Teammate, p.1
Teammate, page 1
Copyright
Copyright © 2017 by David Ross and Don Yaeger
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ISBN 978-0-316-55942-3
E3-20170330-JV-NF
CONTENTS
COVER
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
FOREWORD
PREFACE
CHAPTER 1: “This Wasn’t About Me”
CHAPTER 2: Time for a Nap
CHAPTER 3: Ball Bags
CHAPTER 4: First Pitch
CHAPTER 5: Punch in the Gut
CHAPTER 6: Best Seat in the House
CHAPTER 7: Mike Napoli at the Plate
CHAPTER 8: Contreras off the Wall
CHAPTER 9: Just Continue to Breathe
CHAPTER 10: Call to the Bullpen
CHAPTER 11: A Crazy Five Minutes
CHAPTER 12: Small Redemption
CHAPTER 13: High Anxiety
CHAPTER 14: Rain Delay
CHAPTER 15: Cubs Win, Cubs Win
CHAPTER 16: Homecoming
CHAPTER 17: Wrigley
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
PHOTOS
NEWSLETTERS
I am looking forward to the next chapters in my life and growing with my team, Team Ross. I thank God for all of you, Hyla, Landri, Cole, and Harper. DR
To Jeanette, Will, and Maddie—my mates in the most important team of all: home. DY
FOREWORD
If his story had been submitted as a Hollywood script, it would have been rejected immediately as too corny, too unlikely, too impossible to believe. An aging backup catcher, in the final year of his career, wins over an entire fan base with the force of his personality and helps mold a young team into the very best in baseball. He hits a home run in Game Seven of the World Series and gets carried off the field by his teammates, a retiring hero on top of the world. Impossible to believe? Perhaps, but not for those lucky enough to know David Ross.
I first got to know David in August 2008 at what was likely the nadir of his career. He had just been released by the Cincinnati Reds despite being in the middle of a multiyear contract. He was hitting just .231, but that’s not the entire reason the Reds had decided to let David go. There were whispers out of Cincinnati that he was not a good teammate—that he was having a hard time accepting a diminished role and had become a bit of a headache for management. Others I trusted swore by David as “a great guy and a really smart player,” but the whispers grew louder and David was released.
At the time we were looking to add catching depth to a Red Sox roster that featured veteran backstops Jason Varitek and Kevin Cash and was on the way to its fifth postseason appearance in six years. We had traded Manny Ramirez for Jason Bay weeks earlier to improve the unity in the clubhouse and had a good, solid, talented, professional club. Comforted by those who vouched for him and in need of a veteran “break glass in case of emergency” third catcher, we ignored the whispers and signed David. In full candor, I didn’t expect much from him. I thought he would catch a game or two over the remainder of the season, sit on the bench during the postseason, and move on to the next stop of his career without making much of an impression or impact.
Well, I was right on the first two points. David had just eight at-bats over the final six weeks of the regular season and none in the playoffs. But, man, was I wrong about David not making an impact. Despite being the new guy on the team, despite hardly playing, despite suffering through a tough season, David was adored by his teammates and somehow found his way into the middle of our clubhouse dynamic.
By the time the playoffs came around, he was respected enough that we invited him into our advance scouting meetings along with Varitek and Cash. Again, I didn’t expect much from David. These are big, important meetings with the front office, manager Terry Francona, and the whole coaching staff. Typically, advance scout Dana LeVangie and Varitek—both expert in this role—would take the lead breaking down opposing hitters, and pitching coach John Farrell, Tito, and a few of us in the front office would chime in. The third-string catcher was not usually present, let alone vocal. Except for David. He spoke up early and often, in a strong and authoritative voice, making insightful points about every opposing hitter. He wasn’t afraid to disagree, even with Varitek, and quickly won over the room. By the third or fourth hitter we discussed, others were deferring to Ross, the backup’s backup who up until the last six weeks had spent his entire career in the other league.
“That was impressive,” I remember telling Assistant General Manager Jed Hoyer. “We should keep an eye on him… might make a good scout or coach when he’s done playing.” A couple of weeks later, the day after our demoralizing season-ending loss to the Tampa Bay Rays in Game Seven of the American League Championship Series, David and his teammates were cleaning out their lockers at Fenway Park. I asked to speak to him in private.
“Look, David, you were terrific on this team; everyone loved having you around. I don’t know exactly what went down in Cincinnati, but there are some things you should know. You were getting a bit of a bad reputation over there—not the greatest teammate, not accepting of your role, a bit of a pain in the ass for everybody. That doesn’t sound like you, but it wasn’t from just one person and I thought you would want to know. You can still do a lot of things on the field: you have power, you can hit left-handed pitching, you can catch and throw, you can break down hitters. You can play a long time, but you profile best as a backup at this point and you have to accept that. And that means being a great teammate and doing whatever is necessary to help the team win. You’re a free agent; I just thought you would want to hear what’s being said about you. Thanks for what you did for us.”
