Learning To Un-Slump Myself And Win The Hardest Game Of Them All

In probably the most personal thing I'll ever publish on this site, I dig deep into the toughest two-three month stretch of my entire life...

“Oh, the places you’ll go! There is fun to be done!
There are points to be scored. There are games to be won.
And the magical things you can do with that ball will make you the winning-est winner of all.
Fame! You’ll be as famous as famous can be, with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.
Wherever you fly you’ll be the best of the best, and wherever you go you will top all the rest.
Except when they don’t,
Because, sometimes they won’t.
You can get all hung up in a prickle-ly perch.
And your gang will fly on.
You’ll be left in a lurch.
You’ll come down from the lurch with an unpleasant bump.
And the chances are, then, that you’ll be in a slump.
And when you’re in a slump, you’re not in for much fun.
Un-slumping yourself is not easily done.
I’m afraid that sometimes you’ll play lonely games too.
Games you can’t win ‘cause you’ll play against you.”

Those are my favorite lines from “Oh, the places you’ll go! by Dr Seuss. And, yes, while it is a children’s book, it contains pearls of wisdom that adults can carry into everyday life.

I know I have. And the above lines carry significant meaning to me. They’ve helped drag me through the toughest period of my life. Those very words are the reason why I’m still here today and why I’m writing this now. And they act as the perfect precursor to what I’m about to tell you.

As I promised in my previous post, I want to share with you exactly why I haven’t written anything in this space for over two months. It isn’t because of laziness. And it certainly isn’t because I’ve lost interest in what we’re trying to build here.

No, the reason why I’ve been so quiet is because, to be as honest and as raw as I possibly can be, I’ve been entrenched in the slump to end all slumps. I’ve been engulfed in the biggest battle I’ve ever had to fight. Over the last couple of months I’ve endured the lowest of lows and plunged deep beneath rock bottom.

As I work my way back and try to return to a sense of normality, in addition to rebuilding trust with my army of loyal readers and subscribers, I wanted to lift the curtain and let you in on the most challenging period of time I’ve ever had to navigate.

This is a story about how I reached the very lowest point possible, how I drove myself to the brink of oblivion and how I’m now trying to scale the mountain top once again, while rebuilding myself piece by piece.

Here goes…

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“And the chances are, then, that you’ll be in a slump.
And when you’re in a slump, you’re not in for much fun.
Un-slumping yourself is not easily done.”

For those of who have been subscribed to the newsletter for a while, you will be aware that I experienced some health issues at the start of the year. Those concerns certainly presented a boatload of challenges, as well as taking a considerable toll on my mental health.

I’ve detailed those various trials and tribulations in previous posts. But, all told, I thought I had a handle on things. However, as I’m writing this, I now realize I was kidding myself and was instead ignoring the large cracks that were threatening to shatter my foundation.

Well, those cracks soon became too big to cover up. Then, sometime in August, everything came crashing down. The gig was up. The fake show was over.

Months of worry, weeks of stress and hours upon hours of pretending I was okay when I clearly wasn’t caught up with me. I was on the brink of a spectacular implosion only the Dallas Cowboys would be proud of.

In the wake of the MLB Trade Deadline at the end of July - the last time I was active on this site - I lost all ability to write. My creative juices dried up. My imagination, my creative drive and my love for the written word all vanished into thin air. And, just like that, I was no longer able to do the one thing I truly love above all else. I wasn’t able to do the only thing I’ve ever really been good at.

I wasn’t able to write anymore.

What was once an unwanted nightmare turned into a horrible reality. What I did for a living, what I lived for, was now obsolete. What had come so easily to me all my life now became an impossible task. I struggled to string together two sentences on the page.

Before I knew it, all my confidence as a writer drained out of me. It became physically painful and mentally taxing to even sit down at the laptop and attempt to write something. A piece of freelance work would take me all day to churn out, whereas before I’d breeze through the task in a couple of hours.

Then came the worst bit.

I stopped loving to write. What I adored and cherished since I was a young boy became a grueling task I detested over night. I dreaded the very idea of having to write anything sports related. When I knew I had some freelance work to complete, I wouldn’t sleep the night before. I would wake up in cold sweats, panicking at the prospect of my employers finally finding out that I was no good. That I was a fraud. That I didn’t possess a single ounce of talent. I would wake up with my heart in my mouth, fearing that that would be the day I would finally be exposed as a hack. A no-good, useless hack-a-doodle-do. The talentless piece of crap that little voice in the back of my head had been convincing me I was all my whole life.

