March 11, 2002

Farewell from the Hot Corner,

About four years ago, in late March of 1998, I asked for my release from the Houston Astros’ organization. That previous December, I had been released from the Arizona Diamondbacks, and trying to keep alive my big league aspirations, I went to Kissimmee, Fla., in hopes of catching on in the Astros’ organization. I did reasonably well, and I appeared to have third base locked up for their Class A Florida State League team right there in Kissimmee.

Unfortunately, baseball wasn’t fun for me anymore. All the instability and being passed over in favor of younger, better players became too much. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t know what I wanted to do, but I simply was no longer happy playing ball. I remarked to my parents that I didn’t want to be one of those hanging-on-by-a-thread minor leaguers who seemed to have nothing better to do. I was 25-years-old at the time.

I returned to Phoenix, Ariz., where I had lived for the winter, and I wasn’t really sure where my life was going. By a chance phone conversation, I caught on with the Chico Heat of the independent Western Baseball League, and I told myself I’d give baseball one more season. In short, I loved it. Gone was the pressure of "be good or be gone." I wasn’t looking over my shoulder to see which young stud was in line to take my job. Baseball was fun again.

After four years in the WBL (three with Chico and one with the Sonoma County Crushers), though, I no longer have the desire to play. Actually, I no longer have the desire to prepare to play. I suppose I could enjoy the competition part of being a professional baseball player forever, but the thought of another preseason and spring training is not very enticing. In addition, the thought of another season of low wages and hellacious bus trips don’t really appeal to me, either.

Perhaps the greatest reason, however, that I no longer want to play is my humbling experience in the Atlantic League last September. I went there because the Crushers didn’t make the playoffs last summer, and I wanted to see if I was as good as I thought I was (I was the WBL All-Star third baseman in 1999 and 2001).

I was not. In fact, I was downright lousy. The competition of the Atlantic League was far superior to that of the Western Baseball League, and I failed miserably. As I wrote in my journal of last season, 2001: A Baseball Odyssey, if the Atlantic League’s players, who were much better–and younger– than I, can’t catch on with organizations or play overseas to make some good money, what chance do I have?

I, like most independent leaguers, played in an independent league for those two reasons. A man has to have goals, and when those goals are no longer attainable, there is no point in continuing their pursuit. On Friday, March 8, 2002, I made these assertions to Bob Fletcher, owner of the Crushers, and I effectively ended my baseball career. Since he was expecting my return, he was a little disappointed. On the other hand, having been the owner of the team since its inception eight years ago and having seen what the players sacrifice in order to prolong their career, he understood.

With this "retirement," though, which will take place with no press conference and no fanfare, I know what I want to do: I want to coach. I have gotten the coaching bug. I worked as an instructor at the Tulane University baseball camp in December, and both Mark Kingston, the top assistant for the Green Wave (and a good friend of mine from my freshman year at the University of North Carolina) and head coach Rick Jones felt that I have what it takes to become a successful coach at the collegiate level.

Also, the batting lessons I give to local kids at the batting cages have been very rewarding. My new goal is to have a major college baseball program of my own someday. A man has to have goals, right?

Because I have given baseball every bit of myself for 10 years (college and pro combined), I can walk away with my head high. It’s no secret that my physical talent is paltry compared to other professional players, and the only solace I can take in an otherwise average career is the fact that I squeezed every drop of talent out of my body. Trying to make it to the big leagues with my physical ability would be like trying to win the Daytona 500 with a Volvo stationwagon.

So, with no regrets, I can move on with my life. I will not carry the chip on my shoulder that many ex-pros carry–I got hurt, I got screwed by the organization, I decided to get married, etc. On the contrary, I missed one game due to injury out of a possible 709. Heck, I played in 679 of those 709, so I can never say that I never received a fair shake. As for the female factor, well, let’s just say that was maybe the greatest fringe benefit of being a ballplayer. Simply put, I just wasn’t good enough. As painful as those words are to say, they are much more bearable than the alternative.

I want to take this opportunity to thank some people. First, thanks to mom and dad for all their love and support. Secondly, thanks to Dave LaPoint, Tim Torrecelli, Chris Speier, Bill Plummer (especially Plummer for finally teaching me how to hit the ball with authority), and Tim Ireland, the managers who gave a chance–and a regular spot in the lineup–to a non-home run-hitting, slow-footed third baseman. Finally, I want to thank all the fans who cheered for me, who befriended me, and who thought highly enough of me to ask me for my autograph. I will truly miss all of you.

Baseball will go on, with or without Bo Durkac. Like the growth of a new northern white ash in a spot where one had just been felled, someone will take my place. I wish him, and all of the aspiring professional ballplayers out there, the best of luck in the pursuit of their dreams. I lived the dream for seven years, and I wouldn’t change it for anything in the world. Every two weeks, I received a paycheck to play baseball. How many people can say that? Out.

Bo Durkac Archive

You can contact Bo Durkac at bohokiebo@aol.com, or visit his Website at www.probaseballadvice.com. You can also check out Bo's new book, 2001: A Baseball Odyssey.