"The Natural" Plays Again

By Josh Hamilton, Dallas, Texas

As appeared in

The scene was so familiar I could never have imagined my life was about to enter a tailspin I would almost not survive. But maybe that was because my life had been so charmed up until that point.

I was driving home from a ballgame with my parents that afternoon in March 2001. Mom was in the driver’s seat, I was beside her and Dad was in back. We were talking about the spring-training game I’d just played.

This time I had big news. The manager told me if it were up to him, I’d break camp with the big-league team and be playing in the majors this season.

I don’t mean to boast, but all my life people have called me The Natural. All I knew was, I loved baseball and I believed it was my destiny to play in the major leagues. And now it seemed so close.

Mom turned out of the ballpark parking lot in St. Petersburg, Florida, where my team, the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, trained.

My parents had coached me all my life. I was the hardworking All-American guy who didn’t drink or do drugs, who in high school kissed his grandmother before every game—the can’t-miss prospect Tampa Bay had drafted number one in the country and signed for a record $3.96 million bonus. They’re going to be so excited when they hear what the manager said, I thought.

We stopped at a traffic light. My house was about two minutes away. Mom and Dad lived there too. When I signed my pro contract, they left their jobs to be with me—to cook for me, to give me moral support, to be my off-field coaches. About the only thing we disagreed on was the tattoos I’d gotten recently.

After games I went home with my parents instead of hanging out with my teammates. Some people thought they kept me too sheltered, but I didn’t care. I wanted my parents with me. In fact, if it had been up to me, Granny would have lived there too. Then I still could have kissed her before every game.

The light changed. I couldn’t keep my news bottled up any longer. “The manager told me if it were up to him, I’d be breaking camp with the big-league team,” I blurted out. I paused a second before adding that the team’s executives had overruled the manager. For now.

Dad squeezed my shoulder. “Keep your head up,” he said. “You’re almost there.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw a yellow dump truck barreling toward us. I grabbed Mom and pulled her to me. The truck t-boned us in the right side. There was a terrible crash.

Our car careened down the road and rolled to a stop. I looked around. Thankfully we were all still in one piece. Mom’s neck hurt and Dad took a nasty blow to the head. They went home to North Carolina to recover.