part of his achievement. While I’m sure that Steve is upset they didn’t win, I know that this is a day that I will remember for the rest of my life as the day that I saw my dream for him come true.
Futures at Fenway Game – Fenway Park - Boston, MA
Saturday, August 11, 2007
“Ray, people will come Ray. They'll come to Iowa for reasons they can't even fathom. They'll turn up your driveway not knowing for sure why they're doing it. They'll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past. Of course, we won't mind if you look around, you'll say. It's only $20 per person. They'll pass over the money without even thinking about it: for it is money they have and peace they lack. And they'll walk out to the bleachers; sit in shirtsleeves on a perfect afternoon. They'll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes. And they'll watch the game and it'll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces. The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it's a part of our past. It reminds us of all that once was good and it could be again. Oh... people will come Ray. People will most definitely come.”
--Terrance Mann, “Field of Dreams”
I came. I came to Boston. When I woke up this morning I felt normal, until I was sitting on a train headed for Boston from Lowell, MA. It still hadn’t set in with me that I was on my way to Fenway Park. Maybe the fact that I wasn’t totally ecstatic to be making my second trip to the most storied baseball field in history says something about my upbringing, or my lack of emotion, or both. When we got off the Green line train in downtown Boston, everything changed. As we climbed the stairs up to the street, I saw something that suddenly triggered every nerve in my body and I was literally trembling with excitement. The large “CITGO” petroleum sign that was mounted above one of the many downtown office buildings was instantly recognizable to me. This might be one of the most recognizable ads to any red-blooded, American baseball fan ever. If you’ve seen the movie “Field of Dreams” you know what I’m talking about. This sign, either during the day, or illuminated at night is easily visible as it is at least 75 feet wide. The most notable thing about this sign, however, is that it lies only three city blocks and across the Massachusetts Turnpike from Fenway Park. When I saw this sign, I knew we were close!
My parents and I could not believe the amount of people in Red Sox garb, it was unbelievable! The Red Sox weren’t even playing today. I was looking down at my feet as we walked and just trying to ponder the ridiculousness of what I was about to witness. As I began to lose myself in my thoughts about baseball I looked up and there it was. Perhaps it looked just like any other baseball field to the average eye, but to me it was unmistakable. Just beyond the next block stood a pure white light tower anchored to the green railing that sits atop the most well-known wall in all of baseball, the Green Monster. We had arrived! I could hear the organ music playing from more than a block away and all of a sudden it hit me that today would be unlike any other day I have ever experienced in my 25 year love affair with America’s National Pastime.
We kept walking, not a sound from anyone. Mom, Dad and I all realized for the first time that day what we were doing, where we were, and how big this whole day really was. We stopped and I pulled my camera out, I zoomed in perfectly on the street sign that was backdropped by a perfect blue sky and snapped the picture, “Yawkey Way” showed up perfectly on the preview screen, we were now officially at Fenway Park. It’s true that any baseball junkie will be able to tell you that when you go to a game at Fenway, it takes you back in time to the way baseball used to be. The food is greasy, it smells like beer and peanuts and everything around you is the same as it was back in 1912. The underbelly of the ballpark is not attractive because back in the day, it was all about the game between the lines; the seats were closer to the field and the whole setting was intimate. Today going to a baseball game is completely different with the sushi joints and premium wine bars you see in the new ballparks. The seats are more spread out and there are more options when it comes to tickets. But how many people truly stop and admire the details of Fenway from the outside? I did.
