I learned a lot of things in the 16 months it took to write “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” and those teachable moments came in a variety of shapes and sizes. I learned how to be a better writer, and through that I believe I earned the title “author” as well. I could always write. Press releases are one thing, as are blog installments, but they’re just bite-sized chunks of words that start and end in mere minutes. By the end of the book, I was seeing the much bigger picture and it pleased me enormously to see the way the book flowed and stayed connected. I didn’t want it to be 33 chapters that all seemed separate and disjointed. I wanted it meander, but like a river it had to flow to a conclusion.

I think I did that. On the fly, I learned how to write a 545-page book and while some of it was due to the marvelous direct influence of Greg Halling, my editor, I think the rest of it was somehow subconsciously absorbed and adapted. It was a whole new skill set for this old dog, and it was great to feel myself grow on daily and weekly basis.

I also learned quite a few things about myself, as seen through the prism of such an autobiography. Looking down from 30,000 feet you see the natural topography. When you’re deep in the middle of a sentence or paragraph, all you see is the grass.

So I’ll make some admissions about things I learned, and after that I’ll throw in a few highlights that were, sadly, victims of page count. There seem to be as many great stories that aren’t in the book as there are ones that made the cut, but the book couldn’t weigh 12 pounds, and some things had to go. Some very good stories and characters.

But first, the admissions.

Looking back, I think it’s clear that if I was growing up today I would’ve been diagnosed with A.D.D. upon arrival at grade school. I couldn’t concentrate on what the nuns were trying to teach me, I didn’t really care what the nuns were trying to teach me, and my standard length of time to be able maintain focus on school work was about 25 seconds. The work itself was far easier than the strain to focus on it. It wasn’t until the final few years of high school that the focus got better. In college, it was razor sharp. Did I “grow out of it?” No, I don’t think so. I just grew out of math and science and concentrated on the things that interested me.

Another admission, here for the first time, was my common reliance on one old adage about school: “You’re only as good as your wing man.” That was especially true in math and science. During my junior year at St. Louis U. High the math stuff was getting so deep, so many levels beyond what I could “get” and just so damn “hard” my writer’s brain couldn’t fathom it. We had a very difficult test one day and my wing man, who was the guy at the desk in front of me, gave me ample room to see over his shoulder. At that level of trigonometry or calculus you have to not only arrive at the correct answer, but you also have to show your work. I didn’t have a chance.

The next day our teacher, who was a priest in a wheelchair, rolled into the room with our tests graded. I was quite nervous. And then he said, quite loudly, “Mr. Wilber, please come to the front of the room.”

I figured, well, I was finally busted. Would they just fail me? Would they suspend me? Was copying much of a classmate’s work grounds for expulsion? I pondered all of those thoughts as I slowly walked forward. And then Father I-Don’t-Remember-His-Name held up my test and showed the front of it to the class. There was a large B+ at the top. He said, “Best work you’ve done all year, son. Keep it up.” I swear there was a gleam in his eye. Almost a slight wink, maybe. He knew. He had to know. Right? But maybe, just maybe, by then as a junior my instructors could see my potential in other pursuits. Maybe they didn’t have the heart to kick me to the curb one year before college. And yes, those math classes were HARD. If you don’t have the genes for math, it seems impossible.

And here’s a question about this for the present day. The statute of limitations has run out on all this, right? I don’t need to start having those recurring nightmares again, right? The ones where my high school or college comes back months or years later and yanks my diploma away.

I was a naturally good athlete, but two things conspired to put me behind in terms of developing as a baseball player trying to swing a bat. By being so incredibly sick as a kid, for so many years, my growth and physical maturity were a little delayed. When I got to high school, I was no more than 5’6″ and maybe 130 pounds. Then, those five incredible summers with my dad’s professional teams made me into an outfielder of the highest caliber, but left my hitting lagging far behind. By the time I was done with pro ball, and could play semipro with my buddies, I had filled out, gotten stronger, and learned to swing the bat. If you could’ve taken that 29-year-old version of me and time-traveled it back to Class A ball, I might have had a real chance to play in the big leagues, or at least play a lot longer in the minors. It was like two completely different versions of the same body and skill set. Timing is everything.

As I wrote the book, I told the baseball stories as truly and accurately as I could. The stats are the stats. My descriptions of the talent level were not exaggerations. Now, you’re probably not going to believe this but the book made me admit one key thing about my baseball years. I was better than I ever gave myself credit for. Because I wasn’t necessarily the best player on any team I played for, and because I never made it to the big leagues like my dad had, my standard belief was rooted in a less than stellar self-image. I always felt that I wasn’t all that good. Maybe even a complete mirage. Writing all about it, I could see my shortcomings and flaws but I finally had to admit I was a pretty good player. And I hope I was a good teammate. I think I was. Those are good things to accept and admit. I had my moments. They’re in the stats.

And one other thing I learned to admit once the book was done was this: It’s not only OK to be proud of it, it’s healthy to feel that way. The promotional side of marketing the book requires a healthy amount of self-confidence, but throughout the writing process I was so deeply involved in trying to write the best stuff I could, I rarely allowed myself to stop and analyze how good it was. Even after I was done, I wasn’t a total believer. When the first reviews started to pop up, I was not only proud of it all but also intrigued by it.

