Chemo can wait. Today, he pitches for the Red Sox
TRENT WOODS
Two years after being diagnosed with cancer, Scott Davenport is expected to fulfill a dream when he rocks back and fires a baseball into the mitt of a Boston Red Sox catcher in Fort Myers, Fla., today.
His pitch will mark the first of the spring training season for the Red Sox.
"I've told people this is my Major League debut and my retirement - all in one pitch," Davenport says. "And I'll be on steroids, so that eliminates me from the Hall of Fame."
Davenport, a bubbly, fun-loving
60-year-old Red Sox fan, takes small doses of steroids to fight the fatigue from chemotherapy. They're not performance-enhancing.
He discusses the distress of having stage IV peritoneal carcinomatosis without the slightest plea for sympathy, delving into the details of diagnosis day. It was Feb. 28, 2008. Doctors discovered tiny tumors lining the inner walls of his abdomen.
"Cancer changes your life," he says. "You look at things differently. You know, the things that you used to think were difficult, or really important, they aren't anymore. It's the little things that really matter now."
About a month ago, Davenport's phone rang on a Sunday afternoon. It was Sean Bunn, president of a Raleigh-based Red Sox fan club, eager to share good news: Davenport would throw out the first pitch of Boston's first spring training game of 2010.
"Sean called, wondering if they should surprise him," Davenport's wife, Lynne, says. "We finally decided the anticipation would be something for him to look forward to."
With the sour smell of relish and beer filling the air, Lynne will be on the field, camera in hand, as her husband struts to the center of the diamond today.
"I've got to make sure I can throw it 55 feet," he says, "because I don't want to bounce it in there. And I don't want to throw a balloon ball in there. I want to be able to throw a strike and walk away feeling like I've done something."
Davenport is confident in his ability, and he says he won't be nervous. He lives in the moment now.
His positive attitude, in part, comes from the cancer inside. It's made him unafraid, unnerved. The strength it takes a person to throw a baseball is weak, relative to the will it takes to endure stage IV.
There are only four stages of cancer, so he's crossing home.
"All of this has been given to me by God," he says. "Even though I've got this bad disease, I'm still blessed."
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Maybe I can talk her into coming back. Watcha think?
at my feet
Originally Posted by pomtzu
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