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THE GIFT AND THE CURSE

That lesson always stuck with me for the rest of my life. I have always made
sure, from that day forward that I showed up early to any place I needed to be.
It taught me to be about punctuality because on the very first day of my
professional career, I was considered late.

To make matters worse, being late and having the press in tow, was not the best
introduction to the teammates I had yet to meet.

I could see by the look on their faces that they were not too impressed with my
arrival.

After all, I was the #1 Draft Pick, not only black, but young, and straight out of
high school. Most Professional Minor League ballplayers had some college
experience or were recruited from college.  I and only a few more of my
teammates came straight from high school, but none carried the weight of the
expectancy like I did as the first round draft pick.

Everybody wants to be the first round draft pick. It is an honor and a privilege
for young boys who have given their whole childhood chasing that American
dream. I had it, thus, I had the Bull's eye on my back. I felt the sting of it,
especially the first day.

After the manager tells me I am late. I went to change and came back with the
intent to try to mix in with the guys.

Intuitively, I started looking for all the black people on the team.

From where I was from the white boys were considered our enemies. It was not
that we hated or disliked them, or vice versa. It was always, I guess,
a competitive battle of pride and ego, even at that early age. I played baseball
against them in little leagues throughout my youth, but never on the same team.

It was never, as it would be now, that close and professional, or dare I say,
personal. I knew that would be another obstacle to overcome. How could it not
now be somewhat personal when we would be expected to spend our days
together as a team, day in and day out, traveling on buses and moving around
the country in and out of hotels?

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THE JEFF JACKSON STORY

People seek familiarity in new places.  Just two days before, I was with my black
family, at my all black school, with my all black friends, in my all black
neighborhood. I am from the Southside of Chicago, which is probably one of the
most segregated cities in America, according to many. Primarily, black people live
amongst black people, period. But now here I was, in this small town of
Martinsville, Virginia all within 24 hours of graduating high school.  

I was the now the houseguest of a white family, living in their home in what seemed
like my own apartment. Tom and Sue were their names. They were gone a lot, as
they were always working. The experience itself was something to get used to
considering I had never been away from home alone, or away from my family, in
such a way. They trusted a young black teenager to do the right things, and I had to
trust myself.

There was no chaperone, no mentor assigned, no liaison. It was just me, at 17,
feeling like I was invincible, but yet feeling the pressure of living up to all the hype
and expectations that others, and I, placed on myself. That was the deal from day
one. I always asserted a sense of leadership and solidness that may have given the
impression that I had it all together and I could handle it all but the truth of the
matter was I was culture shocked. My behavior and reactions to the unfamiliar, and
sometimes rude, or insensitive, actions of my teammates, fans, and even
management would reveal the truth soon enough.

Ironically, the first two black guys I walked up to on the field that day spoke
Spanish.  I admit I was a little thrown off by that. Again, I hadn't seen that from
back home. However, I found my way to two young black guys that ended up being
straight out of high like myself. Paul Carlson and my boy Corey (C.T.) Thomas
ended up being the guys I gravitated to the most as our age, and common
experiences help us form a decent bond. I am still friends with Paul today we talk
and hang out from time to time when we can.

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THE GIFT AND THE CURSE

Me and Corey signing autographs before a game

"Paul, Corey and Me chilling in the locker room before a game"
"Me and my teammates pictured rookie season with Martinsville Phillies"

44.

THE THE JEFF JACKSON STORY

"Me , Tom and Sue having a chat before the game"
Clip from a news article detailing my living situation in Martinsville, Va.

45.

Chapter Six 

The Wooden Bat, the Wrong Swing?

M      inor League Baseball is supposed to be where you take the time to develop
the up and coming talent within that system. It is a starting point where the
future stars of baseball can emerge as they prepare for the Major Leagues.  
To the small towns who had no real entertainment beyond baseball activities,
the Minor League team is a big deal.
To the baseball world, the first round draft pick is the best possible talent that
an organization will take to help turn around a team, or help a franchise win
games, and eventually a championship. He, like myself, is given a hefty size
signing bonus (hence, the word ‘bonus baby", a name that's given to first round
draft picks). The organization usually gives him preferential treatment over the
other players. With that kind of attention, money and special treatment you
automatically come with a target on your back unbeknownst to me...
So, when it was my turn to step into the batting cage to take batting practice for
the first time I was nervous as hell, it was all eyes on me.
It should’ve played out better, however, it didn't.
I was given a wooden bat, for the first time.
Now let me explain, in my entire baseball experience, up until that time, in little
league, and all throughout high school, I played with an aluminum bat! It never
crossed my mind, even to try to get used to a wooden bat.

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THE GIFT AND THE CURSE

I must say every coach in my youth, and throughout high school, taught me a
skill or two, or helped lead me to victory; even though the professional
baseball scouts came and sat in my home and talked to me about everything
else, no one mentioned, and I didn’t know to ask, that I’d better get used to the
wooden bat, and prepare for the permanent elimination of the aluminum bat.

It would have been nice to practice with a wooden bat a few times in my
backyard, baseball field, batting cage, or with a coach or two before I had what
seemed like twenty reporters and the media staring me down along with my
new teammates! The scenario, under any situation, with anyone, would be
nerve-wracking in itself, for the first time! As I said, I had no time! One day I
was graduating high school, the very next day I was on the plane to
Martinsville, VA, to begin my professional career.

