ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Tuesday, June 11, 1996 TAG: 9606110025
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: B-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: BRIAN CULP
Today is the first day of the rest of your life.
With that thought in mind, I went in to Salem Avalanche manager Bill McGuire's office June 2 to tell him of my decision.
Today is the first day ... a profound thought, isn't it? Seems to lend a sense of urgency to your time. A reminder that your time is finite.
... of the rest of your life. ... a life that no longer will be dictated by the game of baseball. A life where baseball no longer will serve as the dominant medium against which I measure my worth and define who I am.
Let me make it clear: I love baseball. I never approached it as just a profession. For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to be a big-league ballplayer. And since I have played since kindergarten, I have few memories of my existence that predates baseball.
So, then, barring a phone call from another team offering me another chance, June 2 was in many ways the beginning of a new life for me. But why then, you ask, after playing this long, after giving so much of yourself to the game, do you now turn in your spikes in the middle of a season?
Well, first, maybe I should explain why I didn't do it. It was not a decision made out of anger. I didn't retire to spite anyone, or because I felt any lack of respect. I did not do it because I am struggling. I've been in slumps before. I've gotten out of them. I would have worked through this one (even though it was the most prolonged of my career). I am not a .200 hitter.
It was more a decision based on direction. I'll explain.
For starters, I wasn't playing. I'll turn 25 years old in a month, and this is my third year of Class A ball. During my first season, split between two Class A clubs and a brief stint at Class AA, I hit .315, among the top five in the organization. The following year, spent in Salem, I batted .279, which still put me in the top 10 in a league where only two players hit over .300. In last year's Carolina League All-Star Game, I hit in the fifth slot in the order.
A year later - my third in Class A ball - I'm hitting in the eight hole ... if I play at all. (Every other player in that All-Star lineup is now at the Class AA level or higher.)
The point is not to invoke pity by painting myself as some kind of Jake LaMotta-esque character of the baseball world, but rather to simply illustrate that my career has stalled. To be more precise - and to further the automobile metaphor - it has been thrown into reverse.
Baseball continually asks the question, ``What have you done for me lately.'' And in my case, the unfortunate reply was, ``Not much.'' It also is an unflinchingly empirical pursuit. It's very easy to measure one player's value and compare it against another's. A .300 hitter is better than a .250 hitter. So then: How does a .198 hitter tell his coach that he deserves to be in the lineup every day?
Well, he can't.
That's not to say some .200 hitters don't keep on getting chances to play. Lots of .200 hitters get promoted, even. And some Mendozas, given a few hundred at-bats, eventually become Musials.
But that's baseball, and just like life, nobody said it was fair. As in real life, some people get hundreds of opportunities, some people get only one. And when you're almost 25, in your third year of Class A ball, and fourth on a depth chart of four left fielders, it takes neither the wisdom of Solomon nor the insight of Nostradamus to read the writing on the wall.
The time has come for me to move on, to start a new life.
And if what you've just read sounds like sour grapes, then you've misinterpreted what I'm getting at and the reason for my retirement. I'm not angry, bitter, or simply giving up because things aren't going my way. I like it here, and I love playing baseball. It's simply a matter of what I want to do with my life.
I mentioned earlier that I felt lately like I was going in reverse. It's now time to start moving forward again, and if that means beginning down a new path, then so be it. I have other dreams, other talents. It's time to start a new adventure.
Today is the first day of the rest of your life ...
... .and I'd like to begin living it as soon as possible.
Brian Culp is now a former Salem Avalanche outfielder.
LENGTH: Medium: 79 lines ILLUSTRATION: PHOTO: (headshot) Culp. color.by CNB