Bob Ojeda Putting His Demons To Rest -- Leaving Baseball Has Helped Ex-Pitcher Deal With Grief

"You may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife. And you may ask yourself, `Well, how did I get here?' "

"Once in a Lifetime,"

Talking Heads.

RUMSON, N.J. - "That's the song," says Bob Ojeda, holding his arms out in exclamation as if he is ready to embrace his beautiful Victorian house, with his children and pets underfoot, and hug this new world to his chest in wonder. "The song's so right. How did I get here?"

As the sole survivor of the 1993 boating accident that killed the Cleveland Indians' Steve Olin and Tim Crews, he has endured nightmares and flashbacks to find himself living in this affluent town of 7,000. A place that Bruce Springsteen, Whitney Houston and Bon Jovi also call home.

In putting his demons to rest, Ojeda finds himself in a beautiful new house, still with his beautiful wife, Ellen.

"I followed a tangled, dark path through the jungle to get here," he said, sitting in his dining room with its hardwood floors and elegant furnishings. He's relaxed, sitting forward in the straight-back chair. He is wearing a black polo shirt and shorts.

"It may not have been the best path," he said, the sing-song rhythm of his voice slowing for a moment. "There was probably a lot I could have done better. But now that I'm here, I wonder if this wasn't the path I was supposed to take."

Many in baseball believed Ojeda would only make it back to the real world by playing. The Indians, and later the New York Yankees, kept the left-hander on the roster longer than they would have for a prospect because team officials wanted to help one of their own.

Yet, in his first interview in almost a year, Ojeda tells Baseball Weekly that his personal agony didn't ultimately end until Major League Baseball decided it no longer had room for him. Only then did he find the inner strength to go on with his life.

Ojeda said he doesn't remember much about that night 2 1/2 years ago on Little Lake Nellie.

"It's gone. Back there lost in some haze. And, you know, that's OK with me."

Taking advantage of a rare day off in spring training, Ojeda, Crews and Olin went fishing on the little lake, 25 miles west of Orlando.

Returning to shore after dark, Crews steered his 18-foot bass boat too close to the shore, striking a dock that jutted 185 feet into the water. An extension to the dock had been constructed by a neighbor so his elderly mother and father could watch their grandchildren swim.

The trio were seated side by side: Crews in the middle, flanked by Olin and Ojeda.

The craft was going more than 35 mph. Olin was killed instantly. Crews died 10 hours later. Despite suffering severe head lacerations and losing nearly four pints of blood, Ojeda lived. He never lost consciousness.

He survived because he slouched. Because the boat might have been slightly tilted to his side.

Ojeda flew as far away as Stockholm, talking to ghosts at night, asking them why he had been spared. Such questions tormented him for the next year, driving him from his family, transforming a fit athlete into somebody who sustained himself on a diet of "chips, salsa and margaritas."

He returned to the Indians to conclude the 1993 season, going 2-1 with a 4.40 ERA.

A time of dread

"I don't know how I did that," he says. "I don't remember taking the mound in any of those games. It was a blur. Something that happens to somebody else. Like something that happens on television.

"The best word to describe that time for me was dread. I was at the bottom of a black pit, with no way out.

"Maybe it was from being raised in baseball, which is so macho, but I couldn't let anybody help me. Not my wife, not my friends, not my teammates - nobody. I shut them out - trying to keep this pain, this numbness I was feeling to myself. I wanted to protect them from it all. And it wasn't until I came back that I saw how much pain I'd put everybody I love through."

The best way back to a regular life seemed to be baseball.

Laurie Crews, Tim's widow, talked frequently with Ojeda on the phone in the months after the accident, urging him to pitch again.

"If you quit, Bobby, why can't we?" she told him.

A year after the accident, Ojeda appeared ready to pitch his way back to a new life.

In the spring of 1994, he got off to a good start in the Yankees' camp. He was a strong candidate for the No. 5 spot in the New York rotation.

"That became my new dream," said Ojeda, who was on the New York Mets' 1986 championship team. "I had won one ring in New York. I was ready to get back there and win another."

But that spring the Yankees dealt for Terry Mulholland, another left-hander. Although the Yankees told Ojeda he had made the big-league club, the way the schedule broke they didn't need a fifth starter for a couple of weeks. The organization suggested he stay in Florida, stay sharp, and rejoin the parent club in a couple of weeks.

"When I heard that, something inside of me snapped," he said. "I had been walking such a fine line. I had been so focused on making the team. Then to get that: You've made it, but wait a minute.

"I told them that I didn't want to have too much time on my hands right now. How that wasn't healthy for me. But that's the way they wanted it."

After almost retiring on the spot, Ojeda was coaxed into staying on the roster by general manager Gene Michael.

Ojeda watched the Yankee Opening Day festivities at a hotel bar in Tampa with Paul Gibson, another pitcher the Yankees had left in Florida.

"I wanted so much to be in New York," he said. "But what started to sink in was a future without baseball. For me that was shocking to consider. Since I've been 5 years old, I've been honed in on making it as a pitcher in the big leagues."

He started one game for Triple-A Columbus before being called up to the parent club. His two major league outings were disasters, with his ERA soaring to 24.00.

Soon after the second start, Ojeda was called into manager Buck Showalter's office and told that the team had decided to release him.

Ojeda was angry and disappointed. He was certain the Yankees had a good ballclub and that dream of being on a second World Series champion remained strong. (New York did go on to win the American League East in the '94 strike-shortened season.)

Yet, soon after he left the ballpark, Ojeda said he began to feel oddly relieved. For the first time in God knows when, he was happy.

The pressure of making a baseball comeback "almost killed me," he said. "When the Yankees cut me, I was like Wile E. Coyote coming out from under the rocks in the cartoons. I was crushed. I barely made it. But somehow I knew the worst was over."

Here in Rumson, the 37-year-old Ojeda doesn't follow the box scores. He said he has no idea that Cleveland has the best record in baseball. That the Yankees are battling for a wild-card spot.

His energy has gone into rebuilding his life.

After looking in Colorado and Utah for a new house, he found himself fixing up a large gray Victorian not far from where his wife Ellen grew up.

After weeks of contemplation, he decided upon a dark-wood, executive-style desk for his den. His baseball memorabilia hangs on the wall above it and a computer sits atop it, allowing him to access his stocks.

Even though he jokes that he soon will be eyeing the classifieds if his portfolio flounders, Ojeda is financially secure.

"Every day is Saturday around here," he said. "My agent (Ron Shapiro) wants me to get involved in something, and I will. But only when it's something I can grab ahold of. Something I can put my heart and soul into."

His face, pale with sunken cheeks after the accident, is now full and tanned.

The ugly zipper-like scar that once ringed the top of his head, which he concealed with bandannas and long-brimmed hats, has vanished, thanks to plastic surgery.

Last month he went to Norway for two weeks of alpine hiking. Sid Fernandez's old Harley Davidson stands ready in the garage. His daughter recently celebrated her fourth birthday. Another child is due in late November.

"If I've learned anything from what happened is that I don't wait anymore," Ojeda said. "If there's something I want to do, I don't put it off.

"People try to shelter themselves. They can be careful . . . but I've learned to live life to the fullest. That's what I've come back to."