Carter Gaddis, Writer & Editor

It’s almost soccer season again. This will be my older son’s fourth at the YMCA. It’ll be the first for our younger son, who seems genuinely eager to get it right. He only picked up the ball every eight seconds the last time we popped out for a kick-around in the back yard. I just now asked him what he’d do when soccer season starts, and he kicked the air. That’s progress.

I never played soccer growing up. It’s a shame, really. Twenty-first century me would tell Nixon-era me to squeeze in some time on the pitch among all those hours of fielding ground balls and shooting free throws. I wish now I knew more about the beautiful game. I covered very little soccer over the years, and what I did cover was not very entertaining. Maybe if I had played the game, it would have held my attention. But now? Almost everything I know about soccer I learned playing EA Sports FIFA on the PS3. Which is to say … I know virtually nothing, because I am – without a doubt – the worst FIFA 12 player on the planet.

Still, I do get out there and try to help with my son’s team. What I lack in technical knowledge I try to make up for by encouraging them to pass to the right player, run in the right direction, shoot at the right net and play nice. And I’m there. That’s what’s important to my son, I think. He kind of likes having Daddy around, even though I try not to show him too much favoritism. Key word: try. So, it’s almost here again, and we’re looking forward to it a lot.

What does all of this have to do with former Tampa Bay Devil Rays pitcher Travis Harper (pictured)? Bear with me, because even though it might seem like a stretch, I learned something being around Harper for a few years that I’d like to impart to my sons as they begin their athletic endeavors.

It’s important to note here that even though Harper’s career never really took off (and it ended in 2007 with shoulder surgery), he was good enough to stick around for five seasons once he broke into the majors as a bullpen regular in 2002. His Rays career corresponded with my time as one of the beat writers almost year-for-year, so I was around him quite a bit. He and fellow reliever Lance Carter, a 2003 American League All-Star, were two of my favorite clubhouse conversationalists. I liked them because they were low-key, regular guys. If they hadn’t been major-league pitchers, I could envision both of them teaching English or history and coaching the baseball team at some high school. Both were quiet; Harper notoriously so. Any time I’d ask him an “official,” on-the-record question, he would heave a thought-clearing sigh, gaze off to the farthest reaches of the clubhouse, give a cynical grin, and practically whisper the driest, least-controversial, straight-laced quote he could think of. It was a part of what made Harper interesting: his never-ending quest to remain unquoted in the newspaper.

Every now and then, I’ll think about the night of June 21, 2005. It was mid-way through Lou Piniella’s third and final season as Rays manager. Tampa Bay was on the road in New York, one of a handful of trips I didn’t take that season. I watched the game on TV, though, and was amazed to see the Rays sprint out to a 10-2 lead against the Yankees and Randy Johnson. Long story short: Tampa Bay lost that game, 20-11. It was the first time in major-league history a team won by that many runs after trailing by that many. And it was as ugly as it sounds.

Harper pitched two-thirds of the eighth inning that night and took the loss. In fact, he matched a major-league record by allowing four home runs in one inning: one by Jorge Posada, and back-to-back-to-back jobs by Gary Sheffield, Alex Rodriguez, and Hideki Matsui. Come to think of it, the Yankees hit for the cycle against him in that inning, because Matsui also doubled and Bernie Williams tripled. God, it was painful to watch. As I watched the demolition on TV, I found myself getting upset on Harper’s behalf. Clearly, he didn’t have it at all that night, for whatever reason. Why was he still in there? Why didn’t Lou bring in someone else? Lou had his reasons, and those don’t really matter anymore. After all, Harper made more than $2 million in his baseball career. He was a well-paid professional who was there to do the manager’s bidding – however unpleasant that might have been at times.

As the ugliness proceeded, and as the Rays watched their once-comfortable lead buckle, crumble, and finally disappear like a sand castle at high tide, Harper would step off the mound occasionally, take off his cap, wipe the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, and climb back onto the mound to throw the next pitch.

That was Travis Harper. Even on the worst night of his major-league career, he remained stoic and did his job. I asked him about it later. I don’t remember his exact words, but I’m sure his answer was classic Harper.

Sigh. Far-off gaze. Cynical grin. Whispered cliché.

I feel kind of bad bringing up Harper’s bad night, and I don’t do so to give attention to that one poor performance. Rather, I bring it up to demonstrate what can happen after such a performance when you approach things a certain way.

I saw Travis Harper slip and fall – hard. And then … I saw him get back up and pitch. And pitch well. He gave up nine runs in two-thirds of an inning against the Yankees that night. It could’ve been the end. Instead, he didn’t give up another run for more than a month. And over the course of 26 more appearances, he gave up only 10 more runs the rest of the season. That’s resilience. That’s admirable.

That’s the way I hope my sons learn to approach their athletic endeavors, starting now, with another soccer season on the horizon. I hope that when they fail on the pitches and fields and courts of their futures, they find the resolve to get back up and try again. I hope I can figure out a way to impart to them how important it is to persevere in the face of adversity.

I’m not really sure if I can. It might have been a quality unique to Harper and other professional athletes. Maybe that’s the main reason they’re pros, because they’re mentally tougher than the rest of us.

I’m going to try, though. And if I seem to fail, I’ll just take off my cap, wipe the sweat from my eyes, climb back up there and try again.