I intentionally snapped a lot of pictures to capture the significance of today from all possible perspectives. I took shots of the banners outside on Yawkey Way telling me that I was at Fenway Park, Home of the Boston Red Sox. I took pictures of the dark red bricks that were coated with dust and soot from almost 100 years of hosting the Boys of Summer in Boston. Then I focused my attention on the sign that proudly overlooked the main gate, “Fenway Park, 1912”. As I walked through the turnstiles out in the middle of the street (Fenway was built such a long time ago, that the main gate is literally on the sidewalk of Yawkey Way and can’t safely accommodate today’s much larger Red Sox Nation, so they shut down the entire street.) I could hardly contain myself. Down the ramp, around the hot dog stand and past the souvenir booth, through the tunnel and out into the sun-drenched Saturday late morning. The organ was playing “Runaround Sue” and the field was set up for batting practice. I walked through the tiny red and blue seats that have witnessed so many great moments in Red Sox history up to the three foot brick wall that separates the fans behind home plate from the field. As my eyes frantically searched the field, they suddenly locked on a familiar set of hands held just above the helmet.
Twirling the bat above his left shoulder, he set himself, loaded and cracked a screaming line drive that shot between first and second and rolled into the right field corner past Pesky’s Pole. Immediately afterward he pulled his helmet off and filled it with baseballs that were sitting in the cage and ran them out to the mound and dumped them into the bucket. He walked slowly back to the cage, grabbed his bat and circled around behind it. After my initial shock, I raised my camera and snapped some quick photos. He wore his pants up, his shirt was sweaty and I’ve never seen him smile so big, it was my baby brother, and he had just finished taking batting practice at Fenway Park.
As I watched him walk back to the dugout I was overcome with emotion. I don’t think that I’ve ever been more proud of him in my entire life than I was today. As I studied his confident stride to the dugout I realized that he was enjoying himself. He wasn’t nervous and he wasn’t overcome by the fact that he was playing baseball on a field that most people would pay thousands of dollars they don’t have just for the opportunity to walk around on. I followed him as he grabbed his glove and hat and trotted out into left field and then I saw it. Stephen Vogt trotted out into left field and stood under the shadow of The Green Monster. I made my way to the left field line and snapped about 35 more pictures and as I lowered my camera, I saw something that I will never forget.
The bat cracked and Steve took two steps back toward the wall and turned to face the wall. The ball caromed off the Monster and on one perfect hop into Steve’s glove. Stephen Vogt played a fly ball off of the thirty foot left field wall just as a few guys named Yastrzemski and Ramirez had done before him.
I stood there and just watched my brother in awe. As he walked the warning track in left field and shagged fly balls for the remainder of BP, I realized how much he has grown up into a young man that any parent, brother or relative would be blessed to have. He was confident, strong, proud of what he’s accomplished and most of all, humble. It hit me that today was about so much more than baseball. It was about hard work and dedication to something that you’re passionate about. It soon came to me that what I was watching was the fulfillment of a dream. Steve is a hard worker and possesses the unique ability to mentally overcome obstacles that can potentially hinder his progress. I have had the privilege of watching him not be intimidated by things that would get the best of most people and I attribute this to his determination and confidence.
As my thought process began to get the best of my emotions, I was jolted out of my head and back to reality when Steve whistled at me and jogged over to where I was standing. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out an official Major League Baseball and slapped it into the palm of my outstretched hand. Hundreds of thousands of people flock to major and minor league ballparks each summer with the hopes of securing a coveted baseball. There’s something about getting a baseball from a pro ballplayer that makes even the most seasoned baseball junkie act like a little kid again. I don’t know what it is and I won’t attempt to explain why people go nuts over getting a baseball.
I think for me, it was the significance of the gesture that meant so much to me. Steve and I dreamed of being pro ballplayers for as long as I can remember and he is the one that made it happen. I viewed this gesture as his way of sharing his pro experience with me. There’s no way I’ll ever field a fly ball on a pro baseball field and I’ll never have a pro at bat, Steve has done both of these things professionally for more than 400 innings already in his short career. He knew that one way to connect me to the game today, even if it was just a little bit, was to come over and hand me a ball. If I hadn’t been moved to tears as I had the day before today when I saw him play professional baseball for the first time, this might have pushed me over the edge, but not today. My displays of emotion are few and far between and I wasn’t about to have a breakdown two days in a row.
