[LansdowneSt]

You want to know how much I've seen in this game?

When Hank Aaron hit number 715 and broke Babe Ruth’s home run record at the old Atlanta Stadium in 1974, I was there.

On deck. Just a few feet away from where Hank clobbered that Al Downing fastball.

When a 6.9 magnitude earthquake rocked the Bay during the ’89 World Series between the A’s and the Giants, I was there.

Crouched down in a lunchroom doorway at the stadium, eating my banana nut bread.

The first high five in history? Believe it or not … I was there.

All I really did was hold up my hand. But still. It counts.

Steve Bartman?

Yep.

I was right there in the middle of that one, too.

It’s pretty wild to write all that out, and to realize everything I’ve experienced in this life. But do you want to know something that I haven’t told very many people? I haven’t really talked about it much, but from an early age … I’ve always thought that I’ve had a guardian angel looking out for me.

Not that I’m someone special or anything like that, or that I was necessarily deserving of it. But I’ve always had that feeling — like someone or something has been protecting me and guiding me in certain directions. It’s almost like I’ve been chosen for this exact life. I’ve had so many life-changing moments over the years. But when I think back, it’s clear that one of the bigger ones happened very early on, all the way back when I was in high school.

It’s June 5, 1967, the night before the MLB draft. I’m lying in bed at home in Sacramento. Praying to God. There I am. All this stuff swirling around and around in my head — parents splitting up, college, baseball, basketball, leaving home, about a dozen other things — just lying there saying my prayers. It’s like: Here’s my chance. The draft. Pro ball. I’m praying as hard as I can. The thing is, though, I wasn’t praying that some team would pick me…. I was praying that a certain team wouldn’t. It wasn’t about the Braves.

I swear.

That franchise, and Braves scout Bill Wight, had shown the most interest in me. And I appreciated that. To be honest with you … you know what it was? I was worried about going to the South. You gotta remember, this was the ’60s, the civil rights era. I knew about the turmoil in the South. It was scary to me, to be honest.

So, my prayers that night were all about: Anybody but the Braves.

Then, the next morning, I wake up and, of course….

It’s the Braves.

A week or so later, I’m heading down to L.A. with my mom to work out with the team at Dodger Stadium, and it turns out that the Braves had put Hank Aaron in charge of looking after me and helping me with the decision on whether to sign or not.

So it’s Hank Aaron — the Hank Aaron. And me.

Are you kidding?

I rode on the bus with Hank. I worked out with the team in one of those generic jerseys without a number on the back. And I felt like I held my own out there, for sure.

But I prayed again that night. Because I wasn’t sure what to do.

When I finally made the decision, and agreed to sign with the Braves, Hank talked to my mom in L.A. and made her a promise. That he’d protect me. And look after me down South.

“Ma’am, I’m going to take care of Dusty as if he were my son.”

Eighteen years old, fresh out of school, signed to a pro baseball contract, and I already have a mentor. A guy who just so happens to be the greatest living baseball player on the planet.

So … yeah, you’re gonna have a pretty tough time convincing me that I didn’t have an angel on my shoulder back then. - The Player's Tribune
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I could have condensed that or changed the formatting, but I enjoyed it. The spaces let the words breathe. Probably worth a Google. Here's my go of him as a manager. I had to work on the eyeglasses and the reflections. I also took out the smile (even though he's a joyful fellow). Get him a winning team in-game and he'll smile again.