It would have been nice to have just been told any of that. After all, wasn't
everyone's reputation on the line? Simeon had something to gain if I succeeded
in the pros. The Philadelphia Phillies looked better if their first pick makes it to
the big leagues and become a star, right?

I guess at 17, I was supposed to know everything, but I did not. Sorry.

So…

I cracked the wooden bat… and not only did I crack that first bat… but I
probably cracked the next ten to twenty bats. It was hard for me to focus on
actually hitting the ball because of all the attention being placed on me with this
new bat. I felt like a monkey in a cage!   

After a while, the coaches' dissatisfaction began to show. On the first day, they
began to criticize everything from the way I hit the ball… by the way, I held the
bat in my hand… to the way I positioned my baseball stance. To them, it was all
wrong, and they wanted me to change it all immediately! The very first day I am
being told to change the things that got me drafted and signed in the first place.

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THE JEFF JACKSON STORY

“Why is your hitting stance like that?”
I replied...
"This is the way I hit it in high school."
Well, undoubtedly, I wasn't in high school any longer, though just 24 hours made
the difference. And though I was a bit confused, both mentally and physically, that
I suddenly was told to change my stance, or that I wasn't hitting the ball favorable
to them, I had signed my contract that was going to take care of my family and me
back in Chicago. I split the first half of the $185,000 signing bonus money with my
mother. So I was present and open to learning regardless of the sting to my ego.
I don't know what I was expecting. I was here to play baseball the way my 17-year-
old mind had been trained to play my whole life.
And though all eyes of reporters and the team were staring at me,
At that moment, I could take the pressure.
I could take the gut punch to my ego.
I could take the sudden changes I had to get used to…
But, what I couldn’t take… was when both Don Blasingame ( Minor League
Field Director) looked me dead square in my face, on that very first day of
practice, and told me I'd never make it in Professional Baseball if I continued to
hit the way that I was hitting, I don't think he even took into consideration that
a). I was nervous as hell and b). It was my first time picking up a wooden bat.

48.

Chapter Six

News article with comments from Don Blasingame about his thoughts on my playing ability...

News article with comments about what I need to do to be successful as a hitter...

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THE GIFT AND THE CURSE

Perhaps he was breaking me down to build me back up differently.  It was an
adjustment that I wasn't quite prepared for. Remember, my way had gotten
me drafted in the first round. Did anyone have anything to say before I got
chosen? Before I move on, I want to say that I don’t think he was trying to be
mean to me in any form. I am sure he never meant any harm with the words
he spoke, the point is you have to choose your words carefully when
speaking to people. You never know what you may say to someone that will
stick with them for a long time or perhaps forever... be it good or bad.

That day, at that moment, after those words of what seemed like prophesied
failure … from a person who you would think would help me to be
successful and mold me with words of encouragement and confidence in my
abilities…however that wasn't the case; I lost my confidence… every ounce I
brought with me the very first day. And, I am not sure, over the course of my
ten year career if I ever gained it back.

My lack of confidence would show up later as resentfulness, bad behavior, and
rebellion.  My lack of confidence would stand in my own way, leaving me
searching for something outside of baseball to fill the void I felt.

But for now, it would trigger a depression and homesick feelings I would fight for
many years.

The first-day drama didn't end there.

I guess we all learn that sucking things up and letting things go just comes with
the territory of maturity, but how mature is it when adults are creating negative
self – images in a teen?

Thinking about it all now, looking at my two children Jeff and Asia who are in
that age range in this present day, I couldn’t imagine them in the same situation.
So many other things would have been put in place to ensure their success; to
make sure they were protected emotionally and mentally.  Perhaps my family
trusted that me being on a “team” meant I would have built in mentors.  That was
not the case.

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THE JEFF JACKSON STORY

It was a “teammate” who made sure the next day of practice, the second day
after my arrival, to place a plastic toy bat in my locker. This “joke” was a way
to continue their teasing and taunting of my breaking the wooden bats the day
before in batting practice. It was a teammate that decided the first week was a
good time to do what they considered a “traditional joke” familiar to all other
baseball players, but me, at the time.

It was another hot day. I was in dugout sitting on the bench waiting to start
batting practice. My head was down as I was trying to get some relief from the
sun. Out of nowhere, my teammate Chris Lowe, the prior Center Fielder before
my arrival, came and spat a wad of brown tobacco on my shoe…

Now at the time, I didn't know it was a joke, so when I jumped up with a desire
to defend myself against what I thought was a form of disrespect, I was
immediately surrounded by the other players in an attempt to calm me down.

All I knew before that moment was that he had spit on my brand new Nikes. I
wore a brand new fresh pair every other day as part of a Nike Contract I had
with them. To me, that was downright disrespectful, and he was in violation.
We didn't do that where I came from without consequences. I consider myself a
playful person by nature, however, to me that was crossing the line.

Again, no one warned me. I didn't understand the point of it, We were there to
work together, or so I thought. I surely hope NOW the league gives more
counsel and mental preparation to young teen players. 

Instances like this would spark a growing resentment and an eventual unyielding
rebellion in me. These instances would also contribute to me being anti-social
off the field. It stopped me from not hanging out and trying to get to know my
new teammates on a personal level. The jokes and playfulness, while I was in
my adjustment mode was too fast and too soon.

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THE GIFT AND THE CURSE

Newspaper article detailing how I'm struggling and going thru
a tough time...

52.

THE JEFF JACKSON STORY

Newspaper article detailing about how I have not played up to
my potential...

