I’ve got so many thoughts, but so few words. I have had so many emotions, but I’m afraid to share them. As far as I’m concerned, Coach Walsh should still be here – coaching young men and shaping lives.
Looking back on college, it’s the pinnacle of selfishness. I’ve got two beautiful daughters now, which makes me sob with empathy for Coach’s family, my girls make me truly understand what is important. But as an 18-22 year old, at a wonderful school, blessed with the opportunity to play sports and be social and live in a great city, I was consumed with myself. I missed out on things . . .
I thought Coach was consumed with baseball, I thought he was missing the bigger picture, I thought he must have had blinders on. That’s not to say I didn’t appreciate him – he was singlehandedly the most important person associated with Harvard that I (and scores of other young men) knew. No professor will be missed as much as Coach. No advisor, no proctor, no administrator. He invested more time in us than anyone with a doctorate could fathom. He invested more time and effort in his craft than entire departments combined. No exaggeration.
But I missed a lot. I thought that baseball consumed him and I thought he was missing out on what was important. Everyone knows his famous “Concrete Cave” rant, and I figured everyone dismissed it. It was endearing in a Peter Pan way, but everyone knows that for the most part, people grow out of baseball and move on with life. Coach, how could you be so blind?
Have I mentioned that I’m selfish? But over time that has grown into a lot of introspection (who else would I focus on?). Who was the one with blinders? Joe Walsh knew more about my family than I bothered to pay attention to. His first question, literally his first question after “Hey Scotty!” was, “How’s your dad?” He spent more effort in 15 minutes on the phone getting to know the family of a kid who had no chance of attending Harvard or playing baseball beyond a 8th grade level than I did in four years getting to know his family.
I was convinced that Coach was a bit mad. Devoted, passionate, sincere, yes. But nuts. He slept on his couch or the floor most nights. He spent all of his waking and sleeping hours less than 90 feet from his baseball teams. As far as I could tell, this came at the expense of his family. Did I mention I was the one with blinders on? I love re-telling the story that was passed down through generations of Coach Walsh players: “. . . and I’ve got three daughters that I haven’t seen in weeks!” A Suffolk player replies: “Coach, don’t you have four daughters?” Coach’s reply: “You might be right!”
I’m baffled by what I missed, and what I find most fascinating and most memorable about Coach Walsh posthumously. I was tricked. In four years playing for him, in eleven years following the team since, I thought baseball was number one. I thought everything else came when it could. Taxes, car repairs, family. Once baseball was done. Listening to his beautiful family, his quartet of incredible daughters humbled me. What I will remember most from his funeral is what I learned about his family. What I neglected to invest myself in learning as a selfish college kid. What I was too busy to think about as an alumni. What I now am so acutely aware of as a father. His daughters not only felt, but knew that they were number one in his life. His wife knew that she was paramount in his world. I’ve never been more proud to know Coach Walsh than when I learned that I’d been duped.
Everyone who talks to Coach Walsh feels like he or she is his utmost priority. How can he possibly achieve that outcome when he clearly valued his family above all else? How could he teach his girls so many valuable lessons, how could he raise such astonishing women when he spent every moment in uniform. Maybe it wasn’t all my fault, I assume everyone who plays for him feels this way – but his passing made me realize that our team, that all of his teams were not the only thing in his world. Here was a man who invested everything into me, who learned about my family and paid attention to my life after baseball, and I never once asked him about his family. I never once tried to peel back his layers and understand that baseball and his players were only one of his passions. Actually, 6th and 7th on his list after his wife and four daughters.
Have I mentioned that I’m selfish? But I’m not blind. Coach Walsh, in your incredible way, you continue to teach me. If I can aspire to one thing, it is to have my family regard me as half the man your family knew you as. It is to raise my daughters to have half the strength your team of girls has. This tragedy brought things rushing into perspective for me. Coach Walsh didn’t care all that much about baseball. He cared about people that cared about baseball. He cared about parents that cared about baseball. He was first and foremost the most attentive and engaged person I have known or will know. He didn’t care if you hit .500 or .050, he cared how you played the game of life. Did you approach it with vigor, with passion? When you woke up in the morning, did you yell out “Let’s play two!”? Did you inspire others to be better each day?
I wish I had learned more about him in the time we had together, but one reality gives me peace; his family sincerely knew that they were the most important thing to him. And that makes me love and respect the man more than I ever could for baseball alone. Coach Walsh, I will miss you. I will think of you. But most importantly, I will put into action lessons I have learned from you during our time together and now our time apart. If I can emulate one thing, it has got to be holding my family up, at the pinnacle of my world, and ensuring that they know it every day.
Sandra, Tory, Holly, Katie, and Kasey, thank you for sharing your husband and father with us. I can’t speak for everyone, but I know my life is different – my life is better and I am a better man because of him. I don’t know that there are many people that can impact as many lives in such a positive was as he has. I’m not nearly as selfish as I was 11 years ago, and I hope I can find ways to learn more about you all, support you, and follow your respective journeys as you put your mark on the world.
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