Sunday, June 14, 2009

Swinging for the Fences

Bryce Harper is 16 years old living in Las Vegas, Nevada who just put all his money on 34 Red. No, his isn't the next big gambler. He can't even drive yet nonetheless gamble. 34 is his jersey number for the Las Vegas High School Wildcats and he just enrolled in Southern Nevada Junior college. Why would a 16 year old apply for a junior college? Because the competition in high school isn't enough for him.

At age 15, Harper hit a home run 570 feet...that's 1/10 a mile. I can't even see that far. On top of that, he can throw a ball 96 miles an hour. That is more than most pitchers already in the majors. The best part, he isn't a pitcher. He is a catcher. Catcher is the hardest defensive position and the weakest for hitters.

Given all that he is sure to be the first overall pick in the first year player draft. And now that he is leaving the kids behind in high school behind he is eligible for the draft next year. Meaning whoever has the worst season this year, get him. Or at least gets to sign him, assuming they can agree on a number, which will undoubtedly be record breaking.

But leaving high school after sophmore year and only getting a year of junior college, he is really swinging for the fences with this "baseball thing." Yeah, he has been said to be the next Alex Rodriguez or Ken Griffey Jr. The Lebron James or Tiger Woods of baseball. If this fails then he will, as one poster put it on MLB Trader Rumors.com, he'll end up like the top prospect of last decade, Matt Harrington, selling tires at Wal Mart.

Now maybe Wal Mart is below Harper since he does have a 3.5 GPA. But still, is it always wise to swing for the fences. When you think you know exactly what's coming. You give it everything you've got left. If you hit it, it's outta here. If you miss, you spin around like a cartoon and get laughed back to the dugout.

That's kinda where I am right now. All I've got right now is this real estate thing. Kinda like Bryce Harper's got baseball. Now, I've not sold a house or down the smallest bit of real estate work yet, but every one tells me I'd be good at it. I'm trained well. And as of now, I'm devoting all of my time to it. How much can you really rely on potential?

I was told in numerous jobs that I'd be really good at it. When I worked in guest services at the Brown Palace all the managers told me to apply for a high position that came open. At ServiceSource, when my account of HP got cancelled, I was told several other managers came to my manager and tried to recruit me. That was only 9 months ago. I went from top prospect in sales to cut from the team in the time of one baseball season.

From how I see it, I could really make it big in real estate. The market is at such a low right now that it has no where to go but up. Enough people are selling that I could rack up enough sales to do well. On the other hand, I'm no expert at analyzing markets and could totally misjudge this pitch and end up back in the dugout. There's no doubt that if I don't start hitting soon, I'll be back in the minors. But if I have record year, my old team is gonna look stupid for cutting me. I don't like to make people look stupid, but I'd obviously be hoping for the later.

So sometimes you have to swing for the fences. Sometimes, the team needs a home run or nothing. Sometimes a single or walk just won't cut it. And sometimes, you just have that feeling in you gut. That feeling that it's going to be left out in the zone and you know you can take it deep. Sometimes you decide to leave high school with the goal of being in the majors before you can legally drink. Sometimes, you devote a 100 Million dollars to said a high schooler. And sometimes, when you are given a chance to start on a new team, or play a new sport all together. You line up a pitch, grip it and rip it. You just might hit it big.

Kevin Foley
6/14/09

1 comment:

  1. I keep meaning to get into baseball. But, being an English guy, I just don't get it. I don't see the attraction. Mind you, most people say that about my girlfriend.

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