On unreal night, Hamilton swats away his demons

BY JAY MARIOTTI
Chicago Sun-Times Columnist
http://www.suntimes.com/
July 15, 2008

(Getty Images)

NEW YORK -- He prayed he would die, convinced that the devil didn't want him to live. This was Josh Hamilton's world only three summers ago, about as far from Yankee Stadium as subhumanly possible, when he was addicted to crack cocaine and heroin and tumbling into a hellhole that seemed inescapable. While passed out in some stench-rotted pit with other junkies, he'd see flashing images of what he believed was Satan, and he'd try to attack by swinging an object.

Each time, he whiffed.

Such was his rotted, gutted existence. "I had no set-up plan," Hamilton said when asked where he was hanging out on July 15, 2005. "I might have been on my 24-hour sleep part. Or out at a bar drinking. Or running around in the middle of nowhere, trying to get more of whatever."

Running with the devil, swinging and missing.

"I should be dead right now or in jail," he said.

If the object indeed was a bat, as he believes, then how magnificent was the symmetry Monday night of Hamilton swinging a real bat and, incredibly, crushing baseballs like few men before him in The House That Ruth Built? As the sport's greatest players stood in awe, applauding in disbelief and ultimately mobbing him, the recovering addict needed only one round of Home Run Derby to hit a record 28 shots to all imaginable parts of the legendary ballpark, as if trying to knock it down before it closes in October. Yes, it was just an exhibition. But when America's most cynical fans, New Yorkers, exploded in delirium and chanted his name, well, I think we witnessed something unforgettable.

Texas Rangers' Josh Hamilton, right, embraces Clay Council, a volunteer coach for an American Legion team in Cary, N.C., as Minnesota Twins' Justin Moreau looks on after the Major League Baseball All-Star Home Run Derby at Yankee Stadium in New York on Monday, July 14, 2008. Hamilton invited Council to pitch to him in the event. Morneau won the contest. Council's name is misspelled on his jersey.(AP Photo by Kathy Willens)

Oh, my Josh. Talk about rising from the dead. This time, he wasn't swatting at demons, but he was successfully smearing the lobs of 71-year-old Clay Counsil, who once threw batting practice to a teenaged Hamilton in his native North Carolina. That was their deal for years: If Hamilton ever qualified for the Derby, Counsil would be his designated pitcher. Of all places, the unfathomable dream crystalized on the hallowed grounds that served as a launching pad for The Babe, Lou Gehrig, Mickey Mantle, Roger Maris and Reggie Jackson. On the only other occasion he visited the Bronx, he also observed history.

"I was lucky enough to see Don Larsen pitch his perfect game," Counsil said.

Pitching to a healthy Josh Hamilton, watching him hit three balls over 500 feet, was the bigger miracle. His Texas Rangers teammates, Milton Bradley and Ian Kinsler, toweled him off and hugged him. Children of other All-Stars brought him water, and Hamilton obliged with autographs. When he was done, the speakers blasted the theme from "The Natural." It didn't matter much that he ran out of gas in the finals and lost to Minnesota's Justin Morneau. A bigger statement had been made about life.

"To see my family laughing and having such a good time, that's what meant the most to me," Hamilton said.

"He's got everything under control," said Counsil, whose arm may fall off this morning. "A lot of our prayers have been answered."

Addiction's vice grip is too unforgiving, in most cases, to allow a triumphant recovery. And I must emphasize that Hamilton is vulnerable his every waking hour to a relapse, as thrice-weekly drug tests remind him. But he has been sober since Oct. 5, 2005, not long after he stumbled into the home of his grandmother, Mary Holt, and, trashed out of his mind, crawled into bed with her to sleep off his high. "I'm tired of you killing yourself," she told him. "I'm tired of watching you hurt all these people who care about you."

(Reuters)

A light went on. Somehow, it hasn't flickered since. After four years of battling hard drugs and booze, blowing his $4 million bonus as the No. 1 pick in the 1999 draft, serving numerous suspensions, letting his body decay into a 180-pound shell, driving drunk and high, plastering his skin with 26 tattoos he'd like to wash away and moving in and out of rehab centers eight times, Hamilton has emerged as one of the game's dynamic offensive forces. If he was something of a cautious comeback story last year with the Cincinnati Reds, who bought Hamilton's rights from the Cubs in a prearranged Rule 5 draft deal -- oh, to imagine him playing between Alfonso Soriano and Kosuke Fukudome -- his Texas breakthrough has rocked baseball. He's on pace for 160 RBIs, and he's batting third and starting in center field tonight for the American League. The fans voted him in, 3.7 million strong. He has 100 times that many fans today.

You may think this is the impossible embracing the unthinkable. Hamilton says he dreamed it once. Honest. "I'm not making this up. Soon after my sober date, I had a dream about being in the Home Run Derby in Yankee Stadium," he said. "I didn't see how I did, but all I saw was a microphone in my face and how I got to share with people the reason I'm back. You can say that dream was a coincidence. But I don't believe in that." Who are we to doubt him?

At 27, Hamilton willingly repeats the gruesome details to all who wish to listen. He welcomes the high-profile responsibility of trying to save lives and encourage families. "I would be a hypocrite if I didn't," he said. In the stands were his wife, Katie, and his parents and in-laws, all of whom experienced his agony. He grew up in a loving and protective family and hugged his grandmother before his high-school games. His parents followed him on the road early in his minor-league career until a car accident ended their journeys, which left Hamilton, injured himself, with down time and nothing to do. You know the rest: He hung out at a tattoo parlor, met the wrong folks, began drinking heavily, got hooked on dope.

"I hope I can be inspiring to people," Hamilton said. "They come to me with articles, saying they have a family member or sister or brother going through the same things. I've been honest about everything. I've taken responsibility, haven't blamed anyone or used excuses. I've made my mistakes, but I don't know many people who haven't. I'm letting people know how to go in the right direction.

"When I got drafted, I was a clean-cut golden boy, never did anything wrong. Now I've got tattoos, addiction problems. But by sharing my story and my faith, maybe I can help even more."

(Getty Images)

There is no better Just Say No commercial than these two nights in New York. "It's like being a little kid in a candy store," he said of the All-Star cavalcade. "But having my family here is the most important thing to me because of everything I went through and they went through -- knowing I had the talent to do this for a living and wasting it on drugs and alcohol.

"Being on this stage means a lot. But being clean is the biggest thing. Sharing that with people is what I feel I'm here for."

He didn't just share it. He jackhammered his message home for every addict searching for help. The man's name is Joshua Holt Hamilton, Comeback Player of All Time, and he wants us to know that he now prays to live.