The 59-year-old man in a wheelchair told the Bulldogs of his successes that came after many doubted his capabilities. Some even doubted his life. In 2010, doctors twice advised Amy to plan funeral arrangements when rectal cancer whittled Doc’s body down to 60 pounds. “But God said, ‘I ain’t ready for you! Go back!’” Doc said. “So I tried to do God’s will and if I can do anything for him that’s what’s I’m going to do.”

Two days before Kendall Graveman threw the first pitch of Mississippi State’s postseason run, he sat in the third base dugout at Dudy Noble Field wiping tears from his eyes.

Instead of the month-long journey ahead of him, one that would end in Mississippi State’s first appearance in the College World Series finals, he focused on three seconds that had transpired nearly 60 years ago. Three seconds that changed Graveman’s future, the baseball program and forever the life of Donnie ‘Doc’ Prisock.

“(Doc) had the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck when he was coming out at birth for two seconds. Two or three seconds.” Graveman said. “That… changed his life. If that wasn’t around his neck, he’d be walking, he’d be fine. And I would’ve never got to meet him.”

Those few seconds caused Doc to be born with Cerebral Palsy.

Today, he is restricted to a motorized wheelchair. His reduced motor skills prevent him from bathing himself, putting on his clothes or tying his shoes. His speech is slurred and he sometimes struggles to pronounce every syllable.

Yet none of those things have prevented him from attending nearly every Mississippi State baseball practice and every game for the past two years.

“You know, those two or three seconds changed the course of his life, but he didn’t let it change his outlook on life,” Graveman said. “I wish it wouldn’t have been that way. But then again I wish it would have.”

Without the circumstances that landed Doc in a wheelchair, Graveman may have never noticed him outside MSU’s clubhouse two years ago, resulting in their first handshake. He may have never spotted Doc in his gameday location behind the home dugout.

Without these interactions, Graveman may not have ended up spending nights at the Prisock house on Blackjack Road as their team foster child.

“I think everything is done by God’s will. And he’s got a plan. Some people call it predestination. I don’t know if I believe really in predestination or not,” Doc said. “But I think God controls everything. You got two options: You can either play the cards that are dealt to you or fold and go home. And I don’t want to go home.”

Sometimes even the best poker players fold. An eight-year-old Doc cashed in his chips and sat alone in his room.

“I don’t know why I remember this but, I said ‘God, why me? Why did you give me a disability?’” Doc said. “And I would cry. And I cried.”

Nearly every day his mother, Virginia, eased those fears and read to him The Little Engine That Could.

“I think I can. I think I can. I think I can. And that’s the validation of my life,” Doc said. “I think I can. If I can’t, OK. Then that’s God’s will.”

Virginia knew he could. She enrolled him as a 3-year-old in a Cerebral Palsy school in Jackson, away from their home in Starkville. She watched him earn a double major in psychology and social work and then a master’s degree in counseling at Mississippi State.

His schooling concluded where it began � in Jackson. He earned his Ph.D in highher education from Ole Miss’ satellite campus in the state capital.

She endured his failures as well.

His first attempt at a driver’s license ended when the 1965 Pontiac Bonneville was too “big a car” to parallel park. But she watched him always overcome. In 1972, MSU created a three-wheeled “Bulldog Buggie” for him, and he received his license.

She saw him join the Sigma Alpha Epsilon fraternity and his brothers carry Doc at his wedding. She held her grandson Wil after he was born.

Those were all milestones others never thought Doc would have.

“Without my mother’s help, I cannot be here,” Doc said. “I cannot have my pride and joy. We all have someone that will give us a lift. And my mother was it for me.”

His wife, Amy, now assumes this role. The two met at Montgomery Hall at Mississippi State. Doc was the coordinator of student support services. Amy was his secretary.

“I was a horrible secretary. I remember cleaning up his files, what I thought was cleaning up his files and keeping them in order,” Amy said. “I thought they were a jumbled mess, but he knew where every single piece of paper was. Then he couldn’t find it. He blew up at me.”

The two survived the incident and dated for four years. They were married on July 18, 1992.