His Return to the Majors

By Jim Morris, San Angelo, Texas

WEB EXCLUSIVE

Has there ever been something that you were sure you were meant to do? I wanted to be a pitcher. From the time I was four years old I used to lie in bed at night and dream about playing baseball in the big leagues.

After years of sandlot games, Little League, high school and college ball, I got my shot in 1983 when the Milwaukee Brewers organization picked me in the first round of the draft.

But after a year of pitching in their minor-league system I developed a pain in my throwing arm. I had elbow-reconstruction surgery. I spent all of the 1986 season warming the bench. The next year I threw in just four games, and had to have surgery on my shoulder, which also sidelined me in 1988.

Then, during spring training in 1989, I was tossing a few balls to loosen up when I felt something give in my shoulder. I’d popped a ligament. I was only 25 years old and my career was over. I never even made it to the Show—what ballplayers call the majors.

I went back home to Texas, where my wife, Lorri, and I talked a lot about what I’d do next. We decided that if I couldn’t pitch, I’d finish college and get certified to become a schoolteacher. I had another surgery, to remove a three-inch bone spur from my shoulder. For the first time in years my left arm was pain-free, and I realized, Maybe I can’t play at the level I used to, but I can still be part of the game. So I started coaching here and there, and even got back on the mound to toss batting practice.

That’s how I ended up at Reagan County High School, teaching science—and coaching the baseball team. I had my work cut out for me. The Reagan County Owls had only three wins in each of the previous three years. Still, where some coaches might’ve seen the Bad News Bears, I saw a potential all-star team. The guys just needed to work harder, and hear some encouragement.

Whenever the team lost, it was tough for them to bounce back. But one of the reasons I became a coach was to help kids overcome tests like that. My own baseball days had taught me plenty about facing challenges.

One day in April of 1998 I’d put the team through a tough workout, then sat them down on the outfield grass to have a talk. “Believe me, guys, I know how hard it is,” I said as I looked at their sweaty, tired faces. “But you can’t let up just because of that. You need to set goals and stick to them.” A few boys nodded, and I continued. “It’s fine to dream, even better to dream big. You’ve got to work and pray hard to achieve as much as you can, while you can.”

One of my pitchers piped up. “What about you, Coach? What about your dreams?” he asked. “Don’t you still want to play in the big leagues?”
I chuckled. “I gave that dream up a long time ago,” I told them. “I got married, became a teacher, had kids. Now I’m here coaching you. And I don’t regret any of it. I’m right where the Lord wants me.”

My team wasn’t convinced. “We know how much you love playing ball, Coach,” one of the kids said.

“As hard as you throw, you should be in the majors,” another joked.

There was some laughter, so I teased back, “You just don’t like taking batting practice out in the hot sun.”

My talk had gone over better than I’d expected. The guys wouldn’t let up. They wanted to see me chase a dream, even if it was one I’d put behind me. I loved being a teacher and a coach. Finally we made a deal. “Okay, okay,” I relented, “if you guys get to the playoffs this year, I’ll try out for a major-league team. But you’ve got to understand—my playing days are over.”