By BRENDAN McGAIR

Sports writer

You could say it was Joe McEwing’s destiny to one day move on to the other side and become a coach. This is someone, after all, who was no stranger to hearing “Ever think about getting into coaching?” during the course of his 16-year playing career, nine of which were spent in the big leagues.
No longer do those words ring hollow. McEwing, the utilityman-turned-hitting coach of the Charlotte Knights, is fulfilling a prophecy long predicted for him.
“I was very fortunate to play as long as I did. This game has given me so much,” McEwing, 35, was saying while reminiscing/reflecting in the visitors’ dugout of McCoy Stadium over the weekend. “It’s now my turn to give back.”

The career-switching calls starting pouring into the McEwing household shortly after the completion of his first – and only season – in Pawtucket, one that saw him bat .268 in 122 games. He was in the midst of recharging the batteries when a club, one McEwing wished to keep anonymous, called. On the other end was a job offer, something that McEwing deliberated for several days before replying “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“(Being offered a position) really took me off-guard and got me thinking about the possibility of not playing any more,” McEwing said. 
McEwing still considered his primary occupation as a baseball player. He yearned for a chance to return to the big leagues, a place he hadn’t visited since appearing in six games with Houston in 2006. The phone continued to ring as Thanksgiving approached, but nothing more was guaranteed other than an invite to spring training.
It was then McEwing knew the time had arrived to hang ‘em up. There would be no Brett Favre or Michael Jordan melodrama here; McEwing was at total peace with his decision.
“I just didn’t want to go through the grind again,” said McEwing. “I was a huge routine guy and it took a tool, both mentally and physically.
“but I have not one regret. I was able to look myself in the mirror every day and know I was prepared to go out there and do what I needed to do in order to help the team win.”
The ink barely dried on McEwing’s retirement papers when Buddy Bell, a former skipper with the Tigers, Royals and Rockies, reached out. Bell was named the White Sox’ Director of Minor League Instruction last October, and one of his first responsibilities was to fill the hitting coach void in Charlotte.
McEwing was recommended to Bell by Jeff Manto, Chicago’s roving hitting coordinator. The connection: McEwing and Manto are both native sons of Bristol, Pennsylvania, a town located about 30 minutes from Philadelphia.
McEwing didn’t want to fall into a habit of turning down jobs. He informed Bell after a week he set to come aboard. “I took (the inquiries) as a positive and moved on to the other side of the ball.”
McEwing doesn’t need a reminder that he’s turning over a new leaf at the Triple-A level, a la when Pawtucket’s T.J. Sorrentine landed an assistantship over at Brown. It also didn’t hurt that McEwing’s reputation was that of a jack-of-all-trades guy (he played every position in the bigs except pitcher), the belief that particular breed of ballplayer is better suited to relate to all sorts of egos.
“As a bench guy you’re almost acting like a manager. Am I going to pinch hit here or go in as a defensive replacement?” McEwing said. “You play the game through in your mind. You sit back, observe and learn.
“The best part is dealing with 25 different personalities and what makes them tick.”
McEwing considers his Charlotte pupils “my kids.” Last week he developed a slight case of separation anxiety when his wife Julia gave birth to the couple’s third child. “I was away from the club for three days. When I came back everyone was coming up and saying it was great to see you. That meant a lot and was rewarding in itself.”
The gratifying part of McEwing’s day is when he pulls up to the ballpark and goes to work with White Sox hopefuls.
“You don’t teach hitting style, you teach the individual. That’s what makes the job fun because everyone is different,” said McEwing. “You want to know what makes each guy tick and what the keys he needs to get locked in.
“It could be a conversation, a kick in the butt or an arm around the shoulder,” McEwing continued. “I probably lose more sleep at night thinking about these guys then when I played.”
No longer is McEwing a coach-in-waiting. Nowadays he wears the title proud.