One of my fondest and most permanent memories of this trip will always be of the 20 minutes my parents and I spent just talking with Steve as he stood on the field at Fenway and we sat on the short brick wall that separated the fans along the third base line and the field. We talked about growing up, about what it felt like to be at Fenway to watch him and how proud we were of him. We snapped pictures, gave hugs, laughed and even cried, but just a little bit. Soon after our conversation, Steve ran off to the clubhouse to change into his jersey, game time was just around the corner.
The organ music halted and the Boston Red Sox PA announcer broke the silence by announcing the starting lineup. I grabbed my camera and got ready and sure enough, it came: “Batting in the fifth spot for Hudson Valley, the left fielder, number 30, Stephen Vogt.” It sent chills up my spine, but there was no time to lose. I quickly snapped a picture of the jumbo-tron at Fenway that bore Steve’s picture and name. How many people in this country can say their name has been posted in a starting lineup at Fenway Park?
The game commenced uneventfully in the Top of the first inning, three up, three down. I immediately jumped up with my camera at the ready. Steve bolted onto the field, his strides hammering the dirt first and then the cool, deep green grass of Fenway Park’s left field. As I watched him effortlessly toss the ball back and forth with the Right Fielder I had one of those moments where all the noise around me ceased to exist and all I saw was my surrounding environment. The sun made the grass sparkle, the stands at Fenway Park were full and 34,746 people watched as the biggest, puffiest, whitest clouds you’ve ever seen floated by the light towers up against the blue sky; it was a perfect day for baseball. While the game rolled along, I was completely overcome by the fact that Steve was here playing baseball. I flew to Boston to see Steve play, I jumped on the subway to come see Steve play. I walked through downtown Boston to see Steve play and I came through the gate at Fenway Park, to see my brother Steve play the game that we both love.
What was without a doubt the best moment of the day came in the sixth inning. Steve stepped up to the plate to lead off the top of the inning. As he strolled up to the plate, the baseball player in me was very jealous. Steve was kicking at the dirt in the left-handed batters box at Fenway Park! As he prepared to step into the exact same batter’s box as Ted Williams, Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig, I could feel the collision of past and present happen right in front of my face. Fenway is a baseball cathedral of sorts, a hallowed shrine dedicated to some of the most storied players and events in baseball’s rich history and my brother was now part of a select group that has been allowed to stride upon that sacred ground.
It was then that I saw what will be my greatest memory of Steve’s career thus far. A 1-1 pitch was offered on the outside corner, I heard the wood bat pop as Steve tattooed the ball into the left field gap. The ball was hit on a line and as it took one hop, the steel of the out-of-town scoreboard on the Monster thundered as the ball hit it. Steve rounded first and slid into second base. He was safe, it was a double. Stephen Vogt had just doubled off the Monster at Fenway Park in front of 34,746 people. I jumped out of my seat, screamed for him and clapped as loud as I could. I high-fived my Dad, hugged my Mom and was overcome with pride and joy.
When I sat back down in my seat my eyes were on Steve at second base. The man behind me tapped me on the shoulder and asked, “I have to know how you know that young man. I have never seen anyone cheer like that for a player.” I looked this man that I knew I would never see again in my entire life right in the eyes and said, “That’s Stephen Vogt, he is my brother.”
The game moved on and in the tradition of Fenway Park, the whole crowd sang along in the middle of the 8th to “Sweet Caroline”. I was singing along with the sellout crowd as I again watched Steve warm up in left field. I looked hard and I’m pretty sure that I saw him singing too. The game ended after 9 of the most glorious innings I have ever witnessed. Steve’s team did not win the game, but for me, it was not about winning or losing; not today. Today was about pride, love, joy and commitment to my brother and wanting to be a part of his achievement. While I’m sure that Steve is upset they didn’t win, I know that this is a day that I will remember for the rest of my life as the day that I saw my dream for him come true.
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Hello! I'm very new to this whole blogging thing. Here I intend to post random thoughts, articles and whatever else strikes the 'ol fancy!
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