Bitter

BITTER

Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you. – Ephesians 4:31–32

Recently, the University of Kentucky baseball team hosted and won their first Regional tournament and qualified for a Super Regional for the first time in school history.

Not so long ago, I was a member of the University of Kentucky baseball team. It was a childhood dream come true for me, a local Kentucky kid who grew up longing for the opportunity to wear the Wildcat blue.

When I think back to my time at Kentucky, I remember the good days. I remember my teammates and the trips and the highlights and the perks of being a Division I athlete. I don’t really think about the long days or the coaches yelling or the physical pain or the daunting schedule.

Overall, it was a really great experience. But everything wasn’t always that perfect.

During my senior season, we lost a lot of games. And we lost them by a lot of runs. And on top of all that, I didn’t get to play all that much. As a walk-on, I was one of the least naturally gifted athletes on the team. I had to earn every at-bat and every inning behind the plate. On top of these obstacles, I battled an array of injuries ranging in severity, leaving me playing most of my career at far less than 100% health. In short, I spent most of my senior season (and career for that matter) on the bench watching a really bad team lose a lot of games.

With a couple of weeks remaining in the regular season and my baseball career, we became officially statistically eliminated from postseason play. In other words, if we won every single game we played for the rest of the season and all the teams above us lost every single game for the rest of the season, they would still finish ahead of us. We were done. No SEC tournament. No NCAA tournament. All that remained for us was the rest of the regular season.

During our last home series of the year, we had our Senior Day. Even though we were eliminated, it was still a pretty special time for the senior class. Before the game, my family was able to come out onto the field along with the families of all the other seniors. The coaches said some nice things about me and my time at UK, gave me a framed jersey, took some pictures, and made me feel like my career was meaningful.

Several of my friends were in attendance that day to celebrate with me. Even my old high school coach drove several hours to support me at the game. It was a surreal experience. A rare highlight for an otherwise lowlight of a season.

Because it was my Senior Day, I fully expected to start the game and play all 9 innings. It was Senior Day – all the seniors play on Senior Day. Especially when the team is eliminated from any postseason contention. I had worked hard and given everything I had for four long years there. I deserved to play.

I walked up to the lineup card in the dugout and looked to see where I would be hitting in the batting order. As I worked my way down the lineup, I saw all the other senior position players’ names – but not mine.

Then I looked down to the bottom right part of the lineup card and saw the word “Reserves.” And sure enough, there in its usual spot, I saw the crushing blow: “Daugherty – 11.”

A nightmare I hadn’t even dared to imagine had become reality – I wasn’t starting on Senior Day.

I was completely overrun with emotion. I was angry. I was shocked. I was embarrassed. I was upset. But I didn’t say anything. I simply went down to my usual spot in the dugout, threw some sunflower seeds in my mouth, and stared forward without saying a word.

My teammates gradually became aware of the situation and offered their support by patting me on the back or giving me a look of consolation. There was nothing more they could do.

After what seemed like forever, the game finally started. We quickly built a sizeable lead that we would never relinquish.

As was expected on Senior Day, we started to send our senior pitchers down to the bullpen to warm up. I should know – since I wasn’t in the game, it was my responsibility to get them ready to pitch.

We stretched our lead to a comfortable margin. But I didn’t get to go in.

My name was never called. I sat on the bench for my entire Senior Day.

We won 12–5.

I was devastated. I was so upset about the whole experience that I’m not sure I spoke to my coach again after that day. We had a couple more road games the following weekend, but I never addressed him about how I felt. I was never given an explanation for one of the most miserable days of my baseball career.

A week later, my career ended.

The emotions that came with the end of my career were strong. But all of them were surpassed by one dominant feeling – bitterness.

I was overwhelmingly bitter. I had so much resentment for my old coach because of what had happened. In the years that followed, I found myself rooting against my alma mater. I didn’t want him to experience success as a coach. I never truly dealt with the pain I experienced; instead, I just poured out my hurt by rooting against the team I once considered the greatest honor to represent.

For years, I was crippled by this bitterness. Absolutely crippled. I couldn’t watch a game without reliving the agony of what should have been one of the most memorable experiences of my senior season. I couldn’t root for my favorite school. I couldn’t let it go.

Time, as it always does, helped. The pain from my Senior Day waned. But my bitterness remained. My bitterness enslaved me.

A bitter heart is an enslaved heart. I was a slave to my own anger and resentment.

But praise be to God, my heart began to change. I wasn’t even aware it was happening. But the grace of the cross transformed me in a way that only Christ can. The grace of the cross set me free. With his death, Christ forgave me of my sin against him. And in the same way, I am now able to forgive others who may have sinned against me.

Forgiveness doesn’t require an apology or an admission of guilt from the other party. Forgiveness is personal. Forgiveness is a decision we make.

And those of us who have been forgiven – who have experienced a radical grace unlike anything else – are able to understand the value of forgiveness and the freedom it brings.

My former coach has since moved on from the University of Kentucky and now coaches elsewhere. His departure caused me to seriously consider the condition of my heart and the bitterness I had been harboring against him. I’ll always wonder why I didn’t get to play on my Senior Day. I’ll likely never know. But I’m no longer bitter about it. I wish him nothing but the best from this point forward.

As I have come to forgive, I have experienced freedom. Freedom from the pain of that day. Freedom from the weight of that bitterness.

And now I’m finally free to root for the Cats. That’s the way it should be.