53.

Chapter Seven

Home Sick

I     remember spending my first year calling my mother every night, as I sat

alone in my room laying on my bed surrounded by the four walls all by myself
after games. I was home sick from the beginning and ready to come home the
first week.
My mother would talk me out of quitting, and coming home every other day,
with her words of encouragement. I would use those words to make it through the
next day, the next month, and the next year. It was my mother’s words that
curtailed my longing to quit and go home. I hated my everyday experiences, and
it showed up in the way I played the game.
If you asked me, I never played well or was never satisfied with my stats; I was
my own worst critic. I struggled to hit .200 my first year, which was mediocre in
comparison to other players or what was supposed to be expected of a first-round
pick.
The negative media, the ‘Boos, and Jeers,' appeared much sooner than later. 
I heard it on the field almost every day from the onlookers and fans who
never let me forget it. They proved the theories running around in my head
and made matters worse. I felt like I was letting everyone down including
myself.

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THE GIFT AND THE CURSE

They say Negative energy travels 7 times faster than positive energy.
I can still remember the first time I heard the ‘Boos and Jeers’ It sounded
louder than the cheers.
The Boos are what I held on to. It could be one naysayer in a crowd of 99
cheers, but I heard that one 'Boo'!
I never forget the sound of them. Every time I heard one it made me try
harder, nevertheless, I applied more pressure to myself, in order to please
the fans. I was already damaged from day one.
It wasn't until my parents showed up in Wytheville, VA. on a surprise
visit. The team was on a road trip, and I was in the batter's circle. All of a
sudden, I heard a very familiar voice call my name "Jeffrey,"
I turned to see who it was and it was my parents standing there!
Needless to say that I was happy to see them. I proceeded to get two hits
that game. It was one of my best games of the season up until that point.
For some strange reason when I look back at my baseball career, it
always seemed my mother always brought the best out in me when I
played in front of her.
If I could do it all over again, I would have made sure she was at all my
games.

55.

Chapter Seven

News article with comments about the surprise visit from my mom that helped me turn my game around...

56.

Chapter Eight

My Good Luck Charm

I    wouldn't call myself a momma's boy, but from day one, she was indeed my

first love, and I relied on her to be my confidante like I have never relied on
any other woman. She was unequivocally my biggest supporter and always
has been. So, if my adoration for my mother makes me a "momma's boy,"
then call it what you will. There are other things worst to be called. Also, call
it a blessing because being my mother's son who took her words and advice to
heart, I stayed out of more trouble than I could have gotten into.
My mom’s name is Armone Jackson-Honeycutt. She, especially at that time,
was my everything... my world, she still is! To me, she was a big part of my
baseball life. My whole career was centered around my mother.

I recognized that playing baseball made her proud of me, and that made me
want to pursue it even more. From the time I joined little league up until my
eventual departure from professional baseball, my mom was my biggest
cheerleader, in this sport, like any other, we need our cheerleaders and a
support system! It is not that I didn’t have an interest in baseball for myself,
but my mom inspired me to play. She is my good luck charm for more
reasons than one.

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THE GIFT AND THE CURSE

I am the third of my mother’s four children and the youngest son. My sibling's
names are Keith, Katrice, and Shonica. My biological father's name is Ike
Thompson.  He was the papa that was the “rolling stone” as the famous
Temptations hit song indicated, whom I’d see every few years, and spend little
time with. My mom, holding no grudge against my dad, made her way through
single parenthood until she met and married the man I introduced to the world
as my dad, Lee Honeycutt.

Together, Lee and my mom eliminated any deficiencies that I could've had not
having my biological dad around on a constant basis. I can't say I missed a beat.
 We were the typical lower-middle-class family on the south side of Chicago in
the Fernwood neighborhood, with the one exception that separated us from
others, the swimming pool! We were perhaps the only family with a pool in our
yard in my neighborhood, and that made us a bit cooler than most as it always
served as a backdrop for some cool pool party amongst my friends. 

This transition into baseball was all new to us. There wasn't a manual that came
with my new found success. We winged it and tried to do the best we knew.
I missed the hell out of my family and friends back at home, but my mom
substituted for them all while I was away, by taking that phone call every night
and nurturing me through another day. I appreciated her for that and looked
forward to coming back home to my mom's house in the off-season. We
shared space with no problem. She didn't mind the friends or the girls coming
by, and she allowed me to have my vices. It was not that she condoned any of
my behavior. My mom just wanted to make sure I was safe, protected, and not
in the streets.

And though my mom had a job, she made sure to take off work and take the
long drive, to what was normally Clearwater, Florida, with me to make sure I
arrived back to spring training on time. We were tight. Like I mentioned
earlier, It seemed my mom had a strange effect on my performance. I could
probably count on two hands, over the course of my ten years in baseball that I
was actually proud of my performance. In fact, the newspapers and media
never had to criticize me; I did it to myself.

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THE JEFF JACKSON STORY

It was early on that I noticed that whenever my mom was in the audience, even
if she showed up to surprise me, which was one or two times out of the year, I
always played better than normal.

One time, in particular, I remember talking to my mom on the phone and she
could tell I was feeling down and not really in a good space. She immediately
made arrangements to visit me in Reading, Pennsylvania. Where I was playing
double-A, at the time. Although she told me she was coming to visit, I couldn't
shake the sadness I was feeling.