And that was that. I’ve had many similar conversations with other players over the years; it was nothing remarkable. I expected David to kick around as a backup for a few more years before retiring. Maybe then we would make the call to see if he was ready to try scouting or coaching. Yet again, I made the mistake of underestimating David Ross.
Six years later, I was looking for a catcher again. Besides that, everything had changed. I was in Chicago, not Boston, and we had just signed Jon Lester to help turn a young, talented team into a contender. David had spent four years as a prolific backup catcher with the Atlanta Braves, making real contributions as a fine two-way player and becoming one of manager Bobby Cox’s go-to veteran leaders in the clubhouse. Then, in a two-year stint back with the Red Sox, he was at the epicenter of the band of bearded brothers who galvanized a region after the Boston Marathon Bombing and won the 2013 World Series. David only caught 36 games during the season, but, remarkably, his manager and his teammates demanded that he be on the field when things mattered most during the Fall Classic. David caught all four of Boston’s wins in the World Series. By this point he was well established as a great teammate and leader, someone thoughtful about winning and willing to put in the work to make it happen. With Lester’s urging, we signed David despite having two productive catchers on the roster.
What is there to say about David’s time with the Cubs? Some of it happened in plain sight. The tough year with the bat in 2015 that had many talk-show callers seeking his release. The tremendous job he did handling Lester and neutralizing the running game. The bounce-back offensive season in 2016 and the clutch home runs in October. Game Seven disaster and Game Seven triumph. The unconditional love of his teammates and the ride on their shoulders off the field for the last time.
But so much of David’s impact on the Cubs went unseen. The late-night conversations with struggling teammates. The team dinners on the road to build morale and connection. The kind gestures to teammates who were new or didn’t feel like part of the group. The thorough physical, mental, fundamental, and strategic preparation for each game. The expectation that his teammates do the same. The watchful eye from the dugout to make sure we respected the game and played the Cub Way—unselfish, team-first, winning-first baseball. The glare when someone did something that wasn’t Cub. The rare harsh word when it happened again. The high-fives and p ats on the rear when it got fixed. The instinct to know when to create levity and when to get guys locked in. Reminding the young players how good they are. Reminding them they can get better. Words to keep the team grounded when winning seemed easy. Words to lift up the team when losing just one more would end the season.
Unselfishness. Accountability. Connectedness. David was the catalyst for these winning ingredients because he studied them and went out of his way to cultivate them for his teammates. In some ways he was born for the role. He was friendly, funny, caring, and magnetic, so everyone wanted to be around him. But he could also be edgy, stubborn, and authoritative, so nobody dared question him. In other ways David grew into the responsibility. He studied the winning teams he played for and the ways the manager and veterans handled the clubhouse. He never wanted to be called a bad teammate again and prioritized winning and the group above all else.
Getting to know David and witnessing his evolution was one of the joys of my career. I will never forget sitting forward in my seat in 2008 when he took over the playoff meeting as a newcomer. Nor will I forget reveling in his storybook farewell season and the look on his face as his teammates carried him off the field a champion. With his character and commitment, Rossy helped take the team and me to great places. I am confident he will do the same for you as you read about his journey on these pages. You will find lessons for sports and for life, including one he helped teach me long ago: Never underestimate the power of a great teammate.
Especially when it’s David Ross.
Theo Epstein
President of Baseball Operations, Chicago Cubs
February 2017
PREFACE
There have been days since November 2, 2016—the date my Chicago Cubs teammates and I won the World Series in the greatest Game Seven in history—when I have had to pinch myself. Incredible doesn’t even begin to capture the feeling.
I knew coming into the 2016 season that it would be my last as a player in professional baseball. I also knew I was on a team that was loaded with talent and was, from the opening day, the favorite to win the Series. It took a lot for true Cubs fans to believe those oddsmakers. I mean for 108 years the Cubs have left those fans brokenhearted. Could this team really do it? Selfishly, could I get the chance to go out having won rings in both Chicago and Boston?
Knowing this was it, I did a number of things in this last season I had never done. I made it a point throughout the year to enjoy the cities we traveled to—I toured New York, played golf at Pebble Beach, made the most of towns I really only had a hotel-room view of in the past. I was lucky that my family could travel with me far more than in any year since my wife and I had children. I also found an app on my phone that allowed me to keep notes, and I’ll be sharing entries from that “iPhone Journal” throughout this book.
But the biggest thing I did was reflect.
