Annie and the Crimedog

I remember the trade like it was yesterday.

The year was 1993 and the Atlanta Braves traded away two prospects and a second-year player to the San Diego Padres for Fred McGriff--or as he would come to be known The Crimedog.

Aside from both of us being left-handed and both of us playing first base for our respective Braves teams, McGriff and I had nothing in common. I lived in Utah--a state I'm not sure he's been to even now--and he was in the midst of a great MLB career.

But Fred instantly became my hero. I patterned my playing style after his. I wore his number (#27) and I after he left the Braves and changed numbers (#29), I followed suit and changed my number (it should be noted that Fred only wore #27 with the Braves because a certain John Smoltz wore #29 in Atlanta and Fred wasn't about to take that, but Fred wore #29 with every other team he played for in his career).

To this day, I consider Fred McGriff my baseball hero. In fact, I've often said that if I could meet any professional athlete, living or dead, I would still choose Fred McGriff.

But Fred's status as my hero has dimmed. My respect for my parents has been documented and they are clearly heroes of mine. My documentation (both written and mentally) of many of my friends as parents has made them heroes in my eyes. My sisters are heroes of mine. My in-laws are heroes of mine.

And all of them have gradually moved Fred further down the list.

While I've always considered Annie a hero of sorts, it's been these last 38 weeks that I've realized just what type of hero she is.

It's when I wrap her swollen feet with ice packs and help her elevate her feet that I realize that she's my ultimate hero. It's when I see her grimace because The News just Bruce Lee'd her in the ribs, and then I watch her smile as she realizes that The News just Bruce Lee'd her in the ribs, that I realize she's my ultimate hero.

It's when I know she wants nothing more than to lay on her stomach but she lays on her side for the 38th consecutive week that I realize she's my ultimate hero.

It's lately, when the beginnings of contractions wake her up early in the morning, that I realize she's my ultimate hero.

No one makes more of a sacrifice than mothers. No one experiences more discomfort and just down right crudiness than mothers.

I know Annie would do this pregnancy for 9 years if she had to--and that's a real hero.

Someday, our baby will have a hero of its own. It may be an athlete, an actor, a musician, or even its dad.

But there will be a day later in its life when it realizes that its real hero is its mother. My goal is to help The News realize its real hero early in life.

I've seen Annie play one game of softball in her life--a coed disaster of a game several years ago. While she gave it a great effort, she would be the first to admit that when it comes to baseball, she's no Fred McGriff.

But when it comes to being my hero, Fred is no Annie.