I was in a huge slump and had not been playing well. But yet again, after my
mom and step-dad arrived in Reading, and I had a chance to see them, and
have a few home cooked meals, I broke out of my slump and proceeded to
win ‘Player of the Week' while she was there visiting me. That's the kind of
effect my mother had on my game.

It was like she gave me the energy that I couldn't give myself.  She made a
huge difference in how well I played. Perhaps the homesickness that I was
feeling was cured when I would see her face, but whatever it was, it worked!

My mom also carried my burdens with her. She carries regrets, just like I do,
perhaps, about what she could have done differently, to ensure my success
and help me prosper in baseball. She now often wonders if she should have
quit her job, moved the family, or just did something a bit different to give
me a better chance at succeeding. I now find myself nurturing her through
those feelings whenever we speak about it now. I let her know that she did
her best at the time, and it’s not her fault that I didn’t make it to the big
leagues. I am the only one to blame!

Again, I was a 17-year-old kid from the inner city of Chicago; given a
chance of a lifetime, with little guidance or counsel from the outside, we did
the best we could. My mom, showing up, as she did, when she did, was all I
could have asked for, It helped Then or now,

she is still, and always will be my lucky charm.

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THE GIFT AND THE CURSE

"My mom and stepdad visiting me in spring training in Clearwater, Fl."

"My brother Keith, my niece Essence, my sisters Katrice, myself and Shonica"

60.

Chapter Eight

Me, my mom and stepdad having a chat after one of my games...

Mom capturing the moment we were leaving the stadium...

61.

Chapter Nine

My First Love

M.       otherly love is one thing. The love of a woman is another.

There are several women I would come to know, learn to like, and even love.
I considered the love of women, the admiring, chasing, and the conquering, to
be skills that came naturally to me.  I used those skills to my benefit over the
years, especially in the immaturity of my youth. However, there was only one
girl that had my heart from the beginning of my senior year in high school up
until I was 25 yrs. old. Her name was Theresa. She was my first true love and
would become the mother of my first child years later, a beautiful son named
Jeffrey Jr.
At 6’3 with a medium athletic build and dark skin, people would consider me
Tall, Dark, and Handsome.
And, yes, I let my looks work for me like any young man would-for the ladies!
I mean my story is typical. The immediate male role models in my life were my
biological dad Ike Thompson, and my Uncle Earl; one who was a small-time
hustler and the other a certified gangster and playboy.

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THE GIFT AND THE CURSE

They showed me their versions of how to love a woman, and I wouldn't say
that was necessarily a good thing. I have been the asshole, the player, the
cheater, and so on.  I never had a shortage of woman giving me attention,
and I loved it! I never grew tired of the advantage, until perhaps, I got a little
older, and had my own beautiful daughter later named Asia. Being
attractive, and a professional baseball player at such a young age with
hundreds of thousands of dollars, I would be lying if I told you that I didn't
let ego, arrogance, and pride get in the way of my relationship with Theresa.

Theresa was the girl that every guy wanted in high school. A petite pretty
chocolate brown girl with Asian shaped eyes, with a swag more mature than
most girls her age. She didn't date guys that went to our school, as it seemed
she was into older guys. So, when she accepted an invitation to attend a pool
party at my house, at the beginning of my senior year, I was surprised. I
used that opportunity to shoot my shot at dating her, and that was the
beginning.

I know Theresa loved me.  We had the typical teen romance that transitioned,
as any relationship would, as my career took off and my fame grew she got
swept into the mix as well. In fact, we started dating at the beginning of my
senior year when a baseball contract wasn't even in my thoughts. I was a just
a regular player on the team. The whirlwind of it all happened fast in the year
of 1989, and she was swept up into it just like my family and me. She went
through all the stages that every girl that dates a star athlete goes through.

 Like everyone else, she was elated for my success. She was supportive. I
never forgot that she was there before it all started. She would definitely
receive the benefits of being a star athlete's girlfriend; the good and
eventually the bad. She patiently dealt with the distance when I traveled for
months at a time every year. She overlooked the rumors of me dating other
women which I made sure I tried to keep to a minimum. It was the eventual
proof of such behavior that would be something that she eventually couldn't
ignore.

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THE JEFF JACKSON STORY

Yet, before all of that, we were happy overall as much as two young teens
in love turning into young adults could be.

Because she was still in school, and working a decent job, she couldn't
travel with me on a permanent basis. She didn't travel to see me until my
second year, but we kept in contact every evening on the phone where we
grew closer. She would come to see me at least once a year, after that,
wherever I was. I would come home at the end of each season, with gifts
for both her and my mom, and we spent the winters enjoying each other
company until it was time to go back to spring training to begin the
season.

For a long time, we didn't have too much drama. I kept anything that didn't
serve Theresa away from us. I am protective and loyal in that way. Over
the years, however, things would change. As far as other women, she was
not stupid. My arrogance and growing disrespect, let her know that I
wasn't as committed as I should have been. This is where I insert the
labeling of myself as an "asshole" a few times. I was just that. The
evidence of one of my indiscretions came when a young lady that I
entertained one day out of town decided to send Theresa pictures of our
rendezvous. I still don't know how she got Theresa's address, but she did,
and those pictures hurt her. Theresa stuck with me through that time and
many more. Truthfully, she probably took more crap from me than she
should have. Our age and circumstances didn't allow for our relationship
to grow as it possibly could have, and I take the blame for that.

