192. That is the number of Darryl Strawberry baseball cards that I had as a kid. 21+ pages in my baseball binder that turned into a shrine for my favorite baseball player. Everyday during the summer, I checked the Mets' boxscores in the paper to see what the "Straw Man" did. My dad or grandpa (if I spent the night with my grandparents) would always let me look at the sports page first, because they knew I just wanted to see one thing. Sometimes my dad would ask me about how Darryl was doing, feeding into my fantasy of being Darryl's best friend, even if he didn't know it. When the Mets did play on TV, my dad tried to let me watch as much of the game as possible, since I had three siblings, TV time was hard to come by.
After the games, I would grab my wiffle ball and bat and run outside to re-enact what I had just watched, or re-do it the way I wanted it to happen. I'd stay out there as long as I could, just me, my bat, my ball, and my own little world.
When Darryl started on his path to self-destruction, I couldn't understand why my hero was destroying himself. How could someone with so much talent, do something so stupid? Why did Darryl do that? He turned my happy place into a state of mass confusion and I couldn't come up with any answers at nine years old. In 1991, he went to Los Angeles and played for the Dodgers. I had hoped that he would turn around his personal life, so that he could continue to be the superstar that he was. In his first nine years of playing, he hit 280 homeruns, knocked in 832 runs, and stole 201 bases. He was on his way to the Hall of Fame and I was his NUMBER 1 FAN! Then, the bottom fell out. Drugs, alcohol, injuries, and even cancer destroyed my hero. He systematically took himself down with his partying. With his body in a constant weakened state, injuries were keeping him out of games. From 1992 to 1997, he played in a total of 210 games.
I didn't check the boxscores anymore to see what Darryl did the night before. I didn't watch the Dodgers if they were on TV. But, during spring training every year, I would look at my collection of cards that I had accrued over the years. I would sit and wonder why he would do what he did. I wondered what had drawn me to like him in the first place. And I would sit some more and look at every card. With each card that showed him swinging, I remembered all the homeruns off the Apple in Shea Stadium he hit. Every card that had him standing there waiting on the pitch reminded me of watching him, waiting to send another ball into outer space. I would remember all the times that I went outside and pretended I was him, trying to make my swing look like his. I am naturally right handed, but I can hit from both sides now, because I wanted to hit left handed like him.
In 1999, Darryl's playing days were over, which was fitting, because in 1999, my family lost our house due to a fire. My entire collection of cards went up in smoke and flames. I miss that collection quite a bit. Every now and then, I'll get on eBay and try to find some old cards of The Straw Man.
After all, he was my first sports hero.
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Back in the day I feared Darryl more than I fear Pujols now. Could have been, should have been....unfortunate ending.