I’ve always had to deal with imposter syndrome. Always. That’s just human nature when you’ve been told your whole life you weren’t good enough. That you weren’t worthy of love or anything good. Everything I’ve earned in my career, I’ve had to scrap and claw for. But this extreme, overbearing version of imposter syndrome felt different. For the first time in a long time, I started to believe all those people who had written me off and who predicted I wouldn’t amount to anything.

And, for the first time ever, I started to question my own existence. I started to really question if I even wanted to be a sports writer anymore.

I was in a slump to end all other slumps. And I couldn’t break out of it.

It seemed the harder I tried, the deeper the hole got I was burying myself in. And, before I knew it, I was six feet under with all hope of escape seemingly gone.

This wasn’t just some minor stumbling block or a prolonged case of writer’s block. No, I had totally lost the ability and the desire to write. After years of getting away with stealing a living as a writer, I had finally been exposed. People were finally going to work out I was no good at anything. I was done for. And I can’t begin to tell you how isolating that feeling was. Not being able to write, not even wanting to, crippled me and I didn’t know where to turn.

I managed to force out a freelance article here and there, but even doing that would take it out of me mentally for a couple of days. Now, I’ve always suffered from imposter syndrome and I’ve always questioned if I was ever a really good writer. I have gotten used to living with those doubts and poisonous thoughts day-to-day. I remember watching an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond - EBLR & King Of Queens were godsends during the really dark days - where Ray got rejected by Sports Illustrated. As a result, he started to doubt his talents and his entire career. That entire episode hit home hard because I was living it for real. But, while it all worked out for Ray, I wasn’t so sure it was going to work out for me.

Like a third baseman who suddenly develops the yips, I couldn’t do what had come so naturally all my life. And it scared the absolute crap out of me. I’ve always been able to weave a story and churn out 3,000 words on the Mets, dedicate paragraph after paragraph to ranting about the Jets or whip up an essay on nine or ten trade candidates with relative ease. I could spin you a tale about sports as easy as saying 1, 2, 3. Now, what had come so effortless before felt alien. Everything I worked for, everything I was, my entire existence, my whole identity was suddenly thrown into chaos.

Backed in a corner, I began to think about what else I could do and the answers were terrifying. I’ve only really been good at writing and talking about sports. I’m not really great at anything else. And the very idea of not writing, not doing what I loved filled me with an endless amount of dread.

And that’s when my troubles really began…

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“I’m afraid that sometimes you’ll play lonely games too.
Games you can’t win ‘cause you’ll play against you.”

Struggling to grapple with the idea of not being able to do what I loved anymore, or even having the desire to do it, I quickly imploded in on myself.

I began to despise myself. I started to question everything I was. I would look at the mirror in disgust at the very guy looking back at me every single day. I hated myself. Oh, how I detested every fibre of my own being.

To compound matters, I morphed into an awful human being. I made mistakes on the daily. I put my wants above others. I wasn’t present. And worst of all, I hurt people and let them down. There was one person in particular, someone incredibly special to me, who I hurt and let down in the biggest way possible. I betrayed them. I let potentially one of the best things to ever happen to me walk out of my life all because of my own stupidity. All because I couldn’t let go of the demons from my past. I still think about that person a hell of a lot, and it hurts me to my core that we’re no longer a part of each other’s lives.

I was spiraling at a rapid rate. Not only was my professional life in tatters, but my entire world was exploding in front of my very eyes. I lost who I was and I wasn’t remotely interested in rediscovering who that person was.

Actually, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to do anything at that point. I reached a stage where I wasn’t sure my life was worth living. After years and years of fighting, I didn’t think I had anything left in the tank. I was done. I was ready to give up. I just wanted all the pain and the feeling of abject failure to go away.

I became more and more convinced by the day that I had no other option but to take the easy way out. To run away from all my problems for good.

There was a spot I used to walk to every day. It was a beautiful, peaceful place with a bridge. And I would stare at that bridge every single day for about an hour, just thinking about all the things I had fucked up and the fact I was seemingly on the fast track to nowhere land. I was very quickly reaching my limit and I didn’t have the strength, the energy or the desire to get up off the canvas one more time.

This time, I was ready to throw in the towel for good.

Although there were days I did try to get the train back on the track. I did make attempts to get myself right and to turn the page. But nothing seemed to work. Usually, whenever I’ve hit a rough spell before, I would turn to the two things I loved more than anything - sports and writing. But, this time, that magic formula failed. I couldn’t write for shit. I was questioning if I would ever write for a living again. And, for the first time ever in my life, sports couldn’t save me. What had previously been my safe haven, my salvation, was no longer there. Sports and writing had turned their back on me.