Eventually, my son Jeffrey would be born, and that would solidify a life-
long relationship between us. We would eventually end because she would
grow tired of me and what I would now call my "bullshit." She was right
to move on. I always thought we'd get back together eventually, but her
next pregnancy and eventual marriage to her next beau stopped all of that

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THE GIFT AND THE CURSE

I would go on to date, and even love another woman, and have another child
eventually. I figured I’d be just fine, but at that time, when Theresa left, it
pushed me into depression.
Depression was something that would creep in and out of my life throughout
my entire baseball career.

65.

Chapter Nine

Me and Theresa on Prom Night...

Me and Theresa random photo shoot...

66

Chapter Nine

Theresa and I at the Gatorade Player of the Year ceremony...

My parents, Theresa and I at the Gatorade Player of the Year ceremony...

67

Chapter Nine

Me and Theresa in the pool in Clearwater Fl. on one of her visits...

68

Chapter Ten 

Confusion

M      y career spanned over the course of nine years, I played professional
baseball from 1989 to 1998, and I would dare say I spent 90 percent of those
years with a chip on my shoulder.
I can blame it on the instances of what I felt like were acts of racism, the lack of
compassion given to such a young player in my situation, lack of guidance, my
immaturity, and even my undiagnosed depression, which exposed itself in
sometimes inadequate behavior.
I would roll all those different reasons up into one and call it “confusion”
because all in all, it was the confusion of my world that kept me in this state of
proverbial angst and with a chip on my shoulder during the course of my career.
There was confusion with my desire to please the crowd and do well for the
team, but also to feel supported by the organization.
I was supposed to be the "franchise player". The franchise player is like the
golden child of the organization; the Michael Jordan of the team whom others
come to see play specifically. He is the nucleus of the team and normally the
highest paid with the all the endorsement deals. Organizations center all hopes
around him. He is expected to be there for years to come.
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THE GIFT AND THE CURSE

I was supposed to be that guy.

But I didn't feel the support or the love of the Phillies Organization.

For example, if I had a bad game, or a shitty week, where perhaps I had five
bad games in a row, I would be aware that I was just exhausted or just needed
to sit out one or two games to get my head together. I would go and ask the
manager for a day off, and the answer would be "no." The brass said you have
to play every day.  Not only did I get told "no," and be expected to play, but
would often be switched up first to bat, to lead off the game, whereas I would
normally bat in the 6th or 7th spot in the lineup. It just seemed that there was
no empathy. Was I expected to get a day off as a paid player? Some would say
no, but it doesn’t mean I didn’t need it.

As I stated, there was no place to go for counseling or mental support for me
as a young player, while any advice from older players, if ever given, was
never good or motivating.

I would feel out of place often or feel like they wanted me to fail and were
trying to bury me.

Daily, I was beaten down psychologically by the boos and jeers from the
stadium heckling that expressed "We should have never drafted you Jackson"
or "We should have drafted "Frank Thomas." Yes, I am speaking of "The Big
Hurt" Frank Thomas, the Chicago White Sox Hall of Famer. Yes, that guy! I
was drafted ahead of Frank. The Phillies had a chance to draft him but picked
me instead. I often wish the roles were reversed and that I went to the White
Sox and he went to the Phillies. I was a hometown kid from Chicago, and they
probably would have invested more time and patience with me.

Every bad game, my confidence would get worse. I know it comes with the
territory, but it would do something to my psyche. 

70.

Chapter Ten

I quoted in the newspaper about how I felt about I was letting the fans and organization down...

Me quoted in the newspaper about how I felt about the Frank Thomas comparisons...

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THE JEFF JACKSON STORY

I expected to hear "boos" at the ‘away' games, but when it happened at a home
game where people were supposed to be cheering you on, it was crushing.
Some of it may have been in my head. It is amazing how a thousand people
could be cheering you on, but my ears would only hear the one, two or three
naysayers. The booing and jeering always seemed to be the loudest and what I
took home with me every night. It was all I heard and all I wanted to avoid,
and being that I couldn't avoid it, the depression was always calling me at
some point to go along with the pressure. The depression and pressure had no
positive outlets.

At its worse, it would lead me to thoughts of suicide. There were days I just
didn’t want to wake up but never had any real intent on actually hurting
myself. I just wanted to escape it all.

The pressure to perform for myself and the team, not only as a franchise
player but just a player on the team in general, was real. I needed to play at
a level to not only please the fans but also to play at a level to move up
permanently to the Major Leagues. I never saw the advancements for myself
as I did for others with less talent. It left me angry and hopeless, again more
confusion.

I felt pressure to put on a good performance and play well for the fans that
were there to cheer, criticize, and/or condemn me. I also felt like I was
playing in an organization that didn't support me or encourages me to rise up
thru the ranks. This is all while the press was tearing me down with their
high expectations, and printing any and every bad press they could muster.

The cycle would go something like this: I would notice how some players
with less talent getting promoted to higher A ball levels who wasn't as good
as me… or "booed" all night through a shitty game … or perhaps just feel I
was treated unfairly due to several factors. It would either anger me or put
more pressure on me that I would resent.

72.

THE GIFT AND THE CURSE

 I would go out and try to play harder, but fail at that because anything you
try to do out of desperation never quite works. There is a saying in baseball,
"it's harder to hit a home run when you are trying to hit one." As a result, the
boos, jeers, and negative press would further trigger my depression or anger.
I used alcohol to manage the depression and anger that would show up in my
earlier years. 

