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 Listen to Mom, Straw
Posted: Wednesday August 04, 1999 02:46 PM
My mother, a good woman and an ex-probation officer, pulled the car to the side of the road. We were in New York City. I was 7. "Jeffrey, life is difficult," she said, slowly measuring each word. "So I want you to remember this -- more than anything anyone ever, ever, EVER tells you." I gulped, eyes wide, hands shaking. "If you're in Tampa," Mom said, sternly, "and you're looking to bang a ho, promise me two things ..." Again, a gulp. "First, make sure -- extra, extra sure -- she isn't an undercover police officer." "And second, whatever you do, don't hand her the rolled twenty you just used to snort coke." "O.K., honey?" I love my mom. Everyone needs a mother like mine -- so wise, so insightful, so real. I have always felt that, had Darryl Strawberry been incubated to my mother, things would've worked out quite differently. Who knows? Perhaps, instead of being a multiple offender and a baseball player, he'd be a doctor! A lawyer! A sportswriter! Instead, he is a multiple offender and a baseball player. One who is likely to offend again. I recall the day George Steinbrenner signed Darryl Strawberry to that first contract. It was June 19, 1995. The February before, after just 39 games with San Francisco, Straw had been suspended by Major League Baseball for violating the substance abuse policy. This day, Steinbrenner sounded mad. "If you cross me," he told his new DH, "you'll be sorry you ever met me." A pause. "Now go hit some homers, big fella ..." On April 14, 1999, while rehabbing from cancer, Strawberry -- married, father of four -- was riding through a bad section of Tampa, checking out the honeys, blasting The Carpenters' Greatest Hits, when he came upon a woman in a neon pink mini. At the time, Straw claimed he was asking for directions or seeing if she needed help or counting the number of buttons on her skirt -- something of that nature. After all, what kind of guy lets a lonely woman in a neon pink mini stand on a street corner in a bad section of town on a dark Florida night? (Answer: Not Straw). Of course, as the story goes, Darrrrrr-ylllllll was arrested for solicitation and possession, suspended (once again) and humiliated. Being an addict, he denied everything at first -- "Uhhh ... what's cocaine?" -- then spoke of the difficulties life presents an athlete of Darryl Strawberry's caliber. There are pressures and temptations; ups and downs. One minute, he was a world champion. The next, he was going through chemo, out of the spotlight, alone, nobody but The Carpenters and a cross-street hooker to turn to. This week, Strawberry -- reinstated by Bud Selig -- begins his short, easy journey on the road back. He will report to Triple A Columbus, play a few games, hit a few homers, rejoin the Yanks and win another Series. He will continue to praise Jesus and preach recovery and thank "my wife and my teammates for their unyielding support." He will, undoubtedly, tell Big George that, finally, finally, finally, he is clean and sober. I can hear the yet-to-be-uttered words ooze from Strawberry's mouth. "I don't know what I'd do without baseball." He is 37 years old. At most, he has two years left as an athlete. One day, sooner than later, he will again be confronted by life without the game. He'll be riding around Tampa, wondering where it all went, a rolled twenty in one hand, the wheel in the other. There will be no more chances. Staff writer Jeff Pearlman offers his unique view on baseball every Tuesday during the season for CNNSI.com. The opinions expressed here are solely those of the writer.
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