A pitcher 'dying inside'

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Jay Franklin hasn't watched a professional baseball game in years.

He can't. He dedicated his life to the sport for so long, then got so little in return. Many days, Franklin wishes he had never played.

"I can't watch. It makes me cringe," he says. "Like, I get a bad taste in my mouth because of it."

In 1971, Franklin was one of baseball's top pitching prospects. That summer -- two days after he graduated from Madison High School in Vienna -- the San Diego Padres selected him second overall in Major League Baseball's amateur draft. He signed a $75,000 contract and purchased a new red Grand Torino Sport. Calls from hundreds of well-wishers flooded his phone.

Three months later, the 6-foot-2, 185-pound Franklin was in the major leagues, facing Hank Aaron, Pete Rose and Johnny Bench.

Now 53, an unemployed Franklin battles depression, fixed delusions and paranoia while living in a Reston group home. He draws a monthly $1,000 disability check and has no car.

No one calls other than his sister, mother and a former high school teammate. Because of his illness, he has "chosen to isolate himself from the world."

He prefers either to stay in bed all day or camp out at his mother's one-room condo in Clifton, the "comfort zone" to which he retreats every other week.

Last month he declined an offer to attend a World Series game.

"I'm battling a lot of issues," Franklin, now a burly 6-3, 260 pounds, says while sitting at his mother's dining room table.