In my later years, alcohol, weed and womanizing became a constant
coping mechanism.  Finally, my refusal to practice during the winter off-
season always caused more issues when the next season began. The cycle
would continue every year, especially in my earlier years. Other factors,
as a result of this cycle, would develop and would play a role later in my
eventual departure.

It wasn't until years later, that I could see and understand the truths of my
journey.

There was confusion in the politics of the game.

I thought baseball or your place in it, was all about talent. Boy was  I
was wrong. Baseball was more than just a game. It was politics at it's
finest. It had a political component to it that no one explained to the 17-
year old in the beginning. Honestly, I never understood the politics until
after I was done playing.

As a result, I didn’t play the politics that perhaps my white teammates
played that moved them up faster through the system. I didn’t laugh at
the jokes and racial wisecracks, I never hung out even though, I was
asked to on several occasions, and I didn’t socialize with my teammates
outside of the game.

The pressure I put on myself made me serious about playing the game,
and that’s all I was there to do. It was a combination of certain factors
that didn’t make me feel comfortable socialize off the field.

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THE JEFF JACKSON STORY

I didn’t know how to break the tensions I felt from the first time I walked on
the field to begin my professional career, as one of the only few black players
in a predominantly all-white Phillies organization.

I saw people rise up quick or move to higher A levels faster than me. I would
get pissed-off.  In my mind, I thought I would get even with the organization
for not promoting me, I'd play a bad game on purpose so we could lose
thinking I was getting even, but actually, I was only hurting myself, my own
stats.
In the Phillies system, I didn’t feel like I got a fair shot.

And people may say, “How can that be when I was the #1 draft pick?”

This is true, but I always felt I had to work ten times harder than my white
counterparts which increased my tension with the team in general. If a white
teammate did something, he was rewarded quickly. I didn't feel as if that
applied to me or other players of color.

I still remember the straw that broke the camel's back. There was a
teammate named Kevin Stocker. He was a pretty cool guy, a shortstop with
nice hands and a decent bat, he was the Phillies second-round pick in 1991.
He was college guy a little older than me. I saw him move up the ranks so
fast. He was drafted in 1991 by 1993 he was in the "show"  the major
leagues. He could have a year where he batted in the mid .200, and next
year he came back and move up two levels. If I had a year like that, my
movement would not be that fast. I moved up, but it seemed my white
counterparts were making double jumps. I would put more pressure on
myself to compete with that.

74.

Chapter Ten

The article briefly details how Kevin Stocker moved thru the Phillies ranks to the Big Leagues...

75.

THE GIFT AND THE CURSE

There was confusion between what was considered my lack of socializing
with me being rebellious

Was the racism that I was feeling real? Was being the butt of jokes as
regular horseplay just a norm that I never got used to… real? I'd say yes,
several things took place that shaped my experience, with the Phillies, but
my rebellion as a response to it didn't help. I would gain a reputation as a
hothead, towards the end of my career because I responded negatively to the
"horseplay" or jokes. I didn't like when the player spit tobacco on my shoe. I
didn't like when the plastic toy bats were left in the locker the second day I
arrived that I mentioned beforehand, or if spitballs were thrown at my head
while I slept on a bus ride to and from the games "for fun" or "tradition." I'd
shut the whole bus down with my outbursts of anger because I simply didn't
get it. I will talk about that a little later.

My team only saw me on the field.

I can’t say that my teammates didn’t try to get to know me, but I kept to
myself because maybe I was afraid to allow them to get to know the real
me. I was a kid from the inner city. I was aware of my differences.

Again the white teams back home where our adversaries and the way I grew
up engaging with white people was different than what was in the league. 
I talked differently. I walked differently. I dressed differently, and I stayed in
that place for a very long time.

Every day, I would go to the game, then come home and drink beer. I would
come back to my apartment and hang out with my roommate and talk about the
game amongst other things. If you weren't my roommate, I didn't really hang
out with you off the field.

It came across as rebellion and arrogance.

It didn’t play well in the politics.

I am sure it hurt my advancement in my baseball career.

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THE JEFF JACKSON STORY

There was confusion between my talent, my arrogance and my need to
decompress

At about 21, my career still wasn’t where I wanted it to be, but I saw the
potential. By now it was 1993, that year I moved up to Major League Spring
Training Camp and I was placed on a major league roster.

The minor league was the base camp for moving to the major leagues. It was a
big deal for me to be going to camp with the major league team. However, I
did what I always did on my off-season in preparation for such a big deal-
nothing!

I didn’t work out.

I felt baseball was like riding a bike; once taught, you never forget how!  I felt
that I was so talented that I didn’t have to work out. Besides, I never use to
workout in the off-season beforehand...
I had this mentality, though I knew most of my teammates were probably
working out hard; this was part immaturity, arrogance, and just a need to
escape from the pressure I carried during the season. It was part of my
survival and sanity misplaced all in the wrong direction.

I know now that if there was one winter off-season that I should have worked
out, this should have been the time to do so.

It may have propelled me into the major leagues and cemented my place
permanently.

That is perhaps a regret that I can never go back and fix. Again, there were no
mentors for me on the field, or away from the game, and nor did I know how
to seek them if they did exist. I was a kid when I started and I never quite
grew up in those areas while in the league.

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THE GIFT AND THE CURSE

There was confusion in what I should have been doing during my off seasons
and escapism

Again, the pressure was real and made me make bad decisions sometimes.
When you are running from it, you most likely will run into some other "not so
good things."

