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So What's Wrong With Being Lazy?

I could have been a star athlete, you know? Really. My coaches back in high school and college said I had the build, the natural ability, the smarts. I have one flaw: I don't like to sweat.

Okay, I'm lazy. I admit it. But is that really such a bad thing?

I mean, what's wrong with being lazy? I've been lazy most of my life and I'm doing just fine. So I'm not willing to kill myself to be the "best me I can be." What's wrong with being the second best me?

I remember when I tried out for my high school basketball team. I mean I was six feet tall and fourteen, so what else was I to do? In pickup games I was pretty good, and the game was fun, so I said "sure" when Coach Jackson came to me during P.E. and asked me to try out for the team.

"You look pretty good, son," he said and winked. "I bet the ladies think so too."

That's all he needed to say, as thoughts of cheerleaders in short skirts danced in my head. But this kindly father figure, who seemed genuinely concerned about me and my still dormant sex life, turned into Hitler with a whistle when I showed up for practice the first day.

"Give me 50 push ups, girls, then we'll go to the track for some wind sprints. All you sissies can drop out now!"

So I turned and went home.

That's the way I always operated. I'm willing to do what I have to do to get by, like turn in the required work or read the assigned book, but I'm not going out of my way to read other books by the author and study what the critics have to say just because the book was a fun read.

Anyway, as I said, that's the way I operated until my sophomore year. I grew two more inches over the summer and I started to bulk up. Me and my buddies worked out every day during the summer and I was pressing my own weight-170 pounds. I know I told you I hated to sweat, but this was different. You see, we worked out in Andy Sabbatino's garage and his sister Angie would watch us. She was only fifteen, but I'm telling you: she could have passed for eighteen.

When school started, we all decided to try out for teams because, let's be honest, the jocks get the babes. Some of my buddies went for wrestling, but rolling on a mat with a sweaty guy wasn't for me. I already knew that basketball was too much work, and I sure wasn't about to knock heads with football freaks, so I figured the baseball team was perfect. It's not exactly what you'd call a high profile high school sport, but you get a letter, and it looks just as good as a football letter. Besides, baseball is a slow, thoughtful game and you get to sit down every half inning.

And I was pretty good. I played a lot of Little League as a kid, and I knew how to hit. While other kids swung with their arms and shoulders, I knew the power came from the thighs and midsection. I knew how to shift my weight from my back foot to my front foot and swing from the hips. I didn't play any position particularly well, but I worked out at first base because of my size and because I figured it was the easiest position to learn. I mean all you have to do is stay close to the bag.

Anyway, despite my lack of perspiration, I became a high school star and won a baseball scholarship to the University of Arizona. By the time I got there I was six four and I weighed one hundred and ninety-five pounds. The University tested me and said I had excellent eye-hand coordination and bat speed, and because my vision was so good, they claimed they would teach me to see the spin on the ball so I could tell in advance which way the ball would break.

With all this "natural talent," they predicted I would make varsity by my sophomore year and they even talked about "big league potential." But there was also one big problem: they wanted me to work awfully hard.

And anyone who says you don't sweat in Arizona's dry heat probably also believes that George W. Bush was accepted to Yale because of his strong academic potential.

I played ball at Arizona for the next few years. I played; I didn't work at it. Now, my senior year, I play the bench much more than the field.

People, especially my coaches, are always telling me to get serious if I want to make it big time. They tell me that sports is like life, and if you don't put "100% into it, you'll get 0% back." You know what? That's crap. My father was an electrician, a union man, who never killed himself on the job. He never made great money, but he did OK. My mom loved him and he was always there for me. In fact, that's how I learned to hit. He was pretty good for an old guy.

I remember when his friend, Jack Constantine, talked him into starting their own business. I never saw him work so hard, especially weekends. If he wasn't at a job, he was doing the books. I also never saw him so miserable. He was smart, though. Unlike Jack, he kept up his union dues and when he realized how miserable he was, he quit the business and the union found him work. "Steady work," I remember him telling me. "It beats worrying about getting rich."

Jack made it, by the way. It took a long while, and he had some rough times, but in the construction boom of the nineties, Jack did all right for himself. At one point, he had about sixteen people working for him. I hear things are tough again for him right now, though. He and my dad are still good friends and neither regret their choices.

Dad's even thinking of retiring early now that I'm finished with school. The scholarship I got helped him out, I know. Just before I got the award, Dad was talking to Jack about working for him evenings and Saturdays. He never said anything to me about it, but I knew. Anyway, when I got the scholarship, Dad was as happy for himself as he was for me. He never liked to work hard. Like father like son, I guess.

I'll never forget when he drove me to the airport after I came home from college my first Christmas break. He said, "Don't worry about being the best, son. Be good enough so you can sleep at night." I didn't really understand what he meant at the time, but as I watch some of my teammates popping pills to get that "competitive edge" and my classmates panicking over their grades, I realize he's pretty smart.

Well, I'm just about ready to graduate, and I'm sleeping fine. I'll get a degree in American Studies and I met a lot of girls here, including one I'm crazy about. We're talking about getting married when she graduates next year. In the meantime, I'm applying for scholarships to go on to graduate school because I'm in no rush to get a job.

When I get out I'll probably teach, maybe do some writing. Just as long as I don't have to break a sweat.

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