Pain Don't Hurt Read Online Free PDF

1990, I was a part of this ritual.
    The shoes were set aside, as all dirt collected in them would need to be brushed out carefully. The pads were stacked on top of the lockers (I used to think dirty pads were the foulest things in the world until I smelled dirty hand wraps getting repeatedly used). Mike and I pulled bits of tape off the players’ uniforms and carefully cleaned every bit of them. We finished brushing field dirt from the shoes, and when the laundry was finished we folded, hung, and gathered up the complete uniforms and placed them in the players’ lockers. On this particular day I made my way back to the players’ dorms. I went to Mel’s room, dodging wads of paper tape being lobbed at me by Jack, and wandered in. Donnie Shell, number 31, was leaning against the table. Mel shifted his feet up onto his bed and said, “Grab a seat, Mark.” I smoothed a bit of the bedspread out and sat down. Donnie and Mel were talking about music. So I sat and listened. After a while of hearing them rattle off names, I decided to chime in.
    â€œHey, do you guys like Jimi Hendrix?” I asked brightly. I was so sure I had just suggested a name that would win me accolades with these two men just because I knew it. I knew the name of a major black rock musician, and I was positive that they would be absolutely blown away. I was wrong.
    Mel shifted to his side and raised his eyebrows at me quickly, his face a mixture of surprise and offense, as though he had just witnessed a person de-pants the queen of England. Donnie smiled and just started shaking his head, saying, “Oh no, Mel, oh, you gotta tell him, Mel.”
    Mel patted my knee and said, “Son, we listen to Motown . You know Motown?”
    I smiled. I knew it from the boxing gym. “I know Motown. They play it in my boxing gym.”
    An expression I had never seen before passed over Mel’s face. Mel was impressed. “Are you boxing on the side, Mark? That’s a tough sport. Heck, that sport is too tough for me! You’re a brave man, Mark!”
    I went so hot all over with pride I felt like my skin might blister.
    After a few minutes Mel reached over and slapped me on the back, saying, “Aw, kid, you are all right. The little Moose is all right.”
    These were my summers. Between working with the players I would jam training in. I started Tang Soo Do when I turned ten. My first martial arts training. I would come to practice and some of the players would ask me how my “karate lessons” were going. I didn’t even care that they got the name of the art wrong, I was just happy they were asking. Some would ask me to “show [them] some moves.” I would jokingly show a few things off and then resume work.
    When I was around fifteen I was at the field after a training session with the Steelers, talking to the grounds crew, when a few men from the Chicago Cubs started coming onto the field for batting practice. Carmine from the grounds crew shouted out to Billy Williams, “Hey, Billy! You know this kid here, he’s been playing ball since he was probably born! You should give him a lesson or two!”
    Billy Williams, the batting coach for the Chicago Cubs, turned his head toward me and flashed a smile. “Is that right?”
    I nodded a little too quickly. “Yessir. I’ve been playing since I was six years old!”
    Billy looked around and motioned for me to come onto the field. I stood and started toward him, Billy’s stats swimming in my head. I stepped backward to avoid Shawon Dunston, who was running laps. Andre Dawson stood a few feet away, a player who later that same year would be named National League MVP; his stats were ridiculous. I approached Billy and muttered, “Is that Andre Dawson? Oh my God, he had forty-nine home runs and a hundred and thirty-seven RBIs! He’s one of the best!”
    Billy grinned wide. “Oh yeah? You a fan? Well, hang on just a