Under the lights, with his fingers wrapped tightly around the seams, Chase Goddard stepped onto the mound carrying more than just a baseball—he carried years of pain, rehab and unanswered questions about his future in the game.
Before Goddard ever threw his first collegiate pitch at Piedmont, his journey was already shaped by injury. Coming out of high school, he dealt with persistent elbow pain that followed him into summer ball. Wanting to enter college ready to compete, he made the difficult decision to undergo surgery before his freshman year.
The procedure—an ulnar nerve transposition—was intended to stop the nerve in his elbow from clicking and sending sharp pain into his fingers every time he pitched. While the surgery addressed one problem, recovery proved far more complicated than expected.
During the fall of his freshman year, Goddard was deep into rehabilitation, slowly working toward throwing again. But during a conditioning drill, a freak accident changed everything. With one side of his body still weakened from surgery, he dove for a ball during a flag football game and landed directly on his collarbone.
“I knew immediately something was seriously wrong,” Goddard said.
What initially appeared to be a shoulder injury turned out to be much more dangerous. The pain was centered in his sternoclavicular (SC) joint—the point where the collarbone connects to the sternum, an area surrounded by vital organs. After multiple hospital visits, conflicting scans and growing concern, doctors finally confirmed the severity of the injury: Goddard’s collarbone had shifted backward toward his neck.
Surgery became unavoidable.
Doctors stabilized the joint with a metal plate and screws, later telling Goddard the injury was worse than imaging had initially revealed. For months, his recovery was limited to basic movement. Physical therapy was slow. Progress was uncertain. And mentally, the toll was heavy.
“I never really understood mental struggles until I was injured,” Goddard admitted. “Being stuck in a sling and unable to do what you love—it messes with your head.”
The mental challenge intensified as Goddard watched from the sidelines while his twin brother continued to play. Baseball had always been something they shared. Now, Chase was forced to sit still while the game moved on without him.
Three months later, when doctors attempted to remove the hardware, another scare followed. One of the screws was missing. Doctors were forced to perform an emergency procedure, using a camera to locate the loose hardware before it caused further damage. Thankfully, it was found in time—but the moment reinforced just how serious his injury had been.
Despite everything, Goddard refused to give up on baseball.
After seven months of intense rehabilitation, he picked up a baseball again. While he never fully regained the velocity he once had, pitching no longer brought sharp pain. What remained was a dull, persistent ache—one that surfaces when lifting heavy objects overhead or when cold, rainy weather sets in.
“I’ve just learned how to live with it,” he said.
Returning to the mound also meant relearning how to pitch. His body had adapted to avoid pain, creating habits that altered his mechanics. Fixing those patterns required starting over—rebuilding his delivery and trusting his body again.
Through every setback, Goddard found motivation in his faith and in the belief that his experience had purpose beyond baseball.
“I wanted my story to mean something,” he said. “To help someone else go through the same thing.”
Even as his role evolved and his career took a different path than he once imagined, Goddard continued to lead through example—showing up every day, staying present and refusing to let injury define him.
“There’s always a light at the end of the tunnel,” he said. “This isn’t forever. Be present where your feet are.”
Still, taking the mound doesn’t always mean throwing the hardest pitch. For Chase Goddard, it means standing firm through adversity—and proving that strength isn’t found in perfection, but in perseverance.
