On a rainy night in Yankee Stadium four summers back, Jarren Duran stepped to the plate, saw the first pitch of his Major League Baseball career whizz towards him and duly dispatched it into centre-field for a handy single.
An auspicious start. That the Boston Red Sox chose to give him his debut away to their most hated rivals in The Bronx illustrated the esteem in which the prospect was held. Even though his team went on to lose the game, Duran showcased, with bat in hand and running the bases, a nascent talent that explained why Beantown fans had been eagerly awaiting his call-up to the show.
Like many rookies, Duran found it a little more difficult once the novelty wore off. Over the next few weeks, hits proved harder to come by than they had been for him during starring turns in minor league and collegiate ball. The pitchers were just that bit better. Adjustments were more difficult to make on the hoof.
Pretty soon the centre-fielder heard murmurs of discontent from the crowd. When his name was called out over the public address system at Fenway Park, there were boos. That discordant chorus was nothing compared to the criticism he was piling upon himself. At the most exciting time in his professional life, his sudden inability to deliver sent him spiralling into depression.
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“I would think every day: ‘I can’t f**king do this,‘” said Duran. “I couldn’t deal with telling myself how much I sucked every f**king day. I was already hearing it from fans and what they say to me, it’s not like I haven’t already told myself 10 times worse than that in the mirror.”
Eventually, he reached a point where he was alone in his room, and ready to end things. But when the method failed, he began to second-guess his decision and started to figure it was a sign he should go on.
Braden Smith’s NFL season came to an end on Thanksgiving last year when he left the Indianapolis Colts for what the media were informed was “undisclosed personal reasons”. He wasn’t physically injured. He had gone to check into a mental health facility in Colorado to get treatment for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD).
Over the course of the previous 12 games, the 6ft 6ins veteran right tackle found it harder and harder to concentrate during team meetings and video review sessions. Instead of focusing on plays being shown on screen, his mind was tormented by a very peculiar form of OCD called religious scrupulosity.
“I’ll latch on to certain pieces of the Bible, certain Scriptures, talking about blasphemy of the Holy Spirit,” said Smith. “I’d be like, ‘Oh, if I think something bad about God, I’m going to hell.’ Selling my soul to the devil-type stuff, that was a prominent theme.
“There’s the actual, real, true, living God. And then there’s my OCD god, and the OCD god is this condemning deity. It’s like every wrong move you make, it’s like smacking the ruler against his hand. ‘Another bad move like that and you’re out of here’.”
The 29-year-old was on the brink of suicide, constantly ideating about easing his pain before spending 48 days in a clinic. Even after that stay, he struggled with the medication initially prescribed and his quest for relief eventually took him to Mexico for alternative cures.
There, he accessed Ibogaine, a psychoactive compound derived from the iboga plant in Central Africa that is not yet legal in the United States. Between the psychedelics and therapy, he has found some measure of peace, getting a handle on the compulsion to pray, and is back preparing for the forthcoming season, albeit with his salary halved to $8m.
Smith told his story when, accompanied by his wife Courtney, he sat for a video interview with the IndyStar newspaper. The footage of the giant lineman opening up in detail about the extent of his problems is compelling, poignant, and impactful.
As is Duran’s testimony. That came during an episode of the Netflix documentary series, The Clubhouse: A Year With the Red Sox, the global nature of the streaming platform ensuring his travails will reach a wider audience and potentially help even more people. The last part is the important bit. This stuff resonates. As soon as elite athletes open up about their struggles, mental health helplines report massive surges in those reaching out for assistance.
In the course of his revelations, Duran admitted that at his lowest point he didn’t want to bother those around him. Not his parents. Not the club. Well-paid men and women in professional sports often seem afraid to reveal any internal conflict that might be perceived by others as weakness.
There is a fear too that an unforgiving public can’t seem to comprehend those who cross the white lines might be able to perform heroics – Duran is now an All-Star – but are all too human and wracked by the same doubts as the rest of us.
“I feel like people see us as zoo animals sometimes ‘cause we’re in this big old cage,” said Duran. “People are trying to throw popcorn at you, get a picture with you, get your attention, scream your name. Sometimes, some fans take it too serious . . .”
Words to consider there.
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