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A pitcher’s manhood is routinely defined by what he throws instead of who he really is. Does he have the self-assurance to pitch inside? Is he “man” enough to throw the breaking ball on a full count, or tough enough to go eight or nine innings and save the bullpen for the following night?

Justin Duchscherer became conditioned to view himself through the prism of wins, losses and ERA in five seasons with the Oakland A’s. But in truth, his most enduring display of fortitude came far from the pitchers’ mound, in a terminal at Phoenix’s Sky Harbor Airport in late July.

The journey began with a flash of self-awareness, followed by a desperate plea for help.

While the baseball world was preoccupied with trade rumors at the July deadline, Duchscherer stayed busy completing his rehabilitation from spring training elbow surgery. After five months of doctor’s visits and solitary workouts, a part of him exulted over the prospect of taking the final step and rejoining his teammates in Oakland.

But as crunch time approached, Duchscherer’s competitive instincts gave way to a sense of isolation and despair. As he prepared to board a flight to Triple-A Sacramento for his final rehab outing, he placed a frantic call to Dr. Ray Karesky, the psychologist who runs the A’s employee assistance program.

“I was in the airport and it was time to go and I froze,” Duchscherer says. “I couldn’t even get on the plane to do something I’ve loved my whole life. You go from excited and looking forward to being back with the guys and playing ball to sitting at your house saying, ‘What happened?’

“I guess the word that best describes it is ‘overwhelmed.’ I was so confused, I didn’t know if I should retire or if I even cared about baseball anymore. I didn’t know what was wrong.”

In late August, Duchscherer revealed that he was putting his baseball career on hold to undergo treatment for clinical depression. Rather than mask his problems with a pulled hamstring or pseudo-malady, he chose to acknowledge his personal baggage and address the issue publicly.

Those efforts have taken him to a better place, less cluttered with internal conflict and self-doubt, and allowed him to concentrate on being a better father and person. If Duchscherer isn’t necessarily a new man at age 32, he can take pride in being a more enlightened, grounded version of the old one. That’s a development worth celebrating as he spends Thanksgiving at his mother’s house in Lubbock, Texas, with his son, Evan, age 6.

“It was really important for me to change — to accept how I viewed myself and the things I’ve been through,” Duchscherer says. “If someone says, ‘He’s weak’ or ‘He’s soft,’ that’s not my problem. It’s on them.”

11.24.09