Watch for one man: the Cat

SHELTON E-mail: Click here Archive

By GARY SHELTON

© St. Petersburg Times, published July 11, 2000

ATLANTA- The moment will begin somewhere up above, which is where a lot of moments have been in the warm, wonderful story of the Big Cat with the new life.

It will start as a rumble, somewhere in right-

field, perhaps. It will thunderroll through the stadium, picking up volume and vigor as it travels, becoming a wall of noise as a player strides toward a familiar field. By the time he arrives there, at the place where dreams come true, and turns to acknowledge those who cheer him, the night will have transformed into sheer emotion.

It is then that the other players will join in, turning toward him and applauding, acknowledging his journey. The noise will spike even higher then, and it will hang in the air as if the fans are cheering a player and a comeback and a survival, a moment and a second chance and an inspiration.

When that moment comes, in the introduction of tonight's All-Star Game, Andres Galarraga isn't quite sure how he will feel. But he knows how he will react.

He will weep.

Again.

This is why you should watch a game that becomes less significant with each passing hour. This is why you should pay attention despite so many defections that the night threatens to become starless. Maybe the game doesn't mean as much as it once did to the players. Maybe high salaries and free agency and interleague play have conspired to water down the All-Star Game to just another made-for-television exhibition (the Semi-Star Game?). But to Galarraga, it matters. When you see him smile, it seems like enough.

A year ago, he sat in his home in West Palm Beach and watched the All-Star Game on television. He had cancer then, a form called non-Hodgkin's lymphoma (the disease that struck former Lightning player John Cullen). He watched, bloated and sick, and the game felt a million miles removed.

A year later, he is starting at first base.

What were the odds he would make it back? What were odds he would do it so quickly, or so well?

Galarraga shakes his head at the questions. What can he say?

"There are no words to describe how I feel," Galarraga said Monday. "This is ... special. This game is special. I have a new life, and it is more and more beautiful."

It was a year and a half ago that Galarraga questioned how long his life would continue. Cancer, the doctor said. Death, the player heard. "I thought I was going to die the next day," Galarraga said.

Outwardly, Galarraga remained positive. But such thoughts plagued him in his private moments. He was weak. His weight began to soar all the way to 280. His hair fell out. He felt horrible.

But after his second chemotherapy session, he says he had a dream. "I dreamed God took me in his arms and carried me from the living room to the bedroom," he said. "After that, I told my wife, I think I'm all right now." A few days later, he had a CAT scan. The doctors told him 75 percent of the cancer was gone. Eventually, all of it was.

Still, there is life, and there is baseball. The Braves weren't quite sure how long it would take Galarraga to get back, or what would remain once he did. The team hedged its bet by signing Wally Joyner, thinking that if Galarraga eventually could platoon, that would be all it could ask.

Then Galarraga showed up at camp and started driving the ball across area codes. He hasn't stopped since. He's hitting .294 with 20 home runs, and Braves manager Bobby Cox calls him the team's MVP.

"When the Cat first got sick, all we wanted was for him to have his life back," teammate Tom Glavine says. "After that, anything he did was icing on the cake. Thank God, there has been a lot of icing."

How good is Galarraga's story? It's good enough to make you phone your parents and hug your children. It's good enough to make you high-five the next doctor you see. Who knows? Maybe it's even good enough to make you watch what is left of a constellation after the stars go home.

Joe Torre knows a little about what Galarraga has gone through. Torre, the American League manager, also has heard a doctor tell him he has cancer.

"I come back, and I sit on my rear end," Torre said. "But to have him come back and do what he's done physically ... it's taken a lot of dedication, a lot of hard work. Psychologically, you go out there every single day happy you're alive and happy you feel good. That's the greatest story we've had in sports in my mind. It really puts a smile on your face."

On Galarraga's, too. His teeth are white, broad and constant. He talks of how an 0-for-4 day used to anger him. No more.

"He thinks the angels are looking out for him," Cox said. Who knows? Maybe they are. The way Galarraga sees it, this might have been the divine plan all along. Maybe that's why all the other stars are missing, because tonight will belong to Galarraga.

"God does things for a reason," Galarraga said. "Maybe the reason this happened is so people with cancer can see me. Maybe it will help them in fighting for life."

And so he will run onto the field tonight, and the fans will cheer. It has happened before, in Venezuela at an exhibition, on opening night. Both times, Galarraga was so moved he wept from the sheer joy. Tonight, he expects to cry again.

It will be a moment. Only a moment in a game that has lost its significance.

But isn't that why we watch? Isn't that why we cheer? And sometimes, isn't that why a tear of our own finds its way down our cheek?

© St. Petersburg Times. All rights reserved.

Headlines

Americans Lose in 1st Round of Davis Cup

---