0:55SARASOTA, FLA. – Some ballplayers scrawl a word or two inside of their baseball caps. Vance Worley is working on a graphic novel.
He's written his initials, even though he prefers his nickname, "Vanimal." He's written a rude two-word command to himself, to make his adrenaline spike. "I flip the switch as soon as I take the rubber," he said. "You have to have the mentality that 'I'm better than you.' "
He's stenciled in the initials of his aunt, who has been recovering from tumors in her stomach, and the name of his fiancée's father, who has been in a coma for more than a year, and the name of his grandfather, who beat mouth and throat cancer after surviving diabetes and heart attacks. "I look at this every day," he said, gazing at his writing. "It keeps me driving."
The list of inspirational phrases and names is indelible. He's learned that everything else in a baseball life can be erased with a phone call.
On Dec. 6, he was working out on the elliptical machine at the Phillies' facility in Philadelphia, and planning to pick up an engagement ring, when he noticed a 215 area code popping up on his phone. The third time the number flashed, he finally answered. It was Phillies General Manager Ruben Amaro, who told him he'd been traded. Worley's reaction: "What? I'm rehabbing here for you, and you traded me? Uhhhhh. OK. I'm not going to fight you."
He hung up and remembers "instant panic in the air. I need to get the hell out of all these leases and get the heck out of here."
Like most people, Worley had built his life around his job. He had just moved his stuff from California to a rented home in Jersey, and had rented a condo in Clearwater, Fla., where the Phillies train. He had met a local girl and settled down.
One phone call left him paying on two leases and looking to buy a condo in Fort Myers, where the Twins train. "But I can't get credit," he said with a smile. "They won't let me buy a condo. They say my contract isn't guaranteed enough."
