Scenes from a Little League Summer Part 2

We lost one kid to a beach vacation with his family.  Lost another kid who went on a trip to Europe.  Another came down with an asthma attack on the eve of our final game at the states.  All three were strong players.  My starting outfield. Our team was down to the minimum of just 9 guys.  Pretty pathetic circumstances for a team that's supposed to be trying to win the championship of a state in which they don't reside.

We were screwed and I knew it plainly.

So my pre-game speech was less, shall we say, enthusiastic than my previous pre-game speech when I equated our opponents with vermin.

"Guys.  This is like a birthday dessert with cake AND ice cream.  But in all the excitement about blowing out the candles and serving the cake...and by the way...it's not just any old store bought cake, it's a cake that somebody's mom made, and she's like a gourmet cake baker.  So it's really quite special.  Anyway, they serve the cake and midway through eating the cake somebody says, "Hey!  We forgot the ice cream." That's like us today.  We've already had the cake, and it was great.  Now...who wants ice cream?"

My son was pitching, and he throws the ball pretty hard.  He's one of our team's top pitchers.  In the first inning he walks a couple of batters and is beginning to lose it a little bit when a pitch gets away from the catcher and a runner scores.  But he calms down when he strikes out a batter. Then he had two strikes against a particularly big kid who was batting fifth but who seemed to be unable to catch up to my son's pitches. 

Until the third pitch.

The ball sails into the deep woods that surrounds the fence in the deepest part of center field.  It's a majestic, awe-inspiring, deflating shot.  We never witnessed something like that before.  Our team is done...and it's only the first inning.

I hoped that I didn't have to go out to the mound so early to give some words to calm my son down, but I did.  But wasn't really necessary that I went.  Our shortstop was there, too, and was already trying to buck up his pitcher.

"Come on, it's all right.  It's like this is our dessert, see..."

I went back to the dugout.  Situation managed by the players.

*****

"I don't want to be the last batter," the boy said.  But we had no choice.  "It's okay," I said.  "Give your best shot."  We were down to 9 guys, with two outs, runner on third.  Ten runs down.  The game was about to end early under the mercy rule.  Our number eight hitter that day was up, a tough, always smiling, goofy kid who was also our youngest guy and usually a substitute player.  But he's going to be a great player soon. He's a hacker, crowding the plate...always up there to swing.  Except for those times when he was hit by pitches this summer for, um, crowding the plate.

The kid gets up there and draws two quick strikes.  Then he proceeds to foul off pitch, after pitch, after pitch, after pitch.  Battling, getting so close to driving the ball and prolonging the game. 

Until he fouls the last one off into the catcher's mitt to end the game and end our summer run.

My fellow coach and I, and the team parents, are obviously relieved.  The heat is up around 100 and the prospects of sleeping another night far away from home in a distant I-95 exit motel is not very appealing anyway.  We were ready for this to end. 

But of course our feelings might've been different if we thought we had a chance to win.  It's a tricky dilemma.  Try to place it all in perspective and you remind yourself that winning isn't that important.  Playing is more important than winning.

Winning just makes everybody feel better.  That's all.  It's infinitely easier to tolerate than losing. Winning rarely deserves an explanation or summation.

As we pack up the equipment I see that our last batter, the battling kid who didn't want to be the last batter, sitting on the bench with his cap over his eyes.

"I don't believe what I'm seeing," I said.  "You?  The toughest kid on the team?  Upset?"

"I made the last out."

"I know.  Nobody wants to do that.  Nobody does." 

I told him how there was nobody else I'd rather see up there fighting, taking great swings, battling against the odds. 

"But you know what?  All of your teammates won't get to be here next year.  They'll be too old.  You've still got another year.  You'll be the experienced veteran.  And it'll be you who might have to put your arm around some 9 year old in a similar situation next year or some other time in the future and say...'You did really well and I'm so proud of you. And there's nobody else I'd rather see up there, taking great swings.'"

There were free hot dogs and drinks waiting for us at the concession stand.  And there was ice cream, too.   

Comments

[Nic]

I don't think there's anybody who has played baseball and not struck out to end a game. Fouling off the ball into the catcher's glove is probably the best way to go. Much better than looking at the last pitch. I can think of two times I've done that.
But you'll notice that most of the teams that win these sort of things and go to the Little league World Series are teams with parents who bring tents to cover the bleachers on their side and while all of us on the other side fry in the sun. The teams with a team mom, not one that the coach just put in as a joke. The teams with parents that point out the number of Jewish names on the opposing team. Its not really about ability anymore. So the next time... we need to get a tent. That'll show them Southern Maylanders.

[Library Cat]

Well done, Joseph. You sound like a great coach. My oldest son played coach-pitch baseball for the first time this year. He was scared of the ball and had a hard time overcoming his fear of batting. When he finally hit the ball even though it went foul he danced around like he had won the World Series. His team and all our parents were cheering and it was a beautiful thing.