There he was. Boy, it looked like him. But the beard made me unsure. It had to be him. It actually made sense. Here. Now.
His figure stood tall but perhaps a little shorter than I had envisioned. His body appeared a bit thicker than the lanky one I had imagined. Still, there was an unmistakable resemblance. But that red beard tripped me up. I was used to seeing the goatee but never that beard.
On his head sat a black hat with a black San Diego Chargers lightning bolt symbol visible because of its textured protrusion. The man looked like an athlete, outfitted in a gray Nike Pro short-sleeved T-shirt with a black swoosh. His black Nike mesh shorts hung at knee-level. There was another logo on the shorts, but I could not quite make it out.
I thought I'd take a closer, yet circumspect, look.
The logo on his shorts was that of the San Diego State University Aztecs. Now I was sure.
Stephen Strasburg — the future pitching star of the Washington Nationals.
It did make sense. We were at physical therapy, after all. I was doing my rehabilitation, he was doing his. I had had hip surgery, he had had elbow surgery.
I did not want to bother him in such an environment but felt compelled to ask him how his rehab was going — he said it was going well. After a bit of commiserating about our various injuries, I asked him for his autograph.
He said, "Sure."
Our interaction was cordial. Strasburg seemed low-key with a great deal of humility for a 22-year-old with a $15.1 million contract, the highest ever paid to a Major League Baseball draft pick.
After my encounter, I continued to mull over my reaction to Strasburg. My eyes had lit up. A smile had engulfed my face. But it was not my happiness that left a lasting impression. It was Strasburg's demeanor — humble, unassuming, down-to-earth.
In today's world, in which athletes are often prima donnas and criminals, Strasburg sticks out as much as his sore elbow.
The spotlight has shone brightly on his pitching skills.
The magnifying glass has hovered over his mechanics.
The scalpel has been brought to his arm.
Now, it's time to bring his humility to the forefront.
Another encounter I had with a famous athlete went a little differently. A few years back, at the Buick Invitational at the famed Torrey Pines Golf Course, I had what I thought was the privilege of meeting then-San Diego Chargers running back LaDainian Tomlinson. I saw him staked out in the rough, watching the action, and really wanted his autograph.
My problem: I had no paper, and I had no pen.
Not to be deterred, I figured I could just have him sign my Buick Invitational ticket. Then, I tracked down a tour official in a golf cart and politely asked to borrow a Sharpie.
She asked me, "What for?"
I explained that I had seen Tomlinson and really wanted his autograph.
She responded, "You are not allowed to ask golfers for their autographs."
Before I could say anything — and hopefully before my face could contort itself into a look of ARE YOU SERIOUS? a la Dick Vitale — a man she was with explained that L.T. was in fact not a golfer. The kind lady granted me permission to borrow the pen, and I was on my way.
I approached L.T. at what I thought was just the right moment. I told him I was a big fan and talked to him enough to make my acquaintance felt but not too long to intrude. Feeling kind of bad, I said I did not want to bother him, but it would mean a great deal to me if I could get his autograph.
His reply was something like, "No, but I'll shake your hand."
Then, in an effort to extenuate his terse response, he add that he did not want to attract attention to himself and that he was just there to watch Tiger Woods play golf. So I shook his hand. As I tried to look him in the eyes and see what defenders cannot behind his tinted visor, the rays of light shimmering off his designer sunglasses blinded me. I felt spited, but understood he did not want to draw attention to himself. Plus, the rebuff I received from L.T. was not all that bad or even uncommon. But it got worse.
A few months after my encounter with him, a television commercial in San Diego for Oggi's Pizza, a local restaurant chain, featured L.T. In the advertisement, a kid approaches him and asks for an autograph. Beaming with a smile, L.T. takes the football the kid is holding and signs it.
Now that's what I call false advertising.
On the field, L.T. stands out for lowering his shoulder. Off the field, he stands out for giving the cold shoulder.
On the field, Strasburg stands out for what he calls his "winning personality." Off the field, he stands out for being down-to-earth.
What's important is not L.T.'s incongruous actions — these are typical among the spoon-fed athletes of our generation.
What's important is that Strasburg's actions buck this trend. Hopefully, his behavior reflects his true humility — not just the fact that he is still young and unaccustomed to all of the attention and autograph requests.
I want to believe this is the case because he truly seems genuine, even amidst the firestorm of hype that has surrounded him.
Where there's smoke, there's fire. And where there's Strasburg, there's hope. Hope for the Nationals to become competitive and, more importantly, hope for people to have a positive role model in the world of sports.
