When I was 13 years old, our family made a Thanksgiving trip from our home in Sumter, South Carolina, to visit my Uncle Ronnie in Roanoke, Virginia.
On Thanksgiving day, after gratifying meal, we all huddled around the TV and watched OJ Simpson (the football player, not the criminal) rush for 273 yards against the Detroit Lions.
After the game, we gathered outside for our traditional tackle football turkey bowl. Things started to get heated when my Dad stopped dead in his tracks.
He craned his neck and cast eyes on the lot behind us.
Through a small brush divider between two houses, he saw it … the car of his dreams.
It was a 1960 Ford Comet.
Dad said it was “vintage,” but to the rest of us, it just looked old.
Weeds were growing through the engine, all four tires were flat, and the body was more rust than white.
Uncle Ronnie told him the car belonged to a 90-year-old lady who lived in the little white house barely visible through the trees behind his firewood pile.
He grabbed me by the arm and said, “Let’s go check it out!”
We walked through the trees and around to the front of the little house. He knocked on the door (there was no doorbell).
A shriveled but mentally sharp little woman answered, and when Dad inquired about purchasing the jalopy, she said, “Sonny, if you can get it running, you can have it.”
His eyes lit up like a full moon after an eclipse.
He grabbed a set of tools, and we hardly saw him for the rest of the weekend. By the time Sunday morning rolled around, to everyone’s surprise, he had it running.
He gave the little old lady $100 for her trouble, slapped some mud over the expired tags, and we headed home.
For the next year and a half, my Dad spent every spare minute under our carport refurbishing that old clunker.
It became his passion.
He rebuilt the engine, banged out all the dents in the body, and sanded and filled all the rusted-out fenders with Bondo.
When he completed the motor, brakes, and bodywork, he painted it fire engine red!
Harold Sullivan died suddenly of a heart attack at the age of 36. I was 15.
Looking back, I wish I had spent more time sharing his passion for cars.
His death was a tragedy for our family, but this I know:
For the last two years of his life, he drove that refurbished 1960 Ford Comet around town like a millionaire in a shiny new Bentley.
Every time he sat behind the wheel of the comet, his smile would beam brighter than the sun through wheat.
Every time I rode in it, we had fun.
They say baseball is supposed to be fun … and it’s true.
But I can assure you, the game is much more fun when you play well.
Striking out the side is a heck of a lot more fun than walking a bunch of guys.
Sliding into second after smacking a double is way better than swinging at the air three times and sitting down.
Are you having fun when you play?
If not, it’s time to play better.
Right now, you might be feeling like that rusty old Comet.
Overlooked and neglected.
Weeds growing out of your hood.
SAVAGE Training will turn you into the shiny hot rod you’ve always wanted to be.
Join us in the next 4-6 weeks.
We’ll conduct a physical assessment and video analysis of your mechanics. We’ll look at ball flight data from our Trackman and ground forces measured by our state-of-the-art Newtforce® mound.
We’ll use that information to identify where your delivery leaks energy.
Then we’ll develop a comprehensive plan to include:
throwing/pitching skill training, mobility, coordination, strength, athleticism, warm-up, arm care, and recovery.
We’ll optimize your body to increase velocity and improve command, arm health, and secondary filth.
You’ll return to your team this spring looking and performing like a gleaming, turbo-boosted race car.
It’s time to fix your Comet.
Here are 3 ways to get started (click on one):
Enroll in our extended stay (M-F) SAVAGE Winter Training Program
Come to one of our SAVAGE Weekend Training Camps.
Or, call us at 866-787-4533 for a One Day, One-on-One Precision Strike experience.