My son recently went to a baseball tournament with his
club.
12 kids with big dreams and a
pretty decent ability to play. They stood on a field at 7:30 in the morning taking
infield practice Saturday morning… the sun was just peaking through the trees
and it was 32 degrees.
The kids had on
sweatshirts, newly drawn eye black on their faces…
Eye of the Tiger blared on
the field on a radio supplied by one of the coaches.
If you saw it, it would bring a tear to your
eye… it was like a film.
If it was your
kid out there… you’d be proud.
These kids have had a tough road this fall. Nothing’s easy in baseball. Lord knows, it’s a game of failure and this
club has failed more than they’ve achieved… but one thing happened this weekend
as they embarked on a new tournament… they were becoming a team.
Game 1 was a blow out and they almost looked lost in the
field. But every time a player came in
after a pop up or ground out, the team was at the dugout entrance with their heads high,
hands up, slapping helmets and high-fiving.
At that moment… the outs didn’t matter… they were starting to bond.
I know… you don’t get it if you don’t have a child that
plays competitive sports. But every
parent that was out in the stands in the freezing cold that morning did get
it. Sure, they wanted a win for their
kids… but something was happening… the kids genuinely liked each other and
loved playing with one another. When
they started to lose, they also felt for each other and tried their best to pick
each other up. At one point, I watched 3
players come up and 3 players strike out in the same inning, but each time they
stepped into the box and until the last out, the dugout was on their feet pushing and
praying for their teammate to get a hit. They wanted the win sure… but it was bigger.
It was a support system and they learned it on their own. Sure, it’s probably
almost too sophisticated for kids that age to think that way, but they were
doing it, even if they didn’t realize it.
Game 2 was a tough fight and with it, there was hitting, run
scoring, there were cheers and over all, the play was better than the previous
game. You almost couldn’t blame them for
being alittle sluggish at this point though, they’d been on the field since
early in the morning. Some of the kids
were yawning by 2 o’clock, but every pitch their heads were up and they were engaged. There was yelling from
the first baseman, “Two outs! Plays to first!”
At some points, the infield would be in to stop a run scoring, or, there
were passed balls. But eventually, they’d get out of the inning. Hitting
started to become difficult for them. That’s what
happens in competitive ball. Sometimes
the other club just plays better. Soon enough, the game ended with another loss. The parents
looked sad. The players looked upset, until one of the kids said, “A must win
tomorrow!” under his breath. They packed up their stuff, and knew we had to win
on Sunday. No one talked about the
games after that. No heads were down… the kids were professionals now. It was a job and if they failed… they knew it.
Individually, it would have been hard to swallow. As a team, they stood tall…
win or lose. As I watched them walking
off the field with their big bags of equipment, they were smiling. They patted
each other on the shoulder, they even laughed alittle. The parents were distraught. Again, anyone who has a child knows…
sometimes you want it more than the kid.
But the bond was clear. Sure,
winning mattered, but they were forming a bond no one could take away.
Sunday afternoon was a different day. Yesterday never happened. The team had showed
up ready to play. More eye black and more confidence than the day before. “This is unbelieveable”, I said to a parent. “They
want it,” he said back to me… “They want this more than anything, but they’ll
never show their true feelings… that’s a ballplayer, and I think it's cool.” He said.
We had to win that Sunday afternoon.
The parents were in the stands wanting to see
a huge victory.
More relatives showed up
than the day before… this was big.
The
pregame workout was incredible.
Lose Yourself by Eminem was loud and every
word meant something.
The kids never
smiled… they were giving knuckles to each other, stoic… talking each other up
and while tired… their mission was clear.
The bonding was big right now.
One of the kids, my son stepped up to catch a few innings because the
night before one of the catchers got sick and couldn’t play.
The coach put his arm around him, looked him
in the eye… “
Thank you…have fun kid!” I was proud of that.
They took the field and looked dynamic. Coming to the plate, they were ready to hit,
but almost too aggressive, and it was a 1, 2, 3 inning. We took the field again
and played well and got out of the inning.
When we came up to the plate a second time, it was a different group of kids and a fresh
confidence… and we scratched out 2 on good old fashioned run
manufacturing. It was brilliant
actually. Then… there were a few snags…
a few errors, misplays, but they kept their heads high, never showing fear and
distraction. Our coach walked to the
mound, only to be told by the pitcher they “wanted 1 more batter!” The coach backed
up, hands raised and said, “Ok… Ok!” He walked back
to me and put his hand on my shoulder… “I love that!” 2 pitches later though, a 3 run home run over the
fence. It was a great pitch, but it was a great hit too… that’s baseball.
It took the wind out of our sails… but something happened…
this team… this little team that wanted it so bad rallied behind that pitcher
and did their best to fight back. They tried,
they battled, they fought hard… but it wasn’t enough… we lost. We were going
home.
No individual was blame for this lost tournament. They all were and they were OK with it. Why you ask? Well, it’s hard to explain
frankly. Everyone wants to win, and
those kids wanted it more than anyone this past weekend, but the bonding, the support and the experience was a helluva lot more important than any trophy or medal… they felt
for each other, they liked each other and they tried their best… as a
team. This is baseball and there is always another team that may
have that little extra to pull ahead.
That happened.
“We’ll get’um next time”, someone said. “When’s the next
game?,” another kid asked. “Can we have
practice now?” another kid said. We
looked at them in disbelief… and we smirked. It could have been worse… they
could have been crying, upset and wanting to quit… but they were hungry for more. And for those 48 hours… for them… being a team was better than
winning.
I had to share this story with you, it's true, and it's absolutely sweet. I don’t know, maybe because
I’m in my 40’s and feel like I thought I’ve seen everything. These kids taught me something this past
weekend though... I haven’t seen nothing yet. I learned
something new this weekend… even kids can teach adults... winning isn't everything... friendships last a lifetime... that's baseball too.
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