Doc's Morning Line: When do we know it's time to go?

When do we know when it’s time to go?

If we’re lucky enough to call our own shot, when does the Little Voice become large and what do we do about it?

Confession: My worst career fear was that I’d become the stereotypical OG sports-hack, spending the 7th (and, good Lord, 8th) of my decades hangin’ out and hangin’ in, in press boxes, locker rooms and arenas, waiting to be told, “It’s time.’’ That would have meant a few things:

I’d allowed my work to define me.

I’d grown to care more about my paycheck than my performance.

I had nothing else to do.

I never wanted to be a retired OG who showed up at, say, the Super Bowl, not working but rather simply hanging out, hoping to run into some fellow hacks I knew back in the day.

I recall vividly what caused a very good sports columnist to leave the biz very early, and why. John Schulian was an always compelling and occasionally spectacular scribe, working mostly in Philly and Chicago. He attended the ’84 Final Four in Seattle, which happened to be my first. After Georgetown beat Houston to win it all, Schulian needed a quote from a Hoyas star named Reggie Williams.

It was late, Schulian was on deadline. He found himself running through the bowels of the Kingdome, after Williams. When the writer caught up to the jock, the jock blew him off.

Schulian resigned the next day.

Why?

Because, he said, he was too old and accomplished to be chasing 19-year-olds down arena hallways. He was, I believe, in his early 50s. Schulian went on to write for TV shows, most notably Wiseguy.

I’ve thought about Schulian and that night for four decades.

When do we know when it’s time to go?

I didn't wake up one day and say, "Yep, world, my last day of work's gonna be June 30, 2022. It was, rather, an accumulation of stuff.

My parents died within a year of one another, in the last couple years. Time waits for no one. Use it wisely.

The business was becoming foreign to me. I was supposed to Tweet. I almost never did. And I damned sure never read any. Not one. We went from good deadlines (11:30 pm most nights) to workable deadlines (10-ish) to unreasonable deadlines (7-ish) to the current impossible deadlines (5 or so). That meant no more columns off live events, something I enjoyed for their immediacy and was pretty good at.

I started writing lots of 2nd-day columns and TMLs. In The Wake Of stuff. I didn't like doing that.

I tried never to let writing about perpetually lousy pro teams get to me. But it did. "I've run out of synonyms for lousy,'' I wrote. In 1995.

Very recently, I've started leaking passion. This was a fabulous gig, a dream for sure. But after 35 years doing something, it starts to look like work. I knew it for sure when I lacked excitement for trips to the college football playoff with UC and the Super Bowl with The Men. You saw big, rare, thrilling moments. I used to see it your way. This time, I saw airports, hotel rooms, inconsequential interviews at overstuffed press conferences. And impossible deadlines.

The Bengals made a dream run that was as exciting as it was unexpected. Five years ago, I'd have lost sleep over that, from the anticipation. This time, I went to bed early.

Six innings, 100 pitches, a 3-2 lead. Time for a shower. Let the bullpen figure it out.

I imagine the decision is much, much tougher for pro athletes. Their careers are brief, the adulation has been thorough, the lifestyle sublime. In my experience, most athletes do define themselves by the games they played. Relatively few call their own shots. They get hurt, they slow down, they become exorbitantly expensive for the jobs they do. Sometimes, they’re the last to know. Most times, they don’t believe it.

Nothing is sadder in sports than a failed comeback. Unless it’s a great player who hangs on too long. OGs will recall Willie Mays with the Mets.

Next week, Tiger Woods will play golf for the first time since he withdrew from the PGA Championship more than a month ago. He’s featured in something called the JP McManus Pro-Am on Monday-Tuesday at Adare Manor in Ireland.

His next competitive event will be the Open Championship, at St. Andrews next month.

Woods needs golf far less than golf needs Woods. You could argue he’d be better off never playing competitively again. His back and his leg are shot, his game isn’t consistent enough to make a relevant contender against the big crowd of young guns now dominating leaderboards. But like Michael Jordan before him, Woods has nowhere else to stoke his competitive fire.

Is Tiger Woods Tiger Woods anywhere but on a golf course?

Joey Votto has said he will not play baseball when he cannot meet his own high standards. He’s not meeting them now. Lord knows, he’s trying. No one gets deeper into the hitting cocoon than Votto does.

After a hopeful May, he had a depressing June. The last week, he hit .158 in 21 plate appearances, with one run scored and one driven in. Extend that to the last 28 days, it’s 38 PAs, two runs, 1 RBI. While batting cleanup.

