Adam Dunn is talking about quitting. He speaks, as he thought about how it's always a possibility, a fail-safe if the misery continues. And then he talks about how the odds, there are infinite, because he loves baseball, as it undermines their self-esteem. And then talk about how I'm not sure what I think will happen to prices which would tend, if a 31-year-old 363 races in his career, suddenly forgot how to hit a baseball.
"If I'm having fun again, I'm going home," said Dunn Yahoo Sports. "Full speed. I'm going home. I mean. I swear to God. I. Go. His house. I like to play. Although I am very bad. Or they have to suck. I like to play the game. I love it. But if I lose I am gone, my friend true ..
“How many games can you play doing this? This is ridiculous. You get to a point, and you’re like …”
Dunn pauses. When he’s trying to explain how it’s 10 days from August and he’s still batting .158, he runs out of things to say and lets ellipses fill in the blanks. He is in the first year of a four-year, $56 million contract with the Chicago White Sox, who signed him as a free agent to bat fourth as designated hitter, and if the season ended today he’d own the worst average in the live-ball era by more than 20 points. When the depth of Dunn’s agony seems to have reached its nadir, he goes hitless and realizes that sports are an unforgiving profession. Being a millionaire comes with consequences.
Self-awareness helps Dunn deal with them. Even though this season has been, as he puts it, “the most difficult thing of my life,” he’s not yet at the point where failure has sucked the fun out of playing. He doesn’t skulk around the White Sox’s clubhouse. He doesn’t loll in corners and bury his face in an iPad. He doesn’t plant his 6-foot-6, 285-pound body on the bench and bemoan the disappearance of his prodigious left-handed power.
Even if he talks about quitting, he cannot imagine taking the leap.
“It’s not going to happen,” he says. “Zero chance. Zero. You can’t get this competition anywhere else, dude. I don’t care where you look. Nowhere else. It’s one-on-one, dude. And you can’t find that anywhere. …
“There’s two ways to do it. You can sit and pout and ‘why me,’ or you can say we’ve got 60 or 70 or 80 games left to start your year. For two months, be the best player in the league. And if I can do that, we’re going to win a lot of games. I’m blessed with that kind of attitude, and thank God, because I don’t know what I’d be doing. I know some people the big man upstairs wouldn’t do this to because there would be some bad things happening.”
The concentration of bad things happening with Dunn’s bat is acidic enough. His .289 on-base percentage is nearly 100 points lower than his career average. His .299 slugging percentage lags more than 200 points behind his norm of .521. In his best month this season, May, Dunn hit .204. He can’t hit left-handers (2 for 64), can’t hit with two strikes (12 for 181 with 124 strikeouts, an .066 average, compared to the rest of baseball, which hits around .180 in such situations) and often can’t hit period (he’s taken a collar in 46 of 82 games).
“It’s been really hard,” Dunn says. “You’ve got to keep it in perspective. It’s a game. It’s baseball. No matter how you look at it, it’s still just that.”
And yet baseball matters to Dunn. What former Toronto general manager J.P. Ricciardi said a few years back about Dunn not caring: It’s bunk. This gnaws at Dunn. It embarrasses him. He doesn’t understand what’s wrong. His swing feels fine. His head is as clear as it can be under such circumstances. Dunn studies video. He tweaks his approach at the plate. He’s always been a high-strikeout guy and succeeded in spite of them. Even if his swing has slowed down – pitchers are throwing him more fastballs than he’s ever seen, nearly 63 percent – it doesn’t disappear this young.For the last 10 years, Adam Dunn has uncoiled his swing with ease and watched balls fly magnificent distances. He craves that and needs it and better get it soon, lest he stop having fun and get to a point where he’s like …
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"If I'm having fun again, I'm going home," said Dunn Yahoo Sports. "Full speed. I'm going home. I mean. I swear to God. I. Go. His house. I like to play. Although I am very bad. Or they have to suck. I like to play the game. I love it. But if I lose I am gone, my friend true ..
Dunn pauses. When he’s trying to explain how it’s 10 days from August and he’s still batting .158, he runs out of things to say and lets ellipses fill in the blanks. He is in the first year of a four-year, $56 million contract with the Chicago White Sox, who signed him as a free agent to bat fourth as designated hitter, and if the season ended today he’d own the worst average in the live-ball era by more than 20 points. When the depth of Dunn’s agony seems to have reached its nadir, he goes hitless and realizes that sports are an unforgiving profession. Being a millionaire comes with consequences.
Self-awareness helps Dunn deal with them. Even though this season has been, as he puts it, “the most difficult thing of my life,” he’s not yet at the point where failure has sucked the fun out of playing. He doesn’t skulk around the White Sox’s clubhouse. He doesn’t loll in corners and bury his face in an iPad. He doesn’t plant his 6-foot-6, 285-pound body on the bench and bemoan the disappearance of his prodigious left-handed power.
Even if he talks about quitting, he cannot imagine taking the leap.
“It’s not going to happen,” he says. “Zero chance. Zero. You can’t get this competition anywhere else, dude. I don’t care where you look. Nowhere else. It’s one-on-one, dude. And you can’t find that anywhere. …
“There’s two ways to do it. You can sit and pout and ‘why me,’ or you can say we’ve got 60 or 70 or 80 games left to start your year. For two months, be the best player in the league. And if I can do that, we’re going to win a lot of games. I’m blessed with that kind of attitude, and thank God, because I don’t know what I’d be doing. I know some people the big man upstairs wouldn’t do this to because there would be some bad things happening.”
The concentration of bad things happening with Dunn’s bat is acidic enough. His .289 on-base percentage is nearly 100 points lower than his career average. His .299 slugging percentage lags more than 200 points behind his norm of .521. In his best month this season, May, Dunn hit .204. He can’t hit left-handers (2 for 64), can’t hit with two strikes (12 for 181 with 124 strikeouts, an .066 average, compared to the rest of baseball, which hits around .180 in such situations) and often can’t hit period (he’s taken a collar in 46 of 82 games).
“It’s been really hard,” Dunn says. “You’ve got to keep it in perspective. It’s a game. It’s baseball. No matter how you look at it, it’s still just that.”
And yet baseball matters to Dunn. What former Toronto general manager J.P. Ricciardi said a few years back about Dunn not caring: It’s bunk. This gnaws at Dunn. It embarrasses him. He doesn’t understand what’s wrong. His swing feels fine. His head is as clear as it can be under such circumstances. Dunn studies video. He tweaks his approach at the plate. He’s always been a high-strikeout guy and succeeded in spite of them. Even if his swing has slowed down – pitchers are throwing him more fastballs than he’s ever seen, nearly 63 percent – it doesn’t disappear this young.For the last 10 years, Adam Dunn has uncoiled his swing with ease and watched balls fly magnificent distances. He craves that and needs it and better get it soon, lest he stop having fun and get to a point where he’s like …
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