BRADENTON, Fla. — Holy Week was too soon to worry about Gregory Polanco.

And also the perfect time to tell the story of a special connection between the Pirates' most promising player and a manager who has made a promise to many of his players.

It will all work out.

When they asked how he knew, Clint Hurdle had a question for them: Where's the faith?

When he chooses to have it, Hurdle always starts “the talk” with that question. Where it goes from there depends on a player's answer.

Early last summer, when Polanco's time for “the talk” arrived, he was surprised to hear Hurdle bring up God instead of baseball.

A few seasons prior, Hurdle took the same approach with Josh Harrison. In the years before that, Hurdle delved into the topic with the likes of Andrew McCutchen, Neil Walker, Pedro Alvarez and Jason Grilli, just to name some of the more prominent current and former Pirates who have seen their skipper transform into a shepherd during the darkest of days.

For Polanco, those days came in June.

He had started 57 of the Pirates' first 73 games. He struck out in 55 of 248 at-bats.

That wasn't the worst part.

On the base paths, Polanco sometimes appeared to forget where he should be going. In the field, he occasionally took bad angles when tracking baseballs. On a couple of occasions, he flat out fell.

Nobody questioned whether Polanco could regroup. But everybody worried whether his struggles were his problem or symptoms of a bigger issue — and if it was the latter, how could they help?

In the manager's chair sat the man who knew.

Sitting before that man, Polanco anticipated “the talk” going differently.

“For a young player as gifted as some of these guys are, like Greg … they tell me about their faith, then get into these hard times, and I'm, like, ‘ So where's the faith?' ” Hurdle said.

Hurdle provided a scouting report for Polanco. It was a scouting report of Polanco. It could have been one for any of the players who have had “the talk” with Hurdle.

“It seems to me there is worry and anxiety, and those are nothing,” Hurdle said. “None of those are from God.”

Hurdle didn't need to say much more to Polanco, who said he immediately followed his manager's instructions to “give my problems to God.”

“Clint understands how to be a man of God,” Polanco said. “It's good for me to have him. He knows what God can do.”

More importantly, so far as Polanco is concerned, Hurdle embraces his deep belief that God will help a person to the light.

Not all managers might. Not all managers are Hurdle.

Like McCutchen, he was a former first-round pick. Like Alvarez, he was supposed to be The Next Big Thing.

Like Polanco, he possessed all the tools. Like Harrison, he ended up fighting to staying in the majors.

Unlike any of them, Hurdle is an addict. Always able to command any room, he could not control his drinking.

It was always a case — sometimes literally — of too much beer too often.

Eventually, the only case Hurdle could make — and it took two divorces and the end of a decade-long run as a middling player — was to get sober.

Alcoholics Anonymous helped. So did the Bible, which Hurdle decided to finally read.

Some stories stick with a man.

The one of his recovery, an ongoing daily battle against the trappings of failure, is a tale many Pirates have heard from Hurdle.

As he often does, Hurdle gets into it by delivering a line.

“I remind them that when I played, I used my faith like an ATM card,” Hurdle said, grinning. “And that never worked out well.”

Unless, that is, you believe it all worked out according to God's plan. Hurdle does.

He does more than just occasionally pull a player into his office to talk about it, too.

The list of people who receive daily emails from Hurdle is now more than 1,000 names. One of those is the Rev. Bill Schwartz, a retired priest formerly of Sts. Peter and Paul Church in Beaver.

Last summer, Schwartz counseled Walker during what Pittsburgh's Pirate realized would be his last run with the hometown team. In the offseason, Schwartz helped Alvarez, a first-time dad, through a first-time job search.

Schwartz was with Grilli after another injury threatened his career. He's had harrowing talks with Pirates coach Nick Leyva about when it all ends.

This Pirates padre has been a father figure for many players.

But Schwartz calls Hurdle “the exceptional one.” The daily emails Hurdle sends are “an important part of the day,” he said.

“There's no question about it, we're all faced with problems. Some are small. Others are huge. Depending on how we deal with them, the problems can take over our lives. Or they can fade into the past,” Schwartz said. “But it's our choice.

“Clint's messages always remind you that the choice is yours.”

Polanco is 24. He's still growing into his 6-foot-4 frame. He's still getting to know Pittsburgh, let alone the Pirates' spring-training home.

He's still guessing at some words he hears, not to mention most of the pitches he sees. He's still getting comfortable knowing that his ups and downs in baseball are part of God's plan.

Last summer, Polanco was reminded of that by a manager who finds strength from his faith for the minute-by-minute war against addiction.

“I thank God,” Polanco said. “He has given blessings. My family. My friends. My baseball.”

His manager?

“Of course,” Polanco said. “He prays for me. I pray for him. We ask God to help us. But you don't ask only when you must have help.

“If you believe in your God, you can do whatever.”

At the start of Holy Week, Polanco had struck out in eight of his 34 at-bats during spring training. He had done the same thing after every miss.

Looked up to the sky.

Pointed to heaven.

Thanked God for his chance to fail.

Just like his manager had told him.

Rob Rossi is a Tribune-Review staff writer. Reach him at rrossi@tribweb.com or via Twitter @RobRossi_Trib.

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