He’s got a Griffey-esque stance, the power of Babe Ruth, the humility of Lou Gherig, and an M356 bat. This season alone, Chris Davis has delighted Baltimore with 37 homers prior to the All-Star Game, quickly defining himself as the league leader. Endearing himself to the fans, he has been affectionately nicknamed “Crush Davis”, for his powerful swing and return on investment. And he’s been rewarded with a spot in the heart of the order (3rd, 4th, or 5th), to boot.
He’s a clutch hitter on a very promising team, and the energy his hitting brings just ramps up the capability and momentum of his fellow players including Jones, Machado, Hardy, and Markakis—all of whom already stand on their own merits. I love watching these guys play, rippling with the enthusiasm of youth and glory, and anchored by Buck (the juxtaposition is key).
While I’ve appreciated seeing Davis’ maturation over the past season and a half, it hadn’t struck me what that metamorphosis really meant until this week. As Davis was going up to bat at the Home Run Derby, the announcers began to craft their dramatic story arc as the backdrop for his impending, much-anticipated performance. Throughout the two days of all-star festivities, the commentators talked about the debate over Roger Maris vs. Barry Bonds, as home run record breakers. They discussed the ongoing question of steroids and the scrutiny he would be under should he continue to be successful. But what they mentioned, nonchalantly, caught my attention as an emblematic and overlooked piece of the story. A piece that has implications for how each one of us has to forge our way, if we’re to authentically reach adulthood.
Davis got his major league start on the Texas Rangers in 2008. He came up from the farm system in Oklahoma, with a batting average of .318, nothing to sneeze at. Since he was from Longview, Texas, being drafted into the Rangers meant returning to play on his home turf. He came back for his major league debut to a home town full of hopes and expectations. For any performer, to share their craft in the place where they grew up can be a daunting task–an act of being caught between the world of childhood perceptions and adult expectations. This type of perspectival conflict is enough to rattle the best of athletes.
Davis’ major league debut did not live up to his minor league promise. It varied greatly from 2008 through 2011 with an impressive 2008 start that had waned by the following year, and some trips down to the minors. By the end of 2009, he had a batting average of .238 with 150 strikeouts, which was a significant regression from his major league start. As the announcers unpacked this part of his story, they shared what seemed to be a blip on the screen of the making of an all-star: Chris Davis was tormented by the fact that his ongoing failure was disappointing his family and friends. He was working under the constant observation, and proximity, of those he cared about most, and simultaneously hearing their questions, their looks of concern, or maybe even doubt, as he continued to regress.
According to his testimony, he felt overwhelmed by the weight of expectations. “I didn’t realize how much pressure I was putting on myself to play at home. I had people at every game – my family and friends. It really felt at times like I had the whole state of Texas on my back because the hometown boy had to do well. I didn’t have a chance to breathe.” His confidence was eroded. It was whittled away to the extent that he’s been quoted as saying, “I was skeptical, at times, if I was ever going to be able to make it translate” (referring to his momentum and power being translated at the major league level). By the time I had processed this description of his major league initiation, the announcers had already moved on. But I was left mulling over something very curious.
Fast-forward to mid-season 2011. Davis was traded to the Orioles. He gained momentum over the rest of the season and by the end of October 2012 he had 33 home runs and a trip to the playoffs under his belt. While the Sabermetrics would point to a variety of statistical data to bolster support for the transition in his performance from Texas to Baltimore, I can’t help but consider that there’s an underlying emotional element that plays an equally pivotal role.
I don’t want to wrongly assume that Mr. Davis was influenced so strongly by performing in the presence of family and friends that it affected his debut. I do find it interesting, however, that he has communicated, on multiple occasions, the difficulty of being initiated in his home state as he worked to carve out his place in the world.
Whether my view of the story is accurate or not, this metaphor provides a rich context for understanding our own differentiation. Dictionary.com defines differentiation as “to form or mark differently from other such things; to distinguish”. For developmental psychologists, differentiation is considered an important marker of human development by which an individual transitions the dynamic of early attachments to become his or her own unique, or distinctive, person thus defining the essence of the proceeding maturation.
It’s often said that we can’t stay too closely intertwined with family and friends if differentiation is to occur. If we remain enmeshed (emotionally entangled), our own gifts, talents, values, and offerings become overshadowed by what our loved ones want, hope, or expect from us. It’s much like a sapling taking root under a mighty oak and struggling to find the sun and water necessary to ensure its own mature development. Our loved ones are integral to our growth. They help to shape the individuals that we become. But for the person who struggles with differentiation, we can remain absorbed in who our loved ones are, or what they want us to be, rather than in pursuing our own key talents. There comes a time when we have to find a way to disentangle our gifts, abilities, emotions, thoughts–our lives– from theirs. Maybe, for Chris Davis, the physical distance provided the context within which that differentiation could occur. Maybe, what followed was the necessary environment to inspire the dawning of an all-star. Welcome to Baltimore, Mr. Davis, and welcome to the emerging realization of your dreams.
Small-town East Texas is like none-other. The obsession, admiration and possession of our athletes is suffocating and restrictive to them. The atmosphere it creates is one where winning is the only option and you can fall out of favor just as quickly as you fell into it. Chris will always be our hometown boy. And as cutting as it is that he no longer plays for the Rangers, nary a soul in Longview will beget or belittle his emergence as a solid, honorable and respectable athlete. While his power at the plate makes him newsworthy, his character makes him notable. And you are right – his emergence came at the cutting of the cord. But how many of us can say the exact same thing? No, we aren’t in the Major Leagues or particularly famous, but our lives are progressing and emerging just the same. The aforementioned severing of the cord ensures our stories will continue and we will not grow stagnant. A vital piece to each of our stories.
So enjoy him while you may. I have a feeling Texas will draw him home down the road, as it is apt to do.
Thanks for your thoughts, Whitney. It may very well be that Texas beckons him home. If that’s the case, I believe he will be better for having spent time in Baltimore. The cutting of the cord is so necessary, and that’s part of the essence of differentiation. It doesn’t always have to be physical, but for all of us, the emotional independence that defines us as unique and separate from our families is part of the maturation of development. May we all aspire to do this well, whether it be in our home states or faraway lands.