Hoo boy, this should be pleasant. Russell Wilson is a good quarterback, and has been a good quarterback for some time. He began his college career at NC State, where he spent four years before transferring to Wisconsin. Wilson played both baseball and football at NC State, and that split in his attention ultimately ended his career in Raleigh.
Let us begin, shall we. Wilson had the honor of delivering the commencement address at Wisconsin this weekend, and he spoke candidly about his time at NC State, at least as theoretically candidly as a Russell Wilson can be. First, he nonchalantly hits Tom O'Brien with an attack from a previously undiscovered bullshit vector:
"The summer before my senior year of college, I'm playing minor-league baseball. I called my football coach at NC State and said, ‘Hey coach, I'd like to come back for my senior year.' He told me I wasn't coming back. He said, ‘Listen son, you're never going to play in the National Football League. You're too small. There's no chance. You've got no shot. Give it up.' Of course, I'm on this side of the phone saying, ‘So you're telling me I'm not coming back to NC State? I won't see the field?' He said, ‘No son, you won't see the field.' Now this was everything I had worked for. And now it was completely gone. If I wanted to follow my dream I had to leave NC State. I had no idea if I would get a second chance somewhere else.
Wilson's departure from Raleigh will never live without controversy. I think we can all agree on that, whether or not you side with Tom O'Brien's decision to go with Mike Glennon. TOB needed a commitment from somebody, and Wilson wanted to keep playing baseball, while Glennon, who'd waited patiently (and had two years of eligibility left), was fully focused on football.
O'Brien's frustration was about Wilson's unwillingness to fully commit to football, so it's amusing to see Wilson frame this as some sort of final judgment on his ability to be an NFL quarterback. Tom O'Brien might not have believed Wilson could be a decent NFL quarterback. He's also not blind. Wilson had played three very productive seasons right in front of him. This was not a football disagreement, in any way.
I can forgive Wilson for a hazy or exaggerated recollection of how his dispute with Tom O'Brien ended. There's at least some truth to his version of the circumstances in there. It's plausible that TOB told him he'd never make the league.
When he goes in on Elliott Avent, though, this is where he completely loses me.
"Another time life told me no was during my junior year when I was playing baseball. My freshman and sophomore year at NC State, I had about 450 to 500 at-bats. Now it's the first few weeks of my junior season, the draft-eligible year, and I'm barely playing. And honestly, I don't know why. This one weekend, we played UC-Irvine. Both teams are top-five in the country. I don't play at all the whole weekend -- nothing. I'm not going to lie. I was pretty frustrated. But my dad used to always tell me, ‘Be ready. Always be ready.' So I decided I'm not going to complain. Instead, every time our defense comes in and we're up to bat, I'll put my helmet on. I'll put my gloves on -- Nomar Garciaparra style. I get my bat in hand, and I stand there waiting -- first inning, second inning, third inning. All the way to the 10th. We get to the bottom of the 10th or 11th, and there's two guys on base with one out. I'm just sitting there with my helmet on looking like a dork, and a guy pops up. Two outs. Then I hear it. ‘Wilson, you're up.'
"And this guy's pitching it nasty. I'm talking he's throwing 125 miles per hour, if that's possible. I mean fuego. I mean, he's legit. The first pitch is a slider, and what do I do with it? Swing and miss. Next pitch, a slider in the dirt. Swing again, shouldn't have swung, strike two. I'm one strike away from losing the game. It's the first time I've played in awhile. The guy throws me a fastball high and inside. I still don't know to this day why he threw me a fastball. And what do I do with it? Wham! Boom! Game over. Hit it over the fence. Now everyone in the stands that day, they saw the game-winning home run. But they probably didn't notice the guy who spent all those innings on the edge of the dugout with a helmet on his head and a bat in his hand. But if I hadn't stayed prepared like that for 10 or 11 innings, that home run, that never would have happened."
Let me go step by step here.
Another time life told me no was during my junior year when I was playing baseball. My freshman and sophomore year at NC State, I had about 450 to 500 at-bats.
First I'm going to assume he means 450-500 combined between his first two seasons. That's possible, though unlikely, IF you are an everyday starter, which Wilson never was. He got 71 at-bats his freshman year and 72 the year after. That's 143 total ABs for his freshman and sophomore years. (Math!)
Wilson carelessly vomits his revisionism to fit his mundane narrative about hitting a walk-off home run against Cal Irvine his junior year. He did hit that home run. Basically everything else about the circumstances of that day and his career with the baseball team was conjured from thin air.
Now it's the first few weeks of my junior season, the draft-eligible year, and I'm barely playing. And honestly, I don't know why. This one weekend, we played UC-Irvine. Both teams are top-five in the country.
The UC-Irvine game took place on Feb. 26 in 2010. It was the fifth game of the season. Wilson is implying that he might have been being held back now that he was draft-eligible. That year he finished with 98 at-bats, which was a career-high. He started more than half of State's games. He also pitched 12-1/3 innings, getting the opportunity to pitch for the first time in his college career.
I don't play at all the whole weekend -- nothing. I'm not going to lie. I was pretty frustrated. But my dad used to always tell me, ‘Be ready. Always be ready.' So I decided I'm not going to complain. Instead, every time our defense comes in and we're up to bat, I'll put my helmet on. I'll put my gloves on -- Nomar Garciaparra style. I get my bat in hand, and I stand there waiting -- first inning, second inning, third inning. All the way to the 10th. We get to the bottom of the 10th or 11th, and there's two guys on base with one out. I'm just sitting there with my helmet on looking like a dork, and a guy pops up. Two outs. Then I hear it. ‘Wilson, you're up.'
It was in the bottom of the 10th. But it wasn't Wilson's first at-bat of the game, it was his second. He'd subbed into the contest well before that moment.
The finer points of that specific game don't matter, but again the way he frames the season and the way he was handled by his coaches is ... disappointing. Russell Wilson got selected in the fourth round of the MLB Draft that year, by the way. Y'know, poor draft-eligible Russell Wilson who wasn't playing a lot but got a career-high number of plate appearances and got to pitch as well.
Doesn't matter, though, right? It was another time "life told [him] no." I just yawned to death. I am dead from yawns. Look, man, if you want to recite like 200 motivational posters in a row for 20 minutes in front of several thousand college graduates, that's your business. But I think you've got quite enough bullshit there; where's the need for more?
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