I was 20 years old and on the cover of Sports Illustrated before I'd played a full season in the big leagues.
I walked into my local 7-Eleven one morning, put a honey bun and a quart of milk on the counter, looked down, and saw my own face staring back at me.
I walked out without buying either one.
What followed was 10 years of trying to live up to something I hadn't earned yet. I wanted to please everybody in the stadium. Make every scout right. Justify the cover.
Turns out that's the fastest way to please nobody, including yourself.
By the time I became a manager, there wasn't much a player could bring into my office that I hadn't already walked through myself.