Baseball's Legendary Substance Abusers Series

Josh Hamilton





In the case of Josh Hamilton, thank God for, well, God. After a tattoo and crack-fueled four year descent into the darkest depths of humanity, Josh Hamilton has somehow emerged not only sober, and not just a Major League Baseball player--but an exceptional one, an All-Star. The other-worldly potential he displayed as a high school senior has materialized. How did he do it? God, faith, and ability.

Hamilton was drafted with the first overall pick in 1998, one pick ahead of young Texan fireballer Josh Beckett, and given a hefty $4 million signing bonus. Amongst scouts who had been following his growth and development in high school, he had already achieved legend-status. A five-tool centerfielder, he had it all, garnering comparisons to Mickey Mantle. He could even pitch, with a fastball consistently clocked at 96 mph.

Former Reds first baseman Sean Casey was in awe of this young talent: "I remember seeing him taking BP with the Devil Rays in 2000 during spring training, and I was like, Who's that? He was 18 years old and hitting balls farther than anyone else. I said, 'That's one of the greatest swings I've ever seen.'"

His first two minor league seasons, he hit a combined .306 with 23 HR and 101 RBIs in 699 at bats; he was seemingly on the fast track to the Major Leagues, and up until this point in his life he hadn't even sipped drugs or touched alcohol. Then in 2001, he got into an accident while in the car with his parents. Hamilton was subsequently sidelined with various injuries, while his mother needed to return home to North Carolina to treat her own injuries.

It was at that moment--when Hamilton became injured and separated from his family--that he became worthless to himself; he lacked identity and direction. His reaction to his injury, and his subsequent drug and alcohol-induced retreat from the game reveal perhaps not only a personal flaw, but also a societal one.

In the words of author Benoit Denizen Lewis:

Today we find more and more ways to distract ourselves—and as we obsessively search for new and innovative ways to 'feel better'—we've created a schizophrenic culture where nothing is ever enough, where stillness is equated with boredom, and where we need increasingly intense experiences just to feel alive...In essence, we've created a culture that supports and encourages addiction while at the same time shames, ridicules, and criminalizes those of us afflicted with it.

The thrill of the crowd was gone; he was stationary, rehabing, and away from his family, which had acted as his entire support system. Perhaps, then, it was the desperate need for excitement, praise, and validation that led to Hamilton's urge to find a replacement high: something to fill a growing sense of inner emptiness (If I can't succeed and receive praise on the ballfield, then I'm worthless).

His reaction is not uncommon in a society that has become increasingly narcissistic, a society where "To live for the moment is the prevailing passion--to live for yourself, not for your predecessors or posterity."

One day Hamilton wandered into a tattoo parlor. Three years, 26 tattoos, and countless binges later, he hit rock bottom. In the words of Hamilton, he had become a "dead man walking."

I was so out of it I had lost consciousness, but my body had kept going, down the middle of the road, cars whizzing by on either side. I had run out of gas on my way to a drug dealer's house, and from there I left the truck and started walking. I had taken Klonopin, a prescription antianxiety drug, along with whatever else I was using at the time, and the combination had put me over the edge. It's the perfect example of what I was: a dead man walking.

How did he emerge? It may sound cliche, but he "found God," forming an intense relationship with Him.

What's crazy about religion is the power it wields, and sometimes I wish I could be a devout Christian. For every disgusting story of fundamentalist hypocrisy—the Ted Hagers and Father Geoghins of the world—there are those who have given themselves up to a higher being, and truly live their lives according to a creed—and achieve real success doing so. I don't think it's a coincidence that so many athletes are devoutly religious (Tim Tebow immediately comes to mind). After all, if one truly believes that he is being guided by God, or has a higher power on his side, he must be bursting with confidence—arguably the most crucial psychological advantage in sports.

In an interview with ESPN during his rookie year with the Reds in 2007, Hamilton displays the extent of his new relationship with God, along with the confidence that this relationship exacts

Baseball is third in my life right now, behind my relationship with God and my family. Without the first two, baseball isn't even in the picture. Believe me, I know.

On May 6, I hit two homers against the Rockies at home, and I felt like I did in high school. I felt like I could do anything on the field...amazing that God allowed me to keep my baseball talents after I sat out three years

His successful return to baseball is enough to validate Hamilton's legend-status, and the home run derby is the icing on the cake: a singular, defining displayof his otherworldly talent--the power of his own faith, the gift of pure athleticism that so few are blessed with, a reminder of the legend in all of us--our potential, our faith-infused abilities--what Hamilton is to baseball, you are to something, whether it is physical, social, or emotional.

The offseasons, the injuries, and his post-baseball career are the biggest cause for concern. We'll never have to worry about Hamilton when he's on the ballfield, where he's doing what he loves (and doing it really really well); it's when he's off the field that problems can arise. A slip up this past offseason serves as a reminder of his continuing fraility.

Yet we here at BostonLegends will continue to be his biggest fans, hoping for nothing but greatness and sobriety from here on out.