Disclaimer: This post has nothing to do with the 1980s. It’s also sappy as hell.
I sucked as a baseball player. S-U-C-K-E-D.
I was a decent player in t-ball, but once the ball began to move, I began to struggle. There was one game where I was up with a man on 3rd and I had two strikes. My coach told me to bunt. His son, who is still one of my best friends, said, “Dad, if he bunts foul he’ll be out.”
Ever the sage baseball man, Dan’s father said, “He’s not going to get a hit any other way.” He was right. I laid down a horrible bunt that shot straight up in the air and landed about 12 feet in front of the plate, just out of the reach of a diving Charlie Dickerson, the opposing pitcher. Base hit and an RBI for me.
My kids, however, had enjoyed some success on the baseball field. There have been home runs, all-star teams, league championships and lots of great moments.
But this will be the first summer since 2005 that neither of my kids will play organized baseball and I couldn’t be more bummed. My oldest son, Brady, began his career that spring at the age of 4. He played t-ball in Illinois for two years and had to play a 3rd year when we moved to Indiana in 2006.
From there, he ended up making multiple all-star teams, playing high school and travel ball, and providing me with some amazing memories.
Blazin Hot
When Brady was nine years old he made the “B” all-star team and we played a ten-year-old team in the district tournament. If you’ve never watched 9-year-old baseball it’s pretty brutal, that is, unless your kid is playing. Actually, it’s brutal even if your kid is playing.
On this particular day the temps were in the mid-90s and we got down to the ten-year-olds, 14-3. We then scored 14 runs in one inning to take a 17-14 lead. The following inning we GAVE UP 21 runs. It was so bad that our left fielder made four errors in one inning. FOUR. The game ended in a loss and lasted nearly three hours. After a horrible loss in extremely hot weather that ended his season, Brady asked if we could stop at the batting cages on the way home. That’s when I knew he had passion for the game.
The Hit
The next summer he made the “A” all-star team and we were in a winner-take-all game for the district championship. We were down by a run with two outs and runners on 2nd and 3rd with Brady at the plate.
Earlier in the game the coach had moved him to play 3rd base and he looked at me and mouthed, “I’m so nervous!” Now here he was with the season on the line. He was 0-2 with two strikeouts to that point in the game, but he roped a double into the gap to win the game and send us to the state tournament. I hugged him so hard I thought he might burst.
Team Little Brother
It was about this time that my younger son, Michael, became the official team little brother and good-luck charm for many of Brady’s teams. This was a time when the Phiten necklaces were popular but kids weren’t allowed to wear them in Little League tournament games. The solution was to have all the kids give them to Michael before the game and he would wear them all at once.
Michael also began playing himself and earned the nickname “Smilin Mike” from one of his coaches. No matter what happened, he enjoyed the games and had a good time, a skill I never possessed.
Champs
The good times lasted through his final game when his team won a league championship, something his older brother wasn’t able to accomplish. On top of that, Michael came in in relief and got the final four outs of the game, a la Goose Gossage, to clinch the title.
Watching him get the final out of a championship season is something I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life.
Travel Ball
Brady moved on to play travel baseball for four summers and Michael helped me out as the official scorer while still maintaining his status as official team little brother. That also allowed me to take way too many pictures, which I absolutely loved. Pictures like this one.
Now it’s over.
My wife and I have our summers back and I’ll probably be more productive (she always is). The lawn will likely get mowed more often and we’ll save a ton of money on hotels, meals and everything else. I’ll also miss it terribly.
I’ll feel it when I walk our dog and see Little League practices on the same fields where we used to practice.
I’ll feel it when I see kids in uniforms at the grocery store with mud on their pants and smiles on their slushie-stained cheeks.
I’ll feel it for a long time.
I sucked as a baseball player but my kids were good and I wouldn’t have it any other way. The joy I got from watching them play over the past 13 years far outweighs any memory I may have had of any past glory.
Now what the hell am I going to do?
