Eagleionline

As a baseball fan first and a Red Sox fan second, it was an immense pleasure while an undergrad in Chicago to attend a crazy number of White Sox games.  I’m pretty sure I never missed a game there when Boston or Cleveland were in town.  Just after getting back to the area for my second year, I was a few rows behind the home bullpen for an August 31, 2005 Cleveland game.  Somehow, I had missed that he had been claimed from Boston by Chicago on waivers.  I felt some dismay; I knew Bill’s signature sideburns would be missed.  Like a true obnoxious Boston native (in a Red Sox jersey), I asked him: “what happened?”  He shrugged.

I feel like a real jerk about that now.  Bill isn’t my favorite player for giving me the time of day, for wearing those sideburns or for his prowess on the field.  I like him because he has a story of struggle, and because he fought his way back to the majors — but that doesn’t set him apart from many others.  He’s my favorite player because he wrote about it.

In 2005 an as a player for the St. Louis Cardinals, Bill wrote about his struggle with depression that drove him from the field not long after that Chicago shrug.  To grasp the measure of his candor, and to appreciate how the story is an attempt to help others rather than publicize himself, there’s no substitute for reading the article.  It’s a good read.

Once upon a time, the Mets were poised for dominance with “Generation K”: three top-flight pitching prospects, Pulsipher, Jason Isringhausen, and Paul Wilson.  Although Isringhausen did eventually have a dominant career as a closer, things didn’t work out to plan, and the Mets situation fifteen years ago is still cited as evidence that pitching prospects aren’t sure things.  Beset by injuries and anxiety, Bill’s career never matched that ideal that was supposed to happen.  As he writes:

“The Bill Pulsipher everyone knew, I knew, was gone forever.  It’s taken me all of the eight years since to figure that out. I’ve spent all that time learning the hard way that I am one of the thousands, probably millions, of Americans who live with clinical depression and/or anxiety. I’ve learned that using a prescription such as Prozac or Paxil is not a sign of weakness, but of self-understanding and strength.”

After I saw him in Chicago, Pulsipher hurt his groin in 2002 and quit the game.  He ended up working for the Mets once again, tending to the Mets’ minor league complex in Florida.  The bottom line is, he got help, got to work, made a new opportunity — and used that platform to help explode the stigma of depression and professional help for it.

“I guess I understand why other major-leaguers who use medication to treat their depression don’t talk about it publicly. I know at least two – and believe me, plenty more are out there. Even though much of America has awakened to the medical realities of depression, baseball’s little subworld still frowns upon it.”

Other players, like last year’s AL Cy Young Zack Greinke, have since struggled with depression and bounced back.  I think it’s great that baseball is more open about these issues (a recent phenomenon is using the disabled list for these issues without pretending it’s for another reason).  But the effect on the general public, if any, is the real gem of Pulsipher’s efforts.  In closing, Bill offers help:

“If you know someone who’s having problems like mine, please show them this story. Let them know that help is there for them. Heck, come to a Cardinals game and yell for me during BP. I’ll try to come over and tell you what I can. Some have thought my career was a waste, and in some ways maybe they’re right. But I think my career, right now, could be more important than ever.”

Respect.  Boston College offers all university students short-term counseling services: it’s free, and confidential.  Check out their web page, and if there’s something you could maybe use some help with, make an appointment.  All it can do is help.