Read Beyond Belief for Free Online

the happiest people I’ve ever been around. He loved his job, and took it seriously. He dressed out in uniform for every game and came to most of the practices. I always enjoyed being around Ashley, and I considered him a friend.
    One time Ashley came home with me for lunch and Granny cooked us some grilled-cheese sandwiches. This was a big deal to Ashley, and he was so appreciative you would have thought Granny bought him a new car.
    We played in the state playoffs my senior year, advancing to the semifinals. We lost in that game, and afterward as we were riding home in the bus I noticed Ashley sitting by himself, crying.
    I moved up to his row and sat next to him.
    “What’s up, Ashley?” I asked.
    He didn’t always understand why things happened on the baseball field, and for reasons known only to him he thought he was the reason we lost this game.
    “I’m sorry, Josh,” he said. “I’m sorry I lost the game.”
    This was ridiculous, of course. Ashley didn’t hit or pitch one ball, but I couldn’t put it that way for fear of hurting his feelings.
    “Oh, no, Ashley,” I said. “No one person ever loses a game for a team. We win as a team and lose as a team.”
    Immediately, Ashley’s face brightened. He stopped crying and smiled at me as the tears streaked down his cheeks.
    “Josh?”
    “Yes, Ashley.”
    “Does that mean I’m part of the team?”
    “Of course it does, Ashley. You know that.”
    His smile turned to laughter. He reached over and wrapped his arms around me, squeezing me tight with a big hug.
    For the rest of the ride home, if you had looked at Ashley you would have sworn we just won the state championship.
    At the banquet after the season, our coach got up and announced he was starting a special award to honor the Athens Drive Jaguar who best exemplified the qualities of compassion and sportsmanship.
    When he finished the buildup, he said, “And the first winner of the Ashley Pittman Award is Josh Hamilton.”
    I always wanted to get along with everybody, regardless of who they were. In high school I could mingle freely with the jocks and the stoners and the kids like Ashley. I always tried to see the good in people, to live my life in the way I thought was best without judging people who took different paths. I don’t know if my approach to life was Christian or naïve, but I didn’t categorize people and automatically dismiss them. I wanted to be liked, and I thought it was a good thing to be able to find common ground with people with whom I had little or nothing in common.
    I’ve gotten a lot of trophies over the years, but the Ashley Pittman Memorial Award is special to me. It’s still prominently displayed in a case at my parents’ house. More than any other trophy or newspaper clipping, it reminds me of who I was and how I lived at that point in my life.
    Most of the top high school baseball players were dealing with college coaches, while I was dealing with agents and pro scouts. My parents and I had to choose an agent and a financial advisor before the draft, even though I couldn’t sign with them or take any money until afterward.
    Just as every player wants to be the top draft pick, every agent and financial guy wants to be able to say he represents the top draft pick. We had our choice of the best baseball agents and money people in the country, including the most famous agent of all, Scott Boras.
    My parents set up the meetings with all the agents and financial guys. They came to the house armed with all their information, and I sat there bored. They were full of compliments and promises, and it was my parents’ job to figure out who was honest and who was full of it.
    This was a part of the process I could do without; I just wanted to play ball and let the rest of it take care of itself. My parents might not have college educations, but they were able to sniff out the phonies and the suckups. They narrowed the agent and advisor pool pretty quickly.
    In the end, we