The Other Side of the All-Star Break: Rhythm, Reflection, and the Relentless Pace of Baseball
UNBOXED with Doug Glanville
As we entered the All-Star Break for Major League Baseball, I shared with ESPN’s “Clinton & Friends” listeners a story from one of my own breaks during my playing career. Since I did not make the team, I flew from Chicago to Denver to catch a Hall & Oates concert at a country western bar. It was random, but very on-brand given my lifelong fandom.
There was another year when I had my eyes dilated from a doctor’s appointment the day before a team workout which fell on the last day of the break. As anyone who has had their eyes dilated knows, light becomes unbearable, as though you are standing on the surface of the sun. So I had to wear these near-welder-thick black glasses that blocked out light from every direction. Naturally, that is when local Philly television decided to interview me, while I was wearing what looked like Star Trek goggles.
Taking a break mid-season is a strange and conflicting experience. On one hand, it is a clear indicator you did not make the All-Star team. I had seasons, like 1998 and 1999, where I thought I had a real shot. Other years, I knew well in advance I would not make it and did not bother with refundable tickets. And then there were years I was not sure I would still be on the team after the break. If you play long enough, you are lucky to experience that full range, though the job insecurity is something I could have done without.
The other odd part about a mid-season break is that it feels like slamming on the brakes after running at an incessant pace. You are programmed to a rhythm dictated by a pocket schedule with barely any gaps and by the daily grind of baseball life. Preparation is constant. Timing is everything. And whatever it takes to stay in rhythm, you do it just to stay afloat.
Part of that comes with the territory. A 162-game season over six months will do that. But some of it is personal. I needed to swing a bat every day. I needed to hit a ball in a cadence. Three days off and my swing would get funky, my timing sluggish. In high school, sure, I could “roll out of bed” and hit. But as a pro? Not a chance. I remember in college, we had a long break during finals, and when we came back to finish the season, I felt like I was swinging a rusty gate.