Savage Words: I can’t throw a 98 mph fastball, but I can relate to Verlander

If you haven’t seen the video from last week of Detroit Tigers pitcher Justin Verlander making his final pitch in the Major Leagues, go check it out.

Even if you’re not into sports, it’s a goosebump video, one that’ll put a lump in your throat. If you’re a parent, you’ll get what I mean.

My guess is you might have already seen it, or at least heard about it. Just four days after it was posted, the video on YouTube of Verlander shutting things down had nearly 700,000 views.

Here’s the gist: Verlander pitched 21 years in the Majors. He has a win-loss record of 266-159 with 3,560 strikeouts. His first start was on July 4, 2005. His last was on Sept. 26 of last week.

Seeing a pitcher – or any player in any league – compete in their final game and say their goodbyes is always emotional. 

But last week? Last week brought something special.

As Verlander threw his final pitch in the top of the sixth inning against the Pittsburgh Pirates, Tigers manager A.J. Hinch walked out of the dugout in what looked like a normal stroll to the mound where he would replace Verlander.

But Hinch walked to home plate, then up the first base line. Verlander looked confused. 

Hinch then waved towards the stands, and Verlander’s eight-year-old daughter Genevieve stormed the field and into her dad’s arms. 

Clearly, seeing his daughter approach was overwhelming. A wave of emotions engulfed the 6-foot-5, 240-pound superstar.

With Genevieve in his arms, the legendary pitcher sobbed. And sobbed. And sobbed … for 19 seconds.

I’ve watched that video a hundred times, each time with a different thought in my head. I thought about a young Justin Verlander at age 5, spending countless hours learning his craft, dreaming of one day playing in the Majors.

I thought about his life, how a young kid playing at Old Dominion University never had an inkling about someday having a family. My guess is a daughter was the last thing on his mind while a college pitcher. 

I thought about his wife, supermodel Kate Upton – and that’s not a stretch to admit I was thinking about her. I recalled seeing a video of the two from years ago, having a moment when they first met, Verlander rolling a baseball to Upton as she sat near the dugout.

Who knew at the time that it was his future wife he was googly-eyed with?

What a way to go out for Verlander.

His accomplishments are monumental. A 10-time All-Star, two-time World Series champion, American League MVP, three-time Cy Young Award winner, two-time All-MLB First Team, American League Rookie of the Year, five-time strikeout leader with the most career postseason strikeouts in MLB history with 244. He also pitched three no-hitters. 

Indeed, monumental.

But all of those awards and accolades meant very little last week when Genevieve came running towards him, almost releasing him from the pressure, the burden, the dedication that it took to lead him to such a career.

I have no idea how to throw a 98-mph fastball. I have no idea what it’s like to take the mound in a baseball game, let alone a Major League Baseball game, and then throw more than 3,000 strikeouts. 

But I can relate with Verlander when it comes to being a dad.

In no way – no way – am I saying that Justin Verlander’s career and mine are even remotely similar. But I did spend my career working in professional sports, missing out on many nights, many weekends, and many important moments with my daughter as I was chasing basketball players, football players, and race car drivers around the country. 

No matter your profession, no doubt you’ve sacrificed some of those same things as a parent.

Asked about the emotional moment on the mound in the postgame press conference, the legendary pitcher broke down … again.

“You commit your life to something,” he said. “I’ve been a baseball player since I was 5 years old. I gave everything for this. I left home. She was in school, and I wasn’t there.”

More sobbing as Verlander lowered his head in front of the media.

“It’s just a level of commitment that it takes to be great at something, you know? I hope she understands that she means the world to me. My family means the world to me,” he said. “I’m happy I get the opportunity now to make up for lost time.”

Again, I can relate. I missed a lot, as I’m sure you did in your career. There’s a level of guilt that sometimes creeps in, but I’m grateful I left it all behind 15 years ago for the same opportunity to make up for lost time. 

I’m confident my daughter and I have.

My final game working in professional sports was on Oct. 16, 2011 at Soldier Field in Chicago. I worked for a sports agency representing 11 NFL players, one of which was Chicago wide receiver Devin Hester, who scored the opening touchdown in the Bears’ 39-10 win over the Vikings.

If I would have left Soldier Field that night, and my daughter met me in a full sprint and hugged me, releasing me from that career, I, too, would have sobbed.

Probably for more than 19 seconds. 

One week later, I covered a high school football game for the Argus Leader between Flandreau and McCook Central, a long way from Soldier Field. 

When I got home that night, I got a hug from my daughter. It wasn’t in front of 40,000 fans like Verlander’s embrace, but I have a feeling we went through similar emotions.

What a refreshing moment it was to see Verlander – someone held in such high regard – have the emotion he did.

Again, I don’t know how to throw a 98-mph fastball, but I’m proud that Verlander and I are in the same club away from the field.