I can remember the game like it was yesterday.

It was the summer of 2000. Our first trip to Missoula, Montana. I was in my first season of professional baseball with the Helena Brewers. On the mountainous bus ride from Helena to Missoula, by way of MacDonald Pass, the coaching staff had prepared us for the rowdy crowds that fill Lindborg-Cregg Field to cheer on their local team. The stands would be filled with college students, from the nearby University of Montana, who turned overindulgence of adult beverages into verbal abuse towards opposing players.

It's a Friday night, game one of a three-game series with the Missoula Osprey. It's hot and 5,000 fans fill the stadium to capacity. Ash is falling from the sky as wildfires have broken out in western Montana and continue to burn around the college town. My uniform features a mix of blue pinstripes and smothered ash marks.

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This night, our starting pitcher is terrible. By the third inning, the call is coming down to the bullpen. “Get Neary up and get him going quickly!” I take my orders, jump up and stretch out my arms and legs, grab my glove and a ball, and start warming up. No more than ten pitches later, I'm coming into the game, jogging towards the pitcher's mound, and headed right into a loud, obnoxious, drunken crowd.

I arrive at the mound and grab the ball from my manager, Dan Norman. I glance over to the Osprey dugout to put my eyes on my first opponent. It's Andres Torres. Andres is considered one of the top young talents in professional baseball. Now I can feel the juices flowing. Here's my chance to make a statement and make a name for myself. Here's my chance to compete with and beat the best.

As I start warming up, the crowd starts chanting. Little by little, the chanting gets louder. As I finish my third warm-up toss, I can now interpret the verbal abuse the crowd is throwing at me.

“How can you pitch when you're 5'6! How can you pitch when you're 5'6! How can you pitch when you're 5'6!”

It was in that moment my mind went somewhere it shouldn't have. Instead of getting excited, motivated, and “jacked up” to compete with and beat the best our league had to offer, my mind listened to the crowd. My mind said, “Yeah, who am I? What right do I have to stand on this mound and compete with a top talent like Andres Torres? I'm 5'9 (not 5'6!), weigh 165 pounds, I don't have an overpowering arm, and I'm not a top draft pick. I'm a free agent. I'm average.” My mind let me believe I was a failure. The lesson I learned that day has stuck with me for the rest of my life.

Unfortunately, my professional career didn't last much longer after that. I finished out the year and headed to spring training in 2001, where I was released. I was let go. I was fired.

The message is clear.

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You will fail. Every day provides you with a new opportunity to fail. When you're presented with failure you'll have two choices:

You can let failure be your teacher or you can let it be your judge.

When you let yourself be judged by your failures, it will hold you back from maximizing your abilities. It will paralyze you in moments of fear, doubt and uncertainty. However, when you let failure serve as your teacher, it provides you with the springboard to massive growth. So, the next time you're presented with an opportunity to fail, jump right in. It's the necessary step to success.

Here's to a 2019 filled with imperfect action, lessons learned and massive growth!