Changing of the guard and goodbye's

Saying goodbye is often one of the most difficult, yet most constructive things one will do in their life. Saying goodbye, as the cliches and proverbs would have it, closes one door and opens many others. I bring this up for several personal reasons, but will elaborate using a bit less revealing but equally powerful example. For the last decade and thensome baseball faithful in the city of Houston have been treated to some of the best art called baseball, painted by that hands of two model ball players: Craig "the plunk" Biggo, and Jeff Bagwell. As I type, Bidg, as he is commonly referred to, lead the struggling ballclub in HRs (7) at the tender age of 39. Bagwell however is as close to the end of the road as is "major league" possible: see here.

So after many great years leading the team on the field and in the club house, the Horns signaling the recessional of Bags career are sounding and fans and players alike begin to say goodbye to the corner stone of a franchise. Of course his legacy will live on, first ballot hall of fame, second if nothing else. 10 year old boys, who've grown to love the 'ole ballclub over three winters have only seen the faded glory of these seminal stars, but they too will shed a tear in goodbye. A selfless tear, one without foresight of the doors which have opened, the stars that lay ahead: The homegrown slugger, the diamond in the rough - with lighting for legs, or the pitcher whos name is courage and fear.

Saying goodbye is hard, especially when its right.

"...Game Called. Upon the field of life
the darkness gathers far and wide,
the dream is done, the score is spun
that stands forever in the guide.
Nor victory, nor yet defeat
is chalked against the players name.
But down the roll, the final scroll,
shows only how he played the game."

- Grantland Rice (1956)