The Luckiest Man on Earth
Stephen Piscotty and Tom Hager
In partnership with Athletes For God
Wow, you're way behind.
As I stepped back into the batter's box at Fenway Park on this particular night, it began to dawn on me that my comeback to baseball was going to take some time. I had swung really late on a fastball, and I started to realize it was going to take a few days in the cage just to get my timing back.
But in the meantime, I needed to salvage whatever I could from this at-bat. I was already behind 0-2, and now I just needed to put a solid swing on the ball.
If I looked out of sorts that night, I had a pretty good reason. I had missed the previous four games as I grieved the loss of my mother. Gretchen Piscotty passed away on May 6 of last year after her brave fight against ALS, and just the day before this particular at-bat, I was attending her Celebration of Life.
My mind was so scattered in my first game back that everything felt like a blur. In the back of my mind I was hoping to play well, because we've seen players do some incredible things in the midst of grief. In 2016 Michael Lorenzen hit a home run in his first game back after losing his Dad. Later that same year, after Jose Fernandez passed away, Dee Gordon led off the next game with a home run as well. I was hoping to do something special too.
As I tapped the bat on the ground, and looked back toward Red Sox pitcher Eduardo Rodriguez, I needed to remember there were actually two things different about this ball game. The first was obvious, that it was my first game without my Mom. But the second was more subtle - I was wearing a new belt for the first time, with a special inscription....
Knock the snot out of it.
During those few days as I grieved the passing of my Mom, my teammates were incredible. I remember Khris Davis giving me a Nintendo Switch with a game a bunch of my teammates were all playing. Last year was my first season with the A's, so getting a gift like that helped show I was part of the team. But the other gift I remember came from Ryan Buchter, who gave me the belt with "Knock the snot out of it" written on the inside.
It's what my Mom used to tell me during my little league games as a kid. I just didn't know that it would come true that night.
In order to understand the significance of the at-bat, I think I need to start way back at the beginning of my relationship with my Mom. To say we've been close our entire lives is an understatement, because she looked after me even before that.
In the months before I was born, my Mom would rest a musical box on her belly and play Amazing Grace. She would wind up the little toy piano and play that song all the time for me.
She played that song as long as I can remember, but my Mom's faith in God went way beyond a simple hymn. She and my Dad set a tremendous example of hard work and doing things the right way. And most of all, they showed me what unconditional love looks like.
My Mom loved to spend her time quilting and riding horses, but when it came time to taking care of me and my brothers, she put all of her interests to the side. I don't know if I realized back then the sacrifices she was making, but she was always driving us around from one practice to another. And everytime I was stepping up to the plate, she was sitting in the stands with her trademark "knock the snot out of it".
My Mom was just one of those people who lived life to the fullest. Which is why it was so hard to see her go through ALS.
Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, also known as Lou Gehrig's Disease, is a brutal disease. ALS relentlessly strips a person of their muscles. Of their mobility. Of the dignity to use the bathroom by themselves. But there are two things ALS cannot do.
It cannot take away a person's happiness. And it cannot take away a person's faith in God.
As heartbreaking as it was to see my Mom go through ALS, it was amazing to see the way everyone responded. My Mom set the standard with the way she continued to smile, and the rest of us tried to do our part. My father dropped everything to be there for her.
When I talk about my Dad's work ethic, and how he applied that to taking care of my Mom, I feel like I'm at a loss for words. It's hard to describe the man my Dad is, but he is just a tremendous example of the man I want to be.
My brothers also helped out, but I think the biggest surprise was how many people outside our family were willing to pitch in. My Mom had about seven or eight friends that would come to the house and do whatever they could to ease my Mom's suffering. They would stay overnight, or sometimes arrive at 2 in the morning....whatever my Mom needed, they were there.
Those gestures were so inspirational to me. I tried to do my part to help, but sometimes there was only so much I could do while playing over 2,000 miles away in St. Louis.
So I did what I felt was the right thing for me to do. I asked the Cardinals front office for a trade to be closer to my family in Pleasanton, California. And the Cardinals, to their credit, granted my request and traded me to the A's.
The sacrifices my family made were expected. I didn't have to ask my siblings or Dad to do the right thing. But for other people in the community or the Cardinals front office, those were people who didn't have to do anything and helped anyway. I am so thankful the Cardinals granted my request, because when I moved back home, I realized just how much adversity my Mom was facing.
This may surprise a lot of people, but when my Mom got the diagnosis of ALS, none of us gave up on our faith.
We understood the prognosis, which unfortunately meant that there was no cure, and that it was just a matter of time before my Mom passed away. But as hard as that was, we never turned our backs on God.
That didn't mean there weren't questions. There were plenty of those. Why is this happening? Why Mom?
But at the end of the day, we recognized the situation and faced it head on. I can tell you that it was humbling to go from playing in front of 40,000 people at Busch Stadium to taking care of my Mom's basic needs. And yet, because that was what the situation required, that was what I needed to do.
