I was not a great baseball player. In fact, I was not even a good one, compared to my more physically talented competition. I would ultimately face the end of my boyhood dream, filling the gap with writing. I had changed. One game, while in the outfield, I realized I was way more interested in column ideas than the score.
The universe had led in me in a creative direction. Music certainly has a place in any life, but especially a creative one. I suppose I had a one track mind. Before it became apparent baseball was no longer an option, I had not divested from my original hypothesis that the radio was a barometer for music at large. So naturally, I assumed music wasn’t that big of a deal. It seemed like a commercial experiment involving sound effects and synthesized voices. Years later, my good friend Nick Vigorito, a drummer, would confide to me that, “In a song, the music is the heart. And the lyrics are the blood.” I went to high school with Nick. If he had told me that in the hallway during freshman year, before my epiphany finally hit, I probably would have given him a glance askance. Now I know what he means, kind of… and I am grateful.