And so I’ve been reading it again. Front to back. Trying to do that impossible thing of pretending I’m reading someone else’s work for the first time. If I bought this book, what would I think? Well, I think it’s pretty good. I’m proud of it. Getting more proud by the day, actually. It was a huge leap and probably a pretty big risk. What if it totally stunk? I don’t want to think about that now, and I don’t believe I have to worry about it anymore.

I did a great radio interview with a radio station near Des Moines, earlier this week. It wasn’t a sports show. It wasn’t a racing show. It was an arts and literature program and the guy interviewing me is a very sharp critic of those pursuits. He had me send him a promotional copy a few weeks earlier so that he could read it before the show. I was, to say the least, pretty nervous about making this huge leap to a show where the host is focused on content, flow, and entertainment. Well… He loved it. It was the most enjoyable 20-minutes of conversation I’ve had so far, the most complimentary, and the most fulfilling. The guy, an art critic who reviews books of all types, absolutely loved it. I’ll admit it, that was an honor and a thrill and yet another reason to believe in what I’ve done.

Now, for a few deletions.

When Greg and I were done with the first draft of the manuscript we had to face the fact that it was massively too long. And we had to face the fact that some good stories were going to get cut.

We also had to put a lid on the amount of photos we used, for two reasons. 1. The page count was enormous. 2. You can’t publish (in print) anyone’s recognizable photo without their permission. I’d consider the day I received the signed consent form from SRO Management, on behalf of Geddy Lee from Rush, to be the biggest highlight in that regard. We could use that photo and we did.

I never did hear back from the Detroit Tigers or Justin Verlander’s agent, though, so I couldn’t include the photo of the two of us in the Team Wilk pit back in ’08. That was a disappointment, but we were running out of space anyway.

We also left the Christopher Knight appearances at the races out. They were fun stories about a famous guy we all watched on The Brady Bunch, but when Greg was making suggestions about things to clip he’d often say “It’s a good bit, but it doesn’t move the story along.” So we didn’t get to use the phenomenal “Peter Brady” photobomb shot. At least I can show it here!

There were many others like that, too. Getting to meet Gregg Potter and Cathy Rich a couple of times was off the charts. Cathy, of course, is the daughter of the late Buddy Rich, one of the best drummers in the history of percussion, and Gregg is a world-renowned drummer himself. On top of that, they love drag racing and are a massive amount of fun to be around.

Or the time three members of Aerosmith spent a day with us at the Vegas race.

Or the time the band Saliva shot a video for their hit song “Ladies and Gentlemen” in the Team CSK pit area, also in Vegas.

Or how about when I reconnected with former big leaguer Rob Deer when I discovered he was racing in the sportsman classes in Phoenix. I’d scouted him heavily when he played in Fresno, and we had a great time catching up. The next day, he showed up at the CSK pit with a former teammate of his. A teammate who was, by then, already in the Hall of Fame. Funny thing was, nobody on the race team recognized Robin Yount. Rob and Robin played together on the Brewers.

Another photo we couldn’t run was the final shot I took at the end of my final day of hosting hospitality for LRS in St. Louis. I gathered everyone around and took this photo with my phone. It would’ve been a great addition to the photo section, because of its finality, but there would’ve been no way to secure photo releases from all these people. But, yes sir, I can post it here.

I also had to at least try to keep the flow of the photos matching the flow of the book. I couldn’t post eight pages of baseball stuff and then just two pages of racing. And I, sadly, didn’t even have any photos from the indoor soccer years! Well, I did have one of me at the microphone for the St. Louis Arena P.A. system, but it was taken of me with a little kid, who had won a contest to come down there and sit with me for a quarter. Heck, I look so young in the photo it’s hard to believe it’s me, but the kid was no more than five. Not a chance of getting that photo release. I still have no idea who he was.

If you’ve read it yet you’ll surely remember Chapter 10, entitled “A Quick Change of Plans.” It details my summer with the Medford A’s minor league team and I think it’s clear that those guys and that summer were very special. And not all in good ways, as the broken teeth and 50 stitches from my encounter with a flying Louisville Slugger bat illustrated. But the guys on that team were special. As were my teammates on the Paintsville Hilanders the year before.

Mike Altobelli was the most special guy in Medford, and we became the best of friends in mere days. We still talk now, too. So, I included the “before and after” shots of me and Alto in the book. That precluded me from including a photo like this one, of Alto, me, and two other guys I wrote about quite a lot. Our two roomies Terry Harper and Pete Slattery. They were great guys and the stories of life in the low minors with this bunch make for fun reading, but there wasn’t room to show them.

Great guys. Great memories. Great stories to tell… But some great stuff had to be left out.

At some point, I’m actually going to get bobwilber.net up and running, and when I do I’ll put the most effort into gathering up ALL the photos, to give them a home on the Web. Lots of people and faces that you’ll be able to match up with names from the book. All I need is the time to do it.

So, my initial thought this morning, when I was still laying in bed, was to blog today about some admissions, but then I also thought of some deletions. And now, 2,400 words later, we have a new Thursday Blog Day.

I have to admit, I do enjoy writing this every week. If you enjoy reading it, please “Like” it by clicking on the button at the top. And if you really REALLY enjoy it, sharing a link on Facebook and Twitter is a great way to introduce all this nonsense to other people. Just tell them I’m crazy and all of this is made up.

I’ll see you next week. That gives me seven days to fabricate all sorts of other impossible stories. Because I’m crazy.

Bob Wilber, at your service and actually not all that crazy. Much. Sort of…