The days have turned warmer, the transition from spring to summer is in full tilt. That “last week of school” feeling is playing out all over, and as parents we’re trying to catch our breath from the flurry of activities that marks the end of one period before we jump into the next one.
Concluding an up and down season with my 9-10 year old boys team, the Redwings, we wrapped things up last week with 3 games in 5 days. My first year coaching boys. Technically, my first year as head coach, I helped last season when Chris Kyriacou was in charge. This year he was looking to be an assistant and I willingly agreed to trade places with him. Best possible experience – I’m confident in knowing how to structure practices, what skills need work, how to approach games, instilling discipline. Chris brings all that and more, explaining to the kids in language they understand, how to perform the myriad of techniques needed to be a complete ball player.
We finished the season with 5 wins and 6 losses, seeded 4th in a pool of 6 teams coming into the end-of-season tournament. Our first game is on a Wednesday afternoon against Steve Miller’s team, with whom we’ve scrimmaged and shared a practice facility all season.
Our kids jump out to an early lead and cling to it until the Eagles stage an uprising in the bottom of the 5th, taking a 2 run lead into our final at-bat. The momentum of the game had visibly shifted, they scored a couple of runs against our best pitcher. If I wanted any kid to pitch on Saturday, then he could throw no more than 40 pitches on Wednesday, a league rule instituted to save kids’ arms from injury. All the while, we have to put up with an annoying parent coaching first base, congratulating his kids on getting walks, not at all encouraging the weaker players to swing the bat. Hey, I guess if that’s your strategy and you can live with it, fine. But it flies in the face of everything we taught our kids all season: it’s a hitter’s game, get up there, take some hacks and make some noise with the bat, and put the ball in play.
In the top of the 6th we send up 2 batters and in no time at all there are 2 outs. At some point, one of my kids says to me with a silly smile on his face, “coach, I think we’re going to lose this game.” I barked right back at him, making sure everyone in the dugout could hear me, “don’t you EVER say that! You play this game to the end, and show that you want to win!” His smile turned sheepish, he apologized and found a spot on the bench. He’s a real good kid, and I like him a lot, but I’m sure I scared him at least a little bit with the severity of my tone. “Hey, I was just joking,” came his reply, and I smoothed it out by telling him not to joke like that, that we play the entire game, then we see who wins and loses.
Down to our last out and the last 3 kids, mired in the bottom of the order, I call time to talk to our batter, now walking up to the batters box. “I don’t like this,” he says to me in a quivering voice. He doesn’t come across as nervous kid, but he’s not real big, nor very athletic looking. Kids in the field are singing “We are the Champions” in anticipation of their post game celebration. I could tell he had very little confidence and was dreading becoming the last out of a game that we could lose, thereby ending our season. I tried to take a calming approach as I bent down to his level to offer some advice. “Take it easy,” I tell him, “we’re about to have a big rally and you’re gonna start us off. Have some fun and go get us a HIT!” Four or five pitches later, he’s fouling balls off, hanging tough with two strikes, protecting the plate until he sees one he can drive. His moment comes when he bloops one over the second baseman’s head and we have a runner on board. Now he kids on the bench have the rally caps going and the next two batters, they with the smallest strike zones, work the Eagle’s pitcher for a pair of walks, and before you know it, we have the bases loaded with the top of the order coming up. The other team is shaken. As far as I can recall without the scorebook, we got a couple of hits from our 1 and 2 batters and take a 2 run lead into the bottom half of the inning.
As happy as I am with our ability to rally, I’m equally nervous about holding onto the lead. Sure enough, having to limit my 2 best pitchers to 40 or less pitches each, I’m running low on options. There’s one out and the bases loaded, and I make a change. My next pitcher is capable of throwing fairly hard, but he tends to exhibit pronounced body language. When things aren’t going right, he’ll slump and drag his feet. When things go well, he’s the Eck-man, pumping his fist. A bases-loaded walk forces a run home, and now our lead is down to one. The kid gets a strike out and thinking it’s the third out, he sprints toward the dugout in jubilation, clenched fist and glove held high. I calmly instruct him to go back out and get one more out, sensing no embarrassment whatsoever, he returns to the hill to face another batter. In a typical pattern, he gets a head with 2 strikes, only to languish in a series of pitches that miss the strike zone. With a full count, the batter takes a shoulder-high pitch, one that I’ve seen go both ways all game long. The ump calls strike three and my boys joyfully scrum on the infield grass.
One of my favorite things is to gather for a players only meeting right after giving the other team a cheer and a high five. So stunned were the other team’s players, I saw tears still streaming down the cheeks of at least a few of them. Even sweeter to savor the moment. My boys didn’t quit and we told them how proud of them we were, not just for playing hard and winning, but for acting like gentlemen and real sports all season long.
We advanced to Saturday’s game and won again in come-from-behind fashion, this time against a team that displayed equally sincere sportsmanship. But on Sunday, we were a little low on pitching and couldn’t hold back a superior hitting team in the Mudcats, thereby losing in the championship game. Just getting there was a pleasant surprise, but the real reward of the season was the way we battled back in both our playoff wins.