I was all on my own in the darkest place I had ever been in. And there seemed to be no escape.

The demons I had been battling my whole life were winning the war, and there was nothing I could do. I was fighting an impossible game against myself, one I couldn’t win.

I had never felt this defeated before. I had never felt this alone before. I had never felt this hopeless before.

At that point, I was relieved to call it quits. I just wanted it all to end.

I couldn’t handle the idea of being the underdog anymore. Of being overlooked and everybody’s afterthought. I have spent my entire life being underrated, disrespected and overlooked. I was done questioning my own self-worth. I just couldn’t do it anymore. A lifetime of fighting that little voice in your own head will eventually catch up with you. I didn’t have the spirit to prove I belonged as a writer or as a human being anymore. My soul had well and truly been crushed. I was more than fine with proving right all those who had taken great delight in counting me out time and time again. I was happy to let them win.

And I felt that way for a very, very long time. I was in the darkest place I had been in for a very, very long time and I didn’t see a happy ending coming. Maybe, deep, deep down, I didn’t want this situation to be resolved in a positive way.

But the human mind is nothing if not resilient. And, over the last couple of weeks, the clouds have begun to part and I’ve started to see some light. I also probably paid for my therapist’s next five holidays. All kidding aside, being brave enough to admit you have a problem and that you need help is the first major step. Once you have done that, the rest gets a whole lot easier.

And here we are. As I’m writing this, I’m starting to get back to my old self. Is every day a beautiful picnic in the park? No, of course not. This entire thing is a process and you can’t skip a step. You just need to take it a day at a time, take a deep breath and disconnect from the world when your body and mind tells you that you need a break.

That’s why I’ve been quiet for the past couple of months. I truly didn’t do a good enough job of looking after number one. I ignored all the red flags, all the warning signs and the results were ugly. We as men really don’t do a good enough job of talking about our feelings and admitting we’re not doing okay. That has to change. Because bottling it all up and trying to put on a brave face isn’t the answer. It doesn’t lead to anywhere good. Trust me on that.

Anyway, the good news is that I’m ready to get back on the horse and talk sports every day with all of you. I’ve missed it an incredible amount. Plus, the confidence is starting to flood back and, more importantly, I’ve fallen back in love with writing all over again. What is it that they say? You don’t know what you have until it has gone? Well, that has certainly proved true with me. Maybe I needed to go through a messy breakup with writing in order to realize just how much it means to me. Maybe I needed to be thrown off the mountain top in order to rebuild, get my priorities straight and come to understand just how much I want this life I’ve worked so hard for.

Sometimes you need to fall in order to learn from your failures and ensure you get back up stronger than ever before.

The fire has been lit under me again. I’m pissed off. I’ve got a chip on my shoulder. And I’m hungry. I’m hungry to write my own narrative and prove those people wrong who have doubted me and betted against me at every single turn. I’m ready to keep reaching for my dreams and to live the life I want to lead. I’m also better equipped to keep striving to get better as a person.

If this incredibly tough stretch has taught me anything, it is that I love what I do. Being a sports writer is at the very core of who I am. It is who I am. And it is who I’m always going to be. I need to write in order to feel alive. Plus, having to constantly prove myself is something that has always fueled me. It has been that way my entire life, and will continue to be that way. I’m now more ready than ever to go out there and accomplish my dreams. I’m now better equipped to handle any setbacks and challenges thrown my way.

I’m ready to become the sports writer I’ve always believed I can be.

As Dr. Seuss once said, when you’re in a slump, you’re not in for much fun. And un-slumping yourself is not easily done. This entire episode has been the toughest and most complex thing I’ve ever had to deal with. It hasn’t been easy. And it certainly wasn’t a whole lot of fun.

But, I can confidently say I’m coming through it and I’m beyond pumped to get back to writing and talking about sports on the daily. It feels good to be back.

Okay, I’m gonna shut up now because I know this post is both incredibly long and extremely heavy. Thank you for reading, and thank you all for your continued support. It means the entire world to me.

And I’ll be back shortly with an actual sports post for the first time in months!

See you then.

P.S. I want to leave you with the ending of The Cape, by Guy Clark. It is a reminder to always stay true to yourself, and to never, ever stop chasing your dreams. No matter what. This song has helped to drag me out of the crap over the last few weeks especially, and I now carry the below lyrics with me every single day. So enjoy…

“Old and grey with a floursack cape
Tied all around his head
He's still jumpin' off the garage
Will be till he's dead
All these years the people said
He's actin' like a kid
He did not know he could not fly
So he did

He's one of those who knows that life
Is just a leap of faith
Spread your arms and hold your breath
Always trust your cape”