I had my vices that I indulged in.

When I went home in the off-season. I did not work out. I felt like I just needed
to breathe and relax. I didn't want to hear, talk, play, or mention baseball. I
wanted to decompress from the game completely. I was under so much
pressure out on the road during the season that when I got home, I would let
loose and finally be normal and have some fun. Not working out did not serve
me at all, as I have admitted. I knew what I should've been doing, but I just
collapsed in my freedom. It was pure escapism as a way to get away from the
pressure and out from under the depression I battled during the season. I just
didn’t recognize it then.

My vices to deal with the pressure was womanizing, alcohol, and eventually
marijuana. It started with me drinking at least two forty ounces of beer a day
during the off-season. I put down alcohol only because I began to take notice of
my weight gain. I remember making the conscious decision to use marijuana
instead of alcohol because I had a friend who had a cousin that supplied it to
me for free, I knew I needed something to keep me moving. I could not deal
with the pressure on my own. I remember this being the thoughts of my then
22-year-old mind.

Time was passing and I was getting older, but the bad habits that I picked up as
result of the pressure during that time, did not. I partied with my friends,
womanized, traveled, and just did what I wanted during the off-season,  

everything…except for baseball. 

78.

Chapter Ten

Photographs of me with a few of my lady friends, during my "partying days" in the offseason...

79.

THE JEFF JACKSON STORY

At the time, I shared a home still with my parents. My mom was protective of
me in a sense that she was cool with me doing most of my entertaining at
home. The house was set in such a way that she and my step-dad had their
space and I had mine. We respected each other's privacy. I was free to do my
vices in the home, and I think she preferred it that way. My mom never
condones any of my behavior. In her mind, she was keeping me safe and
protected from the media and the streets. I mean, I wasn't just a franchise with
the Phillies, but a franchise player at home for the household as well.

Honestly, after spending months and months away from home playing ball
mainly alone, under so much pressure, with bouts of depression that came and
went, I needed to be around family. Theresa, my girlfriend at that time, would
even come to live with me and my family when she became pregnant with my
son, Jeff Jr., It was my family environment that helped heal me and give me
strength, through the tough times.

Over the years, as I would later wallow in my depression and stagnation in life
over my baseball career, the home would shelter me through my transitions.
My parents didn't have to kick me out, but the signs would be there eventually.
It was time to grow; not as a baseball player, but as a man, and I did.

But for now, I was still a rebel. My parents, or co-habitants, at this time,
dared not tell me what to do partially because of my monetary
contributions. They also didn't know what to tell me. 

They didn't know how to push me to work out, or that I was gaining
weight from too much drinking and needed to stop or else it would affect
my career. They went along with the perceived confidence I exhibited. 

80.

THE GIFT AND THE CURSE

Looking back, there is no confusion
Hindsight is 20/20. I can see all of the external factors that I had to endure
while being with the Phillies. I can honestly say that the experiences, both
good or bad, made a man out of me and taught me some valuable lessons in
life that I will never forget: lessons that I can pass down to my own
children.
Perhaps, or maybe, I would have somehow grown through the ills and
pressures I was facing, if other internal factors had not begun to happen. I
found coping mechanisms for my mental state, even if they were wrong, but
when my physical health began breaking down, I somehow knew it was
about to begin the true ending of my baseball career. 

81.

Chapter Eleven

Bad Shoulder

T      he reality is I played with pain from the very first year I played in pro

baseball at 17, the part of my body that gave me problems was my groins.
I played with two sprained groins the first two years. Every other week, I was
spraining one or the other, consequently, I played with the pain and kept quiet
until it became unbearable then I sought out treatment from the trainers.
At 19, one off-season, I took the advice of a trainer, went to therapy and got
treatment, they eventually grew stronger. It was normal for an athlete to play
with some pain at one point in his career,
However, a few years later, I would start to feel the pain transition to my right
shoulder over the course of time.
It was the right shoulder, that took the notion of my inevitable pain to a whole
other level. It never got better over the years, no matter how much shoulder
treatment I got from trainers, and eventually helped lead to the end of my
career.

82.

THE GIFT AND THE CURSE

Honestly,

My disc in my right shoulder was sore at 20.

It was very painful at 22,

Completely obliterated by the time I was 26.

It got worse and worse, along with that, I wasn’t exercising or taking care of my
body! I was to busy partying with my friends and traveling the country.

Though my shoulder was the issue, and I should have been focusing on that in
the off-season, I was only worried about my hands.

The only workout or prep I would do in the off-season was going to the batting
cage, one week before reporting to spring training. I’d practice a few times that
week to avoid having calloused hands when I showed up to camp to take batting
practice. I at least wanted to be prepared for that!

I needed tougher hands, I told myself.

I thought I didn't need to work out, I never worked out in the off-season when I
was younger. When the season started back then, we would just stretch and go
play, that's how I was brought up so I didn't feel the need to change things. It
wasn't until I left the Phillies when I started to implement an off-season work out
routine, by that time it was too late. 

Or perhaps, maybe I was blocking out the pain I didn’t want to deal with.
Mentally and physically.

In my mind, I had a plan to get thru the pain.

I played with that progressively bad shoulder my whole career. I kept the
magnitude of the pain away from the Phillies and any new team that would come
to sign me up in the future.

