Timing made the difference in the end. When his chance at a major league spot came, he got hurt. So when a chance to secure a future in professional baseball came, he took it. Johnson ended his playing career by hitting .251 in 76 games as a 29-year-old utilityman with the Syracuse Chiefs in 2015. He will begin his coaching career as a 30-year-old manager with the Nationals’ Gulf Coast League team in 2016. He believes he could have played a year or two more. His timing is not typical.

“Who’s to say this managerial opportunity will be there a year from now?” Johnson said. “A wise man told me it’s better to end a year early than a year late.”

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In minor league baseball, where years of work often yield just days or weeks of major league payoff, retiring after 12 professional seasons can still constitute leaving early. The Royals drafted Johnson in the third round of the 2004 draft — three years before they drafted Clint Robinson, whose path to becoming a 30-year-old major league rookie last year with the Nationals seems quick and easy by comparison. Johnson climbed to Class AA Northwest Arkansas by 2009, but the Royals set him free.

“When we had the opportunity to sign him, he was a released A-ball player who was at times a part-time player,” Nationals Assistant General Manager Doug Harris said. “He came to us, he maximized his ability, and ended up playing in Triple A with us for several years.”

That part-time Class A castoff looked familiar to longtime Nationals minor league coaching staple and former bench coach Randy Knorr. Johnson grew up in Tampa, where Knorr lives in the offseason and works with high school players. Once, Knorr took a wooden bat team to a tournament across the state in Jupiter. Johnson’s father coached that team with him. Johnson and future major leaguers Corey Brown and Christian Garcia played.

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“When (the Nationals) got him. I said, I think it’s a good fit,” said Knorr, who went on to manage Johnson in Class AA and AAA. “Just easy to manage, didn’t really have to work on him. He knew the game. His dad taught him very well, and he just played the game the right way.”

His father, Larry Doby Johnson, toiled, too. He was born in Cleveland, named after the first African-American to play in the American League, Hall of Famer Larry Doby, a hometown star. The Indians drafted the elder Johnson in 1968, and over the next decade he cracked the big leagues with three different teams, the Indians, Expos and White Sox. He played in 12 games and came to bat 29 times.

Lessons learned from his father and over years in the minors earned Josh the respect of Harris and other members of the Nationals organization as a high-energy, palpably passionate player who could relate to everyone. Because he was not a top prospect, Johnson had to earn a spot each spring and see it slide into a younger man’s hands midway through most seasons, when he’d be pushed back to the bench.

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But Johnson, an infielder with speed who could be relied upon for contact, handled the journey gracefully and gratefully. When his father died of a heart attack at age 62 in 2013, Johnson left Class AA Harrisburg for days to tend to his family. In his first game back , one he did not start after that stretch of inactivity, Johnson hit a pinch-hit home run.

A year later, in 2014, the Nationals invited Johnson to his first major league spring training. About a week in, he broke the hamate bone in his left hand and required surgery.

“It’s not easy to get to the big leagues. A lot of times it’s timing: being in the right place at the right time,” Knorr said. “He was a utility player, so a lot of things had to open up for him. He was a very good player, just timing didn’t work out for him.”

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Meanwhile, Johnson’s class, conduct and personality stood out to Harris, who began to wonder whether coaching could be a better long-term path for his gregarious infielder. So while in Florida for Instructional League this fall, Harris spoke to Johnson, who had been rehabbing dutifully after hamate surgery on the other hand.

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“At that point he was really excited: ‘I feel good, I feel great, ready to go.’” Harris said. “And I’m kind of going ‘oh, boy, this isn’t going where I thought it was gonna go.’”

But Harris had seen Johnson handle teammates of all different backgrounds and ages like a longtime Nationals staffer. Nationals President of Baseball Operations Mike Rizzo thought highly of Johnson, too. So Harris readied for what he knew would be “a difficult conversation,” in which he propose Johnson leave playing behind.

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“That’s basically telling the player that we don’t see you necessarily in the big leagues with us as a player. That’s essentially what we’re saying,” Harris said. “And that’s a hard thing to hear. It’s a very hard thing to hear. We had that conversation and what it meant for tomorrow, what it meant for 3-5 years from now, what it means for his future.”

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Former Nationals minor league coordinator Tony Beasley, Knorr, field coordinator Jeff Garber and third base coach Bobby Henley reached out to Johnson to talk things through. Johnson prayed and spoke to his mother, trying to decide whether to make an otherwise unremarkable 1 for 3 day in mid-August his last professional game.

“It was a hard decision, just because it was so sudden,” Johnson said. “I’ve always wanted to teach afterward. Always, always, always saw myself coaching when I was done playing, but you get home, you just got done with season, had surgery on your hand, you finish up your physical therapy, you’re getting your mind mentally prepared to get back in the groove of training, back in the groove of taking your swings in the cage…then they offer you the managerial opportunity.”

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In Johnson’s case, the managerial opportunity came in the Gulf Coast League, rookie ball, where he would mentor teenagers from a variety of backgrounds, beliefs and experience levels through their first professional moments. Most recently retired players start by coaching skills. Managerial opportunities come later, and far less frequently.

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“(Johnson) could probably play still, but he’d be the guy who’d have to go and compete to make a team every year down in spring. Then you get there, and you have to wait for a spot to open up, because they’re gonna sign you as a free agent and you have to be probably a bench player,” Knorr said. “Do you want do that, or do you just want somebody to offer you a managing job, which doesn’t come around very often. You can’t just not take it.”

All involved agree Johnson could have continued to play. The Nationals’ front office would have supported him. He felt physically and mentally capable. He chose not to.

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“What helped me was I love the game of baseball, and it’s gonna be way easier to stay in the game of baseball through this route, versus trying to stay in it as a player,” Johnson said. “I’m sure the transition is going to be a little weird, a little intense, just because I know it’s so fresh from getting off the field, but I’m a high-energy guy, and I feel like a lot of the principles and a lot of stuff I learned as a player will be an easy to bring as a coach.”

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But what of those 12 years spent clawing his way toward the majors? What do 1,069 minor league games, the 3,344 minor league at bats, or 842 minor league hits count for in the end?