Taking care of my mom had plenty of upsides too. We got to spend time together again, just like we used to. Only this time, instead of her playing me Amazing Grace, it was me returning the favor.
I would break out my acoustic guitar and help put her to sleep with that song. I've been playing guitar since I was young, but back then she could only hear the faint sounds of my music from her room. This time I made it a point to come over and play for her.
As I got older, the song took on a new meaning for me. When I was a baby I just loved the melody, but years later, I understood the message of the lyrics, and why they were written. For those who don't know the story, Amazing Grace was written by John Newton, a man who was once involved in slave trading and eventually became involved in ministry.
But the lyrics "I once was blind but now I see" also applied to my life as well. ALS quickly put things in perspective for me. The occasional strikeout or error didn't seem as big anymore. One of my best friends, Mark Appel, had a similar experience. He didn't battle through ALS, but he became one of three players to be drafted #1 overall and never reach the big leagues. Both of us reached the conclusion that God has a plan for everything.
And that God can take terrible situations and make great things out of them.
I became inspired to start a foundation to help others with ALS. I've seen the impact people like Steve Gleason can have on the world, and I want to do the same. Steve was a linebacker at Washington State and the New Orleans Saints. He wasn't a superstar before his ALS diagnosis, but he has now raised millions of dollars to fight this disease. I even got to meet Steve during spring training this year.
I met him in the clubhouse and gave him a tour of our facilities, but I think I got the better end of that deal. I got to meet the guy who has inspired me so much by handling his adversities with such grace.
When my non-profit launches, my main focus will be on finding a cure. I think helping people who are diagnosed is a worthy cause as well, but if we can eradicate this disease, then people never have to worry about treatment.
But of all the beautiful things that have transpired in the aftermath of my Mom's passing, one of the coolest had to be that at-bat at Fenway Park.
I took my Mom with me to every game last year. I wrote her initials near home plate before I stepped in to the batters box, and I went out there playing in her memory.
She was definitely with me when I made my first of two comebacks. That actually came not against the Red Sox, but against the Astros...It was two days after my Mom's passing, and as I stepped up to the plate I had players from both teams give me a big round of applause. I stepped back out of the box and acknowledged the gesture, as well as the standing ovation from the fans.
I stepped back in and knocked a single to right, which was classic me. Just make good contact and head over to first.
The at-bat against the Red Sox was a totally different scenario.
I only missed one game between my Mom's passing and the Astros game, but I took four games off to be with my family for the Celebration of Life. My at-bat against the Red Sox would be the first one since the funeral.
Since I was already behind 0-2, I just knew that I didn't want to take Strike 3 looking. The pitch was low and inside, but it was going to get just enough of the corner to maybe get a strike call, so I swung away. And when I made contact, the ball began to soar. And soar. Towards the iconic Green Monster and Citgo sign. And as the ball began to descend, it became apparent that this ball wasn't going to be caught. In fact, it wasn't even going to stay in the stadium.
It flew out of the entire park and towards Landsdowne Street.
As I rounded the bases, I could feel the hairs on my neck stand straight up. I touched home plate and tapped my heart as I looked up to the sky. I knew my Mom was with me in that moment. I knew it. I had no business hitting that home run, but I know she was looking out for me.
I never thought I would see that ball again, but one random day I got a call from the A's. A fan traveling to Boston for a conference found the ball in the street, and told some of his friends about it. His friends had heard about my story, and as they put the dates together, they realized he had the ball from my home run!
He called the A's so he could give me the ball, and during one of our road trips to Detroit I was able to meet up with him. Having that ball in my possession means so much to me.
This year has seen things return to normal, in a good way. I don't feel guilty about being happy or having fun, and I'm not as emotional at the plate as I was last year. I don't write my Mom's initials there this season, just because I realized that in order for me to perform, I need to shut the emotions off for a few minutes. If you knew my Mom, and the way she supported my career, you'd know that she would be totally okay with that.
But as normal as things are starting to feel, I'm also beginning one of the coolest adventures of my life. I got married over this past offseason to Carrie, and I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with her.
I still remember the day I met Carrie. When she walked in the room, and I looked over and saw her, it was overpowering emotion. I don't know if it was love at first site, but I saw that this person was special, and I wasn't wrong. My Mom recognized something too, because when she met Carrie, she was about as excited as I was.
Carrie and I had our ceremony in Napa before we honeymooned in Bora Bora and New Zealand. One was pure relaxation on the beach, while New Zealand had just about everything you could offer.
I hope that when people read my story, they realize that things do get better. Even when we are struggling, God still loves us and is still looking out for us. You just need to stick with Him before you get to see that other side.
In a way, it only seems fitting that my Mom died of Lou Gehrig's Disease. Despite watching his body deteriorate, Lou also kept his positive attitude. As great as his career was, he is probably better known for his speech, where he says "I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the Earth."
As much as I admire Lou Gehrig's approach, I don't know if he was the luckiest man. You see, he never got to meet Carrie.
And he never got to know Gretchen Piscotty.