As it happened, a friend of mine, longtime Sports Illustrated writer Don Yaeger, caught me during one of those reflective moments with a crazy idea—maybe it was time to write a book. I have to admit, when Don mentioned the idea I was scared. I have seen people write books and it ruined the reputation they worked hard to build. That is the last thing I wanted to do. But the more the 2016 season went on and I received so much credit for things that others have taught me, I knew this was something I had to do. Key point here: This is a book about how people along the way affected me and helped me become a better teammate.
The idea of me writing a book might have, on some days, seemed ridiculous. Who would buy a book from a longtime backup catcher, right? But the idea Don came up with made sense. See, for all but a short stint of my career I have been a backup. I have never been an All-Star, never led my team in any offensive category. But my career was marked, especially over the last few years, by constant effort to get better both on the field and off. You see, because of an eye-opening experience with Theo Epstein, I made the effort a number of years ago to focus on being a great teammate. Then I went out and worked hard every day to be exactly that.
That’s another key point—being a great teammate is work, hard work. It requires intention and discipline, just like becoming a better hitter or a better salesperson. But it is a skill set that I believe others, like me, can learn. Don’s idea was that this book be about exactly that, passing along all that I’ve learned from others on an important subject: how to make yourself valuable, even if you’re not the most valuable. You see, the teammate I am today is not who I was fifteen years ago! I have tried to take how others have made me feel and use that feeling, good or bad, to be a better teammate. I have learned from some of the best, and share these stories about them here to say thank you for investing in me.
I agreed to write the book way back in the beginning of the 2016 season.
Then the magic carpet ride just kept going. The Cubs kept exceeding even the wild expectations that were being thrown out there and we were having fun doing it. The team’s enthusiasm became infectious, even to people who might not otherwise have been fans. I heard regularly how people enjoyed watching us enjoy working with each other.
Of all sports, I believe baseball has the greatest connection to the “real” world. It is a grind. If your team is good, you will still lose sixty times in a season. If you’re good offensively, you will still fail more than seven of every ten times you get a chance to do your job. To be successful as a team or as an individual, you have to be able to manage through lots of “dog days.” Imagine having to be encouraging to others while fighting through that grind as a backup! To be honest with everyone around you, humble no matter how good things get, reliable and consistent so that everyone knows what to expect, to willingly share your experiences with others—including those who might one day take your job!—to manage change with a smile on your face and stay engaged with everyone so that you can know how best to inspire them.
That is what it takes to be a great teammate.
Here’s hoping that as you read this book you’ll have fun hearing my stories and reliving the magic of the 2016 season. Just as important, I hope you take something away from the book about how to be a good teammate. That’s why I wrote it.
David Ross
February 2017
CHAPTER 1
“THIS WASN’T ABOUT ME”
9:30 A.M.
From the moment I began to stir in bed on the morning of Wednesday, November 2, 2016, my mind was already racing. While most of America was at work, I was finally waking up. After leaving the locker room and winding down, I finally got to bed the night before at 2 a.m. as our Chicago Cubs continued chasing one of the great dreams in all of sports—one that had eluded us for more than one hundred years: winning another World Series.
My wife and two of my three children were with me in Cleveland, Ohio. Our infant daughter, Harper, was in Chicago with my parents, who had traveled from Tallahassee, Florida, beginning with the National League Division Series almost a month earlier. We arrived in Cleveland two nights earlier, checking into a suite at the Westin.
The suite was an exceptionally generous season-long retirement gift from my Cubs teammate Jason Heyward. The gift covered all thirty road trips the Cubs made during the 2016 season and it allowed me to comfortably spend quality time with my family during the season. In my previous fourteen years in the major leagues, I usually stayed in a standard single room provided by the team.
This particular Westin was beautiful, a few blocks from the Lake Erie waterfront and Progressive Field in downtown Cleveland. As I opened my eyes and looked around the hotel room, I saw my wife, Hyla; my seven-year-old son, Cole; and my nine-year-old daughter, Landri. Here I was, with my family, and it was suddenly dawning on me that this would be my final morning waking as a major-league baseball player. I was thirty-nine years old—truly ancient in professional sports—and had been in the majors for fifteen years, the last two with the Cubs.
My journey to this point in professional baseball was an improbable roller coaster—almost too good to be true. I was a catcher who had the talent to make it to the majors. But making it is one thing. After being tapped by the Dodgers in the seventh round of the 1998 draft, I finally made by big league debut in 2002. I would go on to play for seven different teams and spend the majority of my career as a backup. I was never an All-Star. My career batting average was .229—nothing to brag about. When I was released by the Cincinnati Reds in 2008, I thought my career was over. I suffered a series of severe concussions with the Boston Red Sox in 2013 that sidelined me, leaving me wondering if I would ever recover and return to playing.
