When at-bats boarded an Amtrak for hell, which every man's share will do in a 20-year career, Tony Gwynn rode them the opposite way.
There was no panic in being behind in the count, no fear, Cheap Beanie Hats as that green pasture out beyond shortstop, his safe place, always existed. Gwynn would wait on a tough pitch, whack it the other way and cackle down to first base with another single, one more of his 3,141 career knocks.
"I always knew I had the ability to let the ball get deeper," Gwynn says. "And no matter what happened, I could always hit it to left field."
If you want to understand something about Gwynn, you ask him about hitting. He is hitting. Large portions of his life, from Long Beach (Calif.) Poly High School to San Diego State to a Hall of Fame career spent entirely with the Padres, have been defined by the odd physics of a meeting between cylinder and sphere.
Hitting made Gwynn an All-American Aztec. Hitting made Gwynn a big leaguer. Hitting made Gwynn "Mr. Padre." And for 11 seasons now as San Diego State's head coach, Gwynn has been doing what he's done all his life: riding pitches the other way, taking his singles.
But what happens when, even in a seemingly relaxed place like San Diego, people start wanting a little more? What happens when university officials and boosters and fans ask for some of those singles to turn into doubles? And maybe, occasionally, some of those doubles to turn into triples and dingers?
San Diego doesn't love Tony Gwynn; it adores him, reveres him. And in his first 10 seasons, Gwynn's Aztecs made one NCAA regional appearance, coming in 2009 with pitcher and No. 1 MLB draft pick Stephen Strasburg. There's an uncomfortable marriage between those two things.
Eventually, winning underscores everything in sports. Even for the idolized and beloved, days on the job run dry once the wins do. Gwynn's life has been sports; he knows this.
"No question, you feel the heat," Gwynn says. "I do. I want to win. NFL Snapbacks We're trying to win. And at some point you have to win. But it ain't just that easy."
Gwynn's name hangs on the ballpark in which he coaches, and this provides him a deep reservoir of pride. He has a contract to coach through the 2014 season, and despite summer television work with the Padres and two surgeries in the past three years to treat cancerous tumors in his mouth, he says he's more committed than ever to coaching the Aztecs.
Yet, there's a sense Gwynn needs a signature season, a breakout for his program, soon. The Aztecs opened the 2013 season last weekend by sweeping No. 18 San Diego on the road, giving Gwynn and others hope that this season could be it, the one in which San Diego State builds on its 2009 success and moves forward, ascending into a higher class.
"I'm hoping this is that year," Gwynn says. "We have the right mix of talent, depth in the pitching staff. But you realize there's more to it than W's and L's. There's more to this job than just baseball."
Gwynn is right, of course. Nobody would say unequivocally that coaching college sports is solely defined by the cold truths spelled out by scoreboard lights.
But at some point ...
That's one of the lessons Gwynn has learned in his decade-plus at SDSU. There have been many of them. He was announced as Jim Dietz's successor before he even played his final game for the Padres in 2001. He had talked with his brother Chris about becoming a coach for years before that, and he went from a big league diamond to a college one without even dusting his uniform off. He anticipated what his new job would be like and then quickly realized he had undersold the challenge.
"I thought it was going to be easier than it has been," Gwynn says. "I thought kids should know more than they know. Little things: how to bunt, how to run the bases. After a couple years, it dawns on you that you have to work with them like they don't know anything. You have to teach them the things you want them to know. That was a shock to me coming from the major league game."
It took even longer for Gwynn to understand perhaps a coach's most critical job: recruiting. He didn't lack intelligence or an eye for talent, of course. He didn't lack hustle. His rug was pulled out from underneath by his own inexperience.
"It wasn't until five or six years ago did I understand what we needed to do," Gwynn says. "You need to find the right formula. At first, I thought we just needed to go out and get the best guys. But then the draft comes and you're left holding an empty bag."
Gwynn believes the recruiting work he and his staff have done is now beginning to pay off. He believes in the direction his Aztecs are headed. "We're getting good kids in here," Gwynn says. "I think we're on the right path."
But at some point ...
Healthy and energized, Gwynn is able to talk about his team and his tenure with self-awareness. He tells you what he learned about himself from fighting cancer. How it reminded him baseball flows unburdened through his veins, how it reinforced his appetite for teaching, how purely satisfying it feels to be called "Coach" again after being away from his team while undergoing treatments.
"I don't take that for granted," Gwynn says.
He also tells you about the stakes of this season, the expectations of his job. He's acutely aware of both.
No. 14 Oregon State comes to Tony GwynnSnapback Hats On Sale Stadium this weekend, and Gwynn giggles at the opportunity for his club to prove there's something real here, something tangible building off the San Diego shore.
Yes, at some point, Gwynn's Aztecs need to win consistently, and it's impossible to predict whether that trend is beginning. And it's impossible to predict what will happen if that trend doesn't surface soon.
Tony Gwynn is fine with all of that. Because here he stands, more than a decade into the gig, still believing a good pitch to hit is on the way.