Dirk Hayhurst

Bobby Valentine. Really? That’s the best the Red Sox could come up with? What is it with pulling managers form the recognizable masses that compose analysts? We can’t get anyone that is hungry in the lower levels up to manage a flagship franchise like the Sox. It has to be a name we’ve all heard before, one connected to self indulgent opinions and seasons underachieving no less?

Take a look one level lower, Sox Brass, and you’ll see an excellent and capable manager that is just as hungry to prove himself in the big leagues as Valentine is as hungry to show that he hasn’t completely blown it as a big league manager. (more…)

I’ll be the first to tell you that I’m not keen on sappy doggy videos on the Youtube. I hate pulling up ridiculous picture collage set to an Evanescence song. Gee, look, a dog in a pool, here is one sleeping on a couch with his legs sticking up, now one looking pissed-off because it’s got a birthday party hat on it’s head— oh the memories! Every teenage girls first video project is about their pet, or Justin Bieber, or their pet named Justin Bieber. All the while, some weepy singer is crooning away in the background like the senior class just graduated. It’s some repugnant stuff, I tell ya, but times were getting tough around the Hayhurst house and I needed some help. (more…)

Xylo stands there, staring out the window like he’s a watchdog. I guess he is, just not in the way you’re thinking. He’s a sight hound, so he likes to stare at stuff—blowing leaves, the neighbor’s cat, rodents with bushy tails. Just stares at them, like Medusa though none of his glares ever make them turn to stone. Occasionally he whimpers over it, crying out to the heavens because God hath cursed all dogkind with the invention of glass, separating them from that which they most desire.

I call his name over and over again but either he doesn’t know it or doesn’t care. I throw treats at him, some hit the glass of the door’s full frame window, some hit him and bounce to the floor where they’ll sit, ignored, until I pick them up because having treats all over the floor reminds me of my parent’s house where the carpet looks like a gravel parking lot except the gravel is actually dog biscuit crumbs. (more…)

“If he doesn’t run right up and jump in on the first go, it usually means you’re going to have to lift him up and stuff him in,” said the lady at the rescue as she hoisted up my dog’s bare rear parts and crammed him in my vehicle.

Xylo is about 84 pounds from stem to stern, but he’s not so much heavy as he is awkward. I mean, I can lift 80lbs of dead weight, I mean, come on, look at me. 80lbs of squirming dog however is another thing entirely. Fortunately Xylo doesn’t squirm. He, like most greyhound rescues, just kind of stops and stares at god knows what when you’re not in motion. I stop, he stops, staring off into space with no discernible emotion on his face, like a retarded horse thats just happy to be occupying area of the universe that you are and would gladly suckle on the side of your face out of boredom.  (more…)

Before I coaxed him into the car, before I got the papers signed, and before the lady who gave him to me went on this hyper anal retentive rant about how the breed is second only to God in value to man kind and how I better reconstruct my house to accommodate his every need or want, there was the fine art of picking him out.

He wasn’t our first choice, actually. This other dog named Funyun was. He was one of those tiger stripped ones. Brindle, they call it. I just thought he looked really cool, like car with a hot paint job, which was enough for me. He was younger, and more energetic, but he also took a really long, steamy piss on the carpet of the waiting room while we were saying goodbye, which put considerable doubt in the mind of my wife and I. (more…)

Here’s what the advance reviewers have to say about OUT OF MY LEAGUE.

‎”Dirk Hayhurst writes about baseball in a unique way. Observant, insightful, human, and hilarious.”

— Bob Costas.

“Even more than he did in The Bullpen Gospels, Dirk Hayhurst teaches us here what happens when a ‘dream career’ collides with reality. There is such universality in his struggles, that if by the book’s end you don’t become him in your mind, there’s probably something wrong with your heart.”

—Keith Olbermann

“Not many pitchers have replaced future Hall of Famer Greg Maddux. Only one has written a delightful book about it. This isn’t the story of any old Triple-A veteran trying to finally reach the majors. This is the story of Dirk Hayhurst finally reaching the majors. Which makes the story worth reading.”

—Rob Neyer, Sports Nation 

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I’ve been thinking a lot about music, the brain, and memories. I know: an odd thing to simply wake up one day and start pondering. Hear me out. You may have had the satisfaction of watching the 20/20 piece on Gabby Giffords recently, where in it showed her therapist using music to help her get her abilities back? It was a touching piece, and there were several amazing scenes with Gabby in a hospital or treatment facility surrounded by musicians. Why musicians? Well, this is because the brain responds very powerfully to music. Furthermore, not all music related functions, like language related functions, are stored in one specific place. When brain trauma occurs, and one part is damaged, music lets the brain access other parts of the brain, and other emotions, skills, and memories stored there. It’s really quite astounding. (more…)