In the summer of 1999, I had just completed my senior year of high That summer, I had the typical life of recent high school graduate: putting off writing thank you notes for the graduation gifts, hanging out with friends, planning for college.

Another high school graduate from 1999, Josh Hamilton, was having a drastically different summer. In June, he had been drafted first overall in the Major League Baseball draft.

A millionaire before most of the world had ever heard of football contemporaries from the Class of 1999 such as Eli Manning or Anquan Boldin, the 6'6", 230 lb. left-hander from Raleigh, North Carolina was billed as the future of the Tampa Bay Devil Rays. He pitched. He played the outfield. He did it all.

But baseball wasn't the only thing he did. He also did drugs. A lot of them.

Just a few years later, he was out of the league and addicted to drugs.

From the USA Today in 2006:

"I'm a drug addict," says Hamilton, who once deliberately burned his prized left hand with four lit cigarettes in a rage. "It's not terminal, but there is no cure. It's hell on earth. It's a constant struggle. And it's going to be like that for the rest of my life."

Hamilton, 25, once destined for stardom, received a record $3.96 million signing bonus in 1999. The money is nearly all gone. He and his wife of 1 1/2 years, Katie, just sold their Fuquay-Varina, N.C., home, about 17 miles southwest of Raleigh. They have two young daughters and $85,000 left in the bank account, he says. The drug dealers and rehab clinics have the rest.

But now, Hamilton is making a baseball comeback - a remarkably impressive one. He has survived the injuries, the multiple suicide attempts, and the drug addictions and now has a strong chance to make the Reds' opening day roster. Those who have seen him play claim he's the best athlete on the team.

From the Cincinnati Enquirer:

Hamilton has looked better than anyone believed he would. He has hit line drives, he has driven balls deep to the opposite field. He has displayed what his mentor, Johnny Narron, calls "plate discipline.'' Hamilton, out four years, has not chased bad pitches or swung wildly. He hasn't been anxious. He has let the game come to him.

Hamilton has been embraced by teammates and appreciates the clubhouse cocoon, where he knows he won't have to fight his demons alone. He is playing with a calm he can't explain.

Hamilton has mustered the inner strength and conjured up his natural talent to succeed once again. Should he avoid a relapse, he'd become one of the best (and few) examples of a young man who was able to ultimately recover after first squandering his vast talent and wealth.