For the year, Votto’s OPS is an unthinkable .695, 235 points below his career average of .930.

No one should write him off. Everyone should afford him the grace he has earned to work himself out of his current situation. But there comes a time. . .

He has a year left on his Reds deal, with a club option for $20 million in 2024 that almost certainly won’t be exercised. What’s he thinking?

Probably, he’s thinking about what he can do to stop hitting .208, But there will come a day, not long now, when he’ll think seriously about other things. Time is the sneakiest of foes.

Now, then. . .

PUFF PIECE ON MANFRED ON ESPN.COM. . . Here it is. If you want to save yourself some time, just read the headline and ask yourself, “Why would any commissioner in any sport have to defend himself against a headline like this, of he were doing a good job?

Rob Manfred wants you to know: He doesn't hate baseball, he wants to save it

"Here's the problem," Manfred tells ESPN.com. "When you acknowledge there's something wrong with the game, that turns you into a hater of baseball."

No, it means you’ve acknowledged the problems and have done next to nothing to fix them, all the while sneering smugly at your detractors.

This is from the story and it about sums it up:

Leaguewide attendance totals are down considerably this season (as compared with pre-pandemic totals), on pace to be the lowest since 1996. Among all American fans who watch sports on television, baseball fans are the oldest: the median age is 57, up from 52 a generation ago.

This year's leaguewide batting average stands at a paltry .242, the lowest since 1968.

"The game has changed and it has changed for the worse," says Bill DeWitt Jr., the 80-year-old Cardinals owner. "To be honest, players get out of the box and fool around for no reason. Come on, get in the box! And the pitcher is walking around the mound. I don't know what they're doing. ... The game needs fixing. It's just slow."

None of this was meant as an indictment of Manfred. Howevuh. . .

When you’re the captain of the Titanic, you better be a good swimmer.

STICK TO SPORTS. . . From the NYTimes:

He flung his lunch across the room, smashing the plate in a fit of anger as ketchup dripped down the wall. He appeared to endorse supporters who wanted to hang his own vice president. And in a scene laid out by a former aide that seemed more out of a movie than real life, he tried to wrestle away the steering wheel of his presidential vehicle and lunged at his own Secret Service agent.

This describes the actions of:

(A) A toddler at lunchtime, presented with a bowl of peas.

(B) A prima dona athlete, discovering a scratch on his Bentley.

(C) Karl Childers, or

(D) The former president of the United States of America.

FREDDIE FREEMAN got emotional in Atlanta the other day, upon his return to the city as a member of the Dodgers. His reaction was to fire his agents. That’s a little like kicking the cat when you’re mad at the dog.

His reps got him more money in LA. They got him to a team as good or better than the one he left. And by the way, it is his life and career, not theirs. And his choices. Freeman can’t fire himself. I guess he thought this was his next best option.

C’mon, man.

AND NOW. . . FunMaster David’s final post, full of rockets and red glare.

I have a word limit but wanted to start this column by thanking Cincinnati staple Paul Daugherty for the opportunity to write about Cincinnati's best events and wish him the best in retirement! The Funmaster never sleeps though, and I encourage you all to visit CincyFests.com for the most up-to-date information on what's happening around town. Let's take a look at a big BOOM that will be happening this weekend.

The Funmaster will be up in West Chester this Friday-Sunday at VOA Museum Park for Kemba Credit Union Taps, Tastes, and Tunes. This three-day spectacular will feature delicious food from vendors such as Sweets & Meats BBQ, Turkey's R Us, Big Dog's Pizza, Graeter's, and more. There will also be ice cold beers, slushies (alcoholic and non-alcoholic), and soft drinks, as well as carnival rides and live music. Finally, to conclude the weekend, the Spin Doctors are headed to town for a free live show on Sunday night, preceding the West Chester Township fireworks show at 10:00pm on Sunday. Phew, did I get it all in? What a weekend this will be!

If you have an event you'd like to submit, please email davidcincyevents@gmail.com.

TUNE O’ THE DAY. . .The Island Songs, Day 3 of 5. This one’s a little off course. I’ve played it here a few times over the years. Roy Buchanan is an unheralded but not unknown blues guitarist. I’ve played this tune a thousand times at least. Roy’s take on a Tyrone Davis soul classic.

The lyrics are unintentionally ironic, I swear.

“. . . and I would like to start all over again. . .’’

This article originally appeared on Cincinnati Enquirer: Are Tiger Woods, Joey Votto hanging on too long to sports careers?