What I remember about Lamb was the naivete

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As one of Sports Illustrated's three baseball writers at the time,I was partially responsible for determining every team's "risingstar" candidate for our annual major league preview issue. Someturned out to be dead-on (Pittsburgh's Aramis Ramirez; Florida'sMike Lowell; the Dodgers' Eric Gagne), some dead-wrong (San Diego'sBen Davis; Milwaukee's Kevin Barker), and most fell into thatnetherworld of sustainable mediocrity, such as Jason LaRue andDaryle Ward.
Then there is Mike Lamb.
What I remember about Lamb was the naivete. Sitting before me atthe Rangers' spring training facility in Port Charlotte, Fla., wasa quiet, eager, happy-to-be-here pup who trusted the organizationand believed, in his heart, it had his best interests in mind.
Then, shortly before the season started, the third-base job washanded to Tom Evans.
Pfft.
I bring this up because I recently poked my head inside thevisiting clubhouse at Fenway Park and serendipitously spotted -- ofall people -- Mike Lamb, now a little-used reserve infielder for the Twins. He was sitting alone by his locker, laughing softlyas "Semi-Pro" played on a nearby television. Unlike the boy of 24,the man of 32 has a veteran's weariness to his appearance. Thebeard that now adorns Lamb's face is speckled with gray jimmies,and the exuberance of what-can-be has been replaced by the burdenof how-much-more?
Having not spoken to Lamb since that day way back, I felt as if Ihad hopped into Doc Brown's DeLorean and tapped 2-0-0-8 into thedash. Usually sportswriters like myself keep up with these guys;follow the highs and lows. But Lamb sort of vanished from my radar-- and here he was again, back … yet different.
So I was curious: Is this what he'd imagined all those seasonsback? Has the reality lived up to the dream? Is the .276 lifetimehitter happy? Appreciative? Over the moon?
Lamb -- thoughtful then, thoughtful now -- paused pensively. "Therehave been some good times and some bad times," he said. "I've beenblessed to do something a lot of people think they want to do. Iplayed in the World Series [with the Astros in 2005]. I've been onthe same team with legends."
Another pause.
"But when people say, 'Wow, the dream job,' they don't fullyunderstand," he said. "I know I have little right to complain, thatI'm awfully lucky and blessed. I know that. But my grandparents aregetting up there in age and I see them once per year. I see mysister once per year, my parents a couple of times per year. I havea 3-year-old son named Andrew, a 1-year-old daughter named Kayla,and my wife Teresa is pregnant. I went six weeks at the beginningof the season without seeing them, and I'll go five weeks at theend without seeing them."
But, I interjected, what about the awesome perks? Swank hotelrooms? Chartered jets? Bottomless tubs of gum?
"They're great," he said. "Great. I get paid a lot of money to playbaseball, and it's a wonderful living. But I didn't hear Kayla'sfirst words. That kills me. When I was home earlier this year, myson had barely walked. When I called a few days later, he waswalking across the room. It's heartbreaking, and every day Iquestion whether this lifestyle is best for my kids. You have to bea little selfish to do this line of work. That's how I feel, atleast."
What Lamb didn't say, at least not bluntly, is that -- despite whatfans might think -- there is no such thing as a "dream job"; thatevery schlub who believes in the right to mercilessly heckle aballplayer because he's "living the life" needs a few lessons atdecency school. Unless you're a Derek Jeter or an Albert Pujols,the life isn't really the life. It's a nonstop struggle to proveyourself and stay relevant in a profession that spits most of itsmen out by their early 30s. That Lamb has lasted this long isn'tmerely an upset. It's a miracle.
"I'm not that great of a player, and I know that," he said. "I'vebeen sent down and called up a number of times, and it beats on youa little. You crave stability, because after a while you forgetwhat stability is. You …"
Lamb stopped talking. It was time for the Twins to do their pregamestretching, a ritual Lamb has endured more than 1,000 times as apro. "I'd love to tell you it never grows old," he said, grinning.
"But it grows old."
Then Mike Lamb left.
Jeff Pearlman is a former Sports Illustrated senior writer and theauthor of " Love Me, Hate Me: Barry Bonds and the Making of an Antihero ," now available in paperback. You can reach him atanngold22@gmail.com.