Dodgers hero Kirk Gibson now fights for those with Parkinson’s

“You’re in this now! You’ve got a lot of work to do!”

The gravelly voice was unmistakably Kirk Gibson. The object of his growl was a journalist who spent two years battling him on the Dodgers beat.

Only this time, Gibby wasn’t yelling at me. This time, he was cheering for me.

“I’m fighting it, you gotta fight it! You gotta take it head-on, because this s— ain’t going away!”

Thirty-five years after we sparred in the Dodger clubhouse, Gibson and I have found ourselves on the same team.

We both have Parkinson’s Disease, and he spent much of a recent 45-minute phone call pushing me to battle the incurable illness the way he once battled a certain backdoor slider.

“Is it fun being depressed? You cannot succumb!”

It’s that time of year when folks talk about arguably the greatest moment in Dodger history, Gibson’s one-legged, two-run homer against future Hall of Famer Dennis Eckersley to win the World Series opener against the Oakland Athletics and spark the team to a 1988 championship.

For many, an indelible memory. But in many ways, he’s no longer the same Kirk Gibson.

In 2015, he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s, a progressive neurological disorder that affects movement.

Today, his home-run gait around the bases would be wobbly, and his right fist pumps would be shaky, and afterward he might need help in the locker room buttoning his shirt.

But one thing that has remained powerful is his fire.

“You battle through it!”

He is battling it such that this fall, he will hit another monumental home run, this one far more impactful than any previous October blast.

On Oct. 6, in a gleaming building located in the Detroit suburb of Farmington Hills, Gibson will formally open the Kirk Gibson Center for Parkinson’s Wellness.

For those like me, heaven.

There are few places in the country quite like it — this giant, 30,000-square feet warehouse dedicated to Parkinson’s patients, complete with two gyms, 11 spaces for movement classes, a track, a social space and even quiet rooms for those experiencing the off times that occur during those dreaded gaps in the daily medication.

And it’s all free. For everyone. All the time.

“It was fun to hit the home run, but this involves a lot more people,” Gibson said. “We’re trying to create a culture where people with Parkinson’s can thrive. Instead of sitting home being depressed, you come out and occupy your mind and participate in classes and deal with your life.”

Gibson is so ingrained in his created community that he has an office in the middle of the building and shows up nearly every day to coach a most unlikely looking squad.

“We’re not a good-looking group, but we’re a great group,” he said. “We’re a bunch of people moving around, shaking, some have walkers, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. We’re a beautiful bunch.”

When Gibson gives speeches, he asks the audience to identify their own personal World Series. Gibson was a Fall Classic hero in 1984 and 1988, but it’s clear, his World Series is here, his World Series is now, and as he strongly encouraged me in my situation, you could almost hear the drumbeat of October.

“Fight it! Take it head on!”

The night Kirk Gibson made Dodger history, he did so alone. Because he was certain leg injuries would prevent him from playing in the 1988 World Series opener, he sent his family home before the game. When he hit his historic blast, he was unable to share it with loved ones, so it didn’t seem real.

“All these years, I didn’t really know what happened,” he said. “I never really felt it.”

That all changed last October when Freddie Freeman matched Gibson’s dramatics with a Game 1 grand slam to beat the New York Yankees.

The moment Gibson heard Joe Davis say, “Gibby, meet Freddie,” the impact finally sunk in.

“When he made that call, that put it all in perspective,” Gibson said. “He took that moment and made it what it had been all those years. I got it, and I was handing it off to Freddie, and I was so honored.”

Gibson said his Parkinson’s diagnosis, which was made official in 2015 after his left arm became glued to his side, has made him appreciate every small wonder.

“After all these years of gruffness … I’ve changed,” he said. “It’s like you’re living a different life.”

Several years ago Gibson was playing golf with an Australian businessman who had no idea that Gibson was once a baseball and football star. Steve Annear was struck by Gibson’s devotion to seeking a Parkinson’s cure, which had become the focus of the Kirk Gibson Foundation.

“Here was this popular athlete who could have been doing anything,” said Annear. “But he was spending his time helping other people. I so admired him.”

Annear, an amputee who recently climbed Mount Kilimanjaro with the sort of fighting spirit that first attracted Gibson, became CEO and director of the foundation. Their team came up with the idea of a wellness center in 2023, raised $27 million to build it and construction was completed in July. In the process, it became obvious that Gibson’s approach was different.

The legendarily abrasive superstar? It had been replaced by a more sensitive soul, one who will give impromptu pep talks to anyone he encounters who is clearly suffering from Parkinson’s, whether it be in an airport terminal or grocery store checkout line.

”There’s no doubt that Parkinson’s has humbled Gibby,” said Annear. “He is selfless, very determined, very passionate, all about other people.”

Nearly 900 folks have already registered to become members during a recent soft launch, and Gibson has joined them in their daily activities, doing everything from playing pool to taking spin classes

”What’s always mattered most to Kirk is the team, and this is his new team,” said Annear. “The center is his new locker room, and the attendees, the administrators, the staff, they’re all his new teammates.”

Not that he has forgotten his old teams, as a large cutout of Gibson celebrating in a Detroit Tigers uniform can be found in the center. With help from the great Peter O’Malley, Gibson will also soon decorate a room with Tommy Lasorda’s legendary Vero Beach dinner table.

“The way this has all come together is unbelievable,” said Gibson. “It’s divine intervention.”

Just the other day, Gibson was getting a haircut when somebody walked up and handed him $300 for the wellness center.

”We’re trying to help as many people as possible,” he said. “I hate going to the doctor, I hate going to the hospital. The wellness center isn’t anything like that. It’s a cool place.”

Like everyone with Parkinson’s, Gibson has his good days and bad days. Life is not measured by how one falls, but how one gets back up.

Two years ago while fishing in Alaska, Gibson tumbled out of the boat. This year he didn’t.

“I’m pretty proud of that,” he said.

Rarely has he felt the pride he will feel on Oct. 6 when, with the formal opening of the Kirk Gibson Center for Parkinson’s Wellness, baseball’s ultimate competitor once again creating the impossible out of the improbable.

“I don’t get scared,” said Gibson. “I attack.”

And so he ended our conversation by strongly urging me to fly cross country and visit his center, to be enriched and educated and basically get my Parkinson’s-laden butt moving.

I told him I would try. The phone exploded in my hands.

“Try? You know what Lasorda always said. ‘I could get a truck driver to try!’ Don’t just try! Do it!”