To an Athlete Dying Young
The time you won your town the race/ We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy stood cheering by,/ And home we brought you shoulder-high.
Today, the road all runners come,/ Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,/ Townsman of a stiller town.
On September 25th, 2016 I was in my dorm room scrolling Twitter. It was the same usual mindless activity, until it wasn’t. My feed started refreshing: “José Fernández has passed away,” appeared repeatedly as the news spread. I went to text my brother, but as I typed he had already texted “Holy shit.”
I do not process death well. This is something I have learned in my 25 short years on this earth. The first death I remember was my dad’s aunt, Pauline. She was a short Italian woman, who would slow dance with her grandchildren’s standard poodle as it rested it’s paws on her shoulders when standing on it’s hind legs. I was extremely young when I first met her. I only knew life, not death. So, whenever I saw her I would tell her “Aunt Pauline, you’re going to live to 100.” She would smile and say, “Matthew, I love you.”
She passed away several years before her 100th birthday. I was playing video games when my dad told me. I really didn’t do much to acknowledge it, because I was in middle school and couldn’t be bothered by serious things. That’s probably why when I got to the wake and saw Aunt Pauline in a casket, I started bawling. The wake is always the hardest part.
In 2014, I hadn’t seen my grandfather in several months as his health declined. I was living in Philadelphia for an internship and was moving out when my mom asked me if I wanted to visit him on the way home. I asked her if it could just wait one day, because I was tired and wanted to see my friends from high school that night. She allowed it. When I returned from seeing those friends, my dad was waiting to tell me that mom had left because grandpa had passed away.
The guilt broke me for a full year. I constantly reminded myself how horrible of a grandson I was for being so selfish. It didn’t matter how many family members told me that it was better I didn’t see him in that condition. Any attempt at consolation was futile, because my mind was made up that I was a piece of shit. Seeing him at the wake only enforced it.
***
Smart lad, to slip betimes away,/ From fields where glory does not stay,
And early though the laurel grows,/ It withers quicker than the rose.
Eyes the shady night has shut,/ Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers,/ After earth has stopped the ears.
The first time I heard, more so read, José Fernández’s name was when the Miami Marlins announced that he had been added to the 25 man roster after spring training in 2013. This was significant because he was 20 years old. That’s not common. From 2001 to 2013, only 10 pitchers made their debuts as a 20 year old. CC Sabathia and Zack Greinke are two of them, and possibly future hall of fame inductees. But, even they failed to accomplish what Fernández did.
Jeffrey Loria, the Marlins owner at the time, demanded the front office to call up Fernández because he had to save face with his fan base stemming from a fire sale of the previous year’s roster to save money. I don’t know if Loria knew anything about Fernández’s talent. I choose to believe he was painfully unaware that he was accidentally calling up a generational talent.
Fernández finished third in National League Cy Young voting. This is only because Clayton Kershaw was in the middle of a five year run of dominance. Finishing the top three of in Cy Young voting five times, winning three outright. Fernández won the National League Rookie of the Year Award, receiving 26 of 30 possible first place votes. He finished in the top 10 in many of major pitching statistics, potentially held back from greater accomplishments due to a 180 inning pitch limit.
I was enamored. He was only two years older than me. Age was the only thing remotely similar about us. He was an excellent starting pitcher. Not only did he excel at pitching, he was fun. The cover photo for this piece is my favorite. It’s from this:
The scene encapsulates the ridiculousness of baseball. Fernández’s grin, as if to ask the viewer, “Do you guys see this right now?” It was wild. Fernández, in the Atlanta Braves’ opinion, had failed to “act like he had been there before.” A Cardinal Sin in baseball. I counter, asking them how they think a (by then) 21 year old rookie pitcher should react to hitting his first career homerun?
He also did this:
And this:
That joy. That is something you see from the kids who play in the Little League World Series. They celebrate their teammates, more importantly, they celebrate their friends. I have no doubt that he considered his Marlins teammates not just friends, but family and that they reciprocated. That’s what I remember about Fernández. Pure joy.
Unfortunately, the innings limit did not prevent Fernández from injuring his elbow 51 innings into his second season. He was well on pace to match, if not exceed, his rookie year accomplishments. He would not pitch again until July 2nd, 2015. He had a decent debut:
Fernández’s arm injury made him reconsider his approach for 2016. He emphasized his off-speed and breaking pitches more than his fastball to protect his arm. In turn, it made him (in my opinion), a more effective pitcher. His slider and change-up had pitch values that were career bests according to Baseball Info Solutions. He posted career highs in innings pitched, fWAR, strikeouts, K% and FIP, among others.
He stepped on the mound September 20th, 2016, the same day that he and his girlfriend announced that she was pregnant. It was indisputably his best start of the year.
Five days later, he was dead.
***
Now you will not swell the rout/ Of lads that wore their honours out,
Runners whom renown outran/ And the name died before the man.
So set, before its echoes fade,/ The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up/ The still-defended challenge-cup.
By my memory, there was at least a month long period after José Fernández’s death where I watched highlights of his starts nearly every day. I don’t know the reason, other than feeling distraught that I wouldn’t get to see him pitch in a game again. So, I think I tried to appreciate the ones he had already pitched. It doesn’t seem normal to admit that emotional connection to someone you’ve never met. But, that’s just where I was three years ago.
The time I spent re-watching those videos were effective because they kept me from ruminating about death. How unfair and cruel it is. I can easily be overwhelmed by it. I once asked a friend what they think happens once it’s all over and they calmly replied, “it’ll be just like before we were alive, nothing.” I spent so much time thinking about it that I barely slept.
I remember my dad telling me at my grandpa’s wake that you shouldn’t dwell on how it all ended, which is exactly what I was doing at that time. Then, he directed me to a cork board, full of pictures of my grandpa. “This is what you should see when you think about him. This is how he would want you to remember him.”
I think that’s why I searched for those videos. Because, that’s how I would like to remember José Fernández. The joy, the skill, the energy. He played a game that takes itself too seriously and for a few hours at a time, made you remember that it was just a game. There was and is so much more than just baseball.
Because José Fernández lived a life unlike any that I can imagine. He attempted to defect from Cuba four times, failing the first three times. On the fourth attempt, his mother was knocked into the ocean by a wave. He dove in after her and brought her back to the boat. He would travel through México and end up in Tampa, Florida. Just by getting here, he had succeeded. But, he came the U.S. to accomplish so much more, and then he followed through even if it was for a brief moment.
And round that early-laurelled head/ Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls/ The garland briefer than a girl’s.
The highlights preserve the memories of a shortened career. This isn’t just about appreciating the past, though. It’s about looking at what we have right now and appreciating it in this moment. I don’t do it nearly enough. Not just in sports but the life that we live. It can be so difficult to do at this moment, when you take a look at the bigger picture. But, the things you appreciate can be small and insignificant, it’s okay. The memories I think about the most with my grandpa are quick, but they still bring me happiness. We can appreciate the moments that athletes, friends and family provide right now and we should, before they wither like a rose.
