Doug Glanville former Phillie writes an OP-ED
On paper, I was ready for my ride into the sunset. I had a nice Ivy League engineering degree, a wonderfully supportive family, some coins in my pocket. My transition to the other side was supposed to be smooth sailing to blissful relaxation. But I didn’t really know much about this world I was entering. I had a Ph.D. in baseball, but in every other realm that involved making a living, I was stuck at my college graduation ceremony, 15 years before.
And I was one of the more prepared players.
There are no institutional services to help baseball players move on to that next life. (A few, like the retired pitcher Jim Poole, have tried valiantly to create some.) You get the pat on the back, the thanks for the memories and the “you are going to be fine because you have money” platitudes while the door closes behind you. I don’t expect tears of sympathy — there are many causes more worthy of attention than the plight of millionaire athletes. (Then again, the majority of professional baseball players never leave the minor league ranks and never make even close to six figures a year.)
