Children Lose Most With Jim Abbott Out of the Game

I seldom lament the plight of people who have banked millions of dollars before they turn 30. In fact, it takes everything I’ve got not to cook up some reason to blast them. So along comes a guy like Jim Abbott, baseball player, who once turned down a contract worth $16 million. Now his Angels career may be over (again) and, perhaps, the end of his baseball career is also in sight.

We should feel something for this guy?

The answer is yes. When you start talking with people about Abbott, it’s funny how quickly you quit talking about money. Maybe one reason is that his is one of the “celebrity” photos on the playroom wall in the cancer unit at Children’s Hospital of Orange County. They don’t put up your picture because you make one appearance and then disappear.

Or it may be because when you talk to Cindy Eigenhuis, the secretary of a children’s charity group in La Habra, she tells you about the times in the off-season when Abbott would show up, without publicity, to play ball with physically or mentally disabled children. Or of his efforts with abused children. And how, after the games, he’d sit around and shoot the breeze until the children were done asking questions.

Abbott has made great local copy since the late ‘80s, partly because of his left hand and partly because of his right hand. His left threw a baseball with great speed and movement. His right--well, it was the one that wasn’t there.

That Abbott made the major leagues with a stump instead of a hand was one of the great sports stories of recent vintage. The fact that he became a successful pitcher (once throwing a no-hitter) only magnified the story. The fact that he turned out to be a guy willing to donate his time puts him in a different category.

This spring in Arizona, Abbott has been trying to rediscover the magic of his pitching form that once won 18 games in a season. He once finished third in Cy Young voting for best pitcher in the league. Word has it that the search isn’t going well, with the resulting options being the minor leagues or his release.

Watching him pitch was an amazing experience. I used to tell friends that the guy ought to get a standing ovation before every pitch. Every instinct you have about the game tells you he shouldn’t have made the big leagues, if only because you need two good hands to play the game at that level.

Watching him throw a pitch, then transfer his glove to his left hand, then field a ball, then fish the ball out and make the throw to first was a remarkable sight. You’d bet he couldn’t do it, but he did. Seeing some guy do that in a sandlot game would be stirring; watching someone do it at the major league level defied belief.

But that was only part of the Abbott story.

During his first Angel phase (1989-92), Abbott was introduced to the Amigos de los Ninos (Friends of the Children) organization. Eigenhuis, the group’s secretary, remembers being struck by how easily Abbott, then in his early 20s, related to the disabled children.

“He came to us so young,” she recalls. “We were so impressed with his maturity and his caring for children, in that he didn’t have any of his own at that point. He’d show up in jeans and a baseball cap, and the kids always wanted to touch him, play ball with him. They knew he was important, and they wanted to be around him.

“They would ask questions about his hand. He was very open with them. He’d say, ‘This is how I was born. This is what I’ve done with my life; you can do the same.’ He was very encouraging to the kids.”

It was the same story at CHOC. During the baseball season, just about every Angel player makes a visit, according to spokeswoman Andrea Pronk.

“A few of them come back on their own and set up appointments quietly,” she says. “They don’t want to make a big deal of it. They want to visit kids individually, inspire them, encourage them. They do it sometimes without wearing uniforms. They’re not seeking publicity. Jim is one of those types of ballplayers.”

That’s why we all lose if Abbott is finished in baseball.

“I think the kids were excited to see him because he was a major league ballplayer,” Pronk says. “That’s exciting to kids, to be able to meet one in person. The disability was not really an issue. Jim Abbott didn’t make it an issue. For some of the kids, they knew that was something that he overcame and he proved himself, and that was important. But for most of the kids, the fact that a real-life baseball player came to visit was great.”

I don’t mean this to sound like an obituary. Abbott is alive and well and, presumably, still rich. But after a 2-18 season and a bumpy spring in Arizona, the thought struck me that if his baseball career is over, it’s never too soon to start banging the drum for him.

Over time, we quit dwelling on the fact that he made the major leagues without a hand because Abbott didn’t make a big deal of it. Just like he didn’t make a big deal of his charity work.

All of a sudden--in fact, much too suddenly--it sounds awful not to have Jim Abbott around.

Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Readers may reach Parsons by writing to him at The Times Orange County Edition, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, CA 92626, or calling (714) 966-7821.