I did so by taking excessive amounts of ibuprofen daily and what we called
"greenies," back in my day, If not, I wouldn't be able to throw or play and
definitely wouldn't have been able to hide it, I'd be doomed.

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THE JEFF JACKSON STORY

So, from the age of 20 until the end of my career,

I had to play with two greenies and about 6 ibuprofen before each game.

I got greenies from truck stops, whenever the team was traveling on the road and
we had to make a rest stop, I would cop a bottle or two. Truckers would take
these pills to help them focus and to stay awake at night while they were traveling
on the roads. They were illegal in baseball I'm sure, however, they took away the
pain and gave me energy and the strength I needed to get through the season.

I had to have them.

The greenies would make the pain disappear, and they would have you feeling as
powerful as Superman until of course, they wore off! Once the greenies were out
my system, it would feel ten times worse than it did before. It would feel like my
shoulder was hanging off the socket.

Excruciating pain.

I’d do it all again the next day.

I just endured the process.

Why?

I didn't want surgery because I didn't want to be labeled as "bad goods". Surgery
would have definitely place that label on me, as "bad goods," and the major
league's opportunities would be gone. I wanted to wait until I got to the major
leagues where the money was guaranteed before I let the cat out the bag about my
shoulder because the surgery would be paid for, and my future would be set, one
way or the other.

84.

Chapter Eleven

Photograph of me fouling off a pitch against the Yankees...

Photograph of me taking a hack against the Indians...

85.

THE JEFF JACKSON STORY

I couldn’t afford that information being out about my shoulder.
So, I sucked up the pain, however, it got worse by the time I was 22.
It had gotten so bad after I left the Phillies, that I went to see a doctor in the
off-season and he actually suggested I needed surgery.
I was not sold on doing that, at least not before the major leagues.
There was no guarantee that the surgery would work for me anyhow.
I couldn’t risk it. So I passed on it!
But in 1995, things changed, and my little secret about my shoulder was
revealed.

86.

Chapter Twelve

Rule 5 Draft

T     he MLB had two new franchises the Florida Marlins and the Colorado

Rockies developing and coming into in the league, and they had what was
called a rule 5 draft. And in this case of the rule 5 draft, if a team didn't
protect you on a big league roster, you could be picked up by another team.

With being a new franchise, they already wanted experienced professional
players, so that they can build their new organization rather quickly. New
franchises, in this case, could take your players from other organizations if
they were left unprotected.

The Phillies didn’t protect me on the major league roster in 1995 as they had
in 1993 and 1994. Left unprotected, I was selected in the 1st round of the
winter draft that off-season by the Seattle Mariners. I eventually set out that
season and did not play, due to my shoulder problems.

I showed up to camp that with my bad shoulder, and I had to let them know
because I literally could not throw a baseball because my shoulder was in
so much pain. The Seattle Mariners are in the American league, and this is
different from the Philadelphia Phillies, who were a National League team.

I thought this was to my advantage. Wait! Let me explain.

In the National Leagues, there is no 'DH', a designated hitter, so everyone
has to bat, including the pitcher.

However!

87.

THE GIFT AND THE CURSE

In the American Leagues, the pitchers didn't have to bat, only pitched. They
were only paid to do that, and that only.

So I thought I could become a 'DH' with Seattle Mariners; I could just hit
and avoid playing the outfield; so I didn’t have to use my shoulder as much
as I did in the past. I wasn’t a pitcher so I wouldn’t use my arm much
anyway.

They let me 'DH' the whole time in spring training and I was actually hitting
very well. I'm sure they didn’t plan on having me to be a DH, but I planned
on being a DH thinking I would be getting over. I played a lot of games
with my own mind, again the sign of youthful immaturity and ego.

The Seattle Mariners knew the play, and the joke was on me. They saw me
getting treatment on my shoulder every day, and they also probably knew
that if I made it to the major leagues, they would have to pay me, pay for
the surgery and anything that came with it.

They put a stop to that!
Two weeks before spring training was over and the regular season started, I
was called in the office and cut me from the team.

I asked why?

They told me they knew I had a bad shoulder and that I was a liability.

Case closed with the Seattle Mariners.               ,

I was supposed to play in Triple-A, making $7000 a month that year. I
thought it would be a good upcoming season.

Consequently, it wasn't. I got released!

So, I went back home again in waiting, I went back to drinking, smoking,
chasing women, traveling, and not practicing nor taking care of my body.

88.

Chapter Tweleve

Photograph of me and my Partners taking time out to pose for a pic during a party we were having...

89.

THE JEFF JACKSON STORY

I would go on to play for the rest of my career, never getting that shoulder
fixed.
How’d I managed to do that?
Teams knew I had great talent, and I was a good player, but just couldn't figure
out why I couldn't put it together.
This is why I am writing this book, to explain my side and give people answers!
Each team that would sign me after the Phillies, I assume wanted to be the one
organization to take the credit for getting me together and bringing out my true
talent as a player.
It’s like everyone knows Lebron James is a great talent and can play basketball,
but if Lebron would all of a sudden start only scoring five or ten points a game,
people would wonder what was wrong with him, but some teams would still
won't take another chance on him and give him a shot because of his potential
to score big numbers. I'm sure it was my potential that kept the teams calling...
But the Seattle Mariners figured me out.
Furthermore, it was more than just my bad shoulder, but now a bad reputation
was starting to develop.

90.

Chapter Tweleve

A letter from The Seattle Mariners about my insurance benefits, after my release from the team...

91.