The Junior Dodgers Find Their Way

Last Saturday, the Junior Dodgers won 8 - 0 on field 2 at Warner Parks.  It was the third game of a fall Saturday gauntlet for our family that began with J.P.'s baseball game at 11 a.m., then soccer for Joe at 2:15 p.m., immediately followed by the Joe's Junior Dodgers' game.  Just another typical fall Saturday for us.

While the other team wasn't very good, it wasn't because of a lack of experience.  They were the same age as our boys or maybe a little older, because we have a couple of younger boys.  However, all of our boys hit the ball well.  Joe made a nice play on a group ball at second base and threw the runner out at first base.  He's got a hell of an arm, by far the strongest and most accurate on the team.  That of course, makes me happy.

What was really cool, though, is that a few parents commented during or after the game that the boys "were starting to look like a real baseball team."  And they are.

It's a funny thing with seven year old boys playing baseball.  Suddenly, they just start to get it and I think that is what's happening now.  You can see some - certainly, not all - of the boys starting to get it, to think about where to throw the ball, for example, before a pitch when there are men on base.  Yes, some pick it up more quickly than others - like Joe, who probably could coach the team - but all of them are starting to think about situational baseball.

What I want, at seven, is for the boys to begin to know the right baseball play to make, even if they can't actually execute the play.  All while having fun, of course.

Moving the boys up early, last fall, to the Rookie (machine pitch) league, as six year olds, has worked  wonders for them, as I knew it would.  We did the same thing with J.P.'s group and it paid off.  Letting them struggle to hit off the machine last fall better prepared them for this past spring, this fall and for a big upcoming spring.  That's exciting.

It's so hard to remember when the Dodgers - J.P.'s boys - were this age.  It seems as if they've been playing sound fundamental baseball forever, or trying to (most of them, anyway).  I know that's not the case.  It's so much fun, though, to see the Junior Dodgers starting to pick things up and play like a real baseball team.  Long way to go, sure, but they've come such a long way, too.

At practice Sunday, I looked round at one point and saw Brian working with the boys in right field (throwing them pop flies), Brad working with the boys in left field (soft tossing heavy balls) and Courtney pitching batting practice while sitting on a bucket.

I smiled to myself and thought of Chris Taylor, Randy Kleinstick and Tony Weeks and how much time we've spent with the older boys - the Dodgers - on baseball fields over the past 6 + years.  In that moment, I thought about how special those times have been and how much I've enjoyed it, spending time with those men - my friends - and with their sons and my son, J.P.  It's a unique group, for sure.

And I thought maybe, just maybe, the Junior Dodgers - players, coaches and families - is staring to coalesce into a unique and special group, too.

I know this for sure, though.  There's a lot more baseball to come for the Joe and the Junior Dodgers over the next 4 or 5 years.  I can't wait to be a part of it.

Comparing Notes with a Fellow Traveler

I picked up a couple of suits yesterday that had ordered from a clothier I've frequented, off an on, for years.  I've been an active customer the last several months in part because I needed new suits and in part because my older suits are all too big for me now.  Way too big, which is a nice problem to have, I guess.

There's a salesman there - Michael - who was an acquaintance but has become a friend.  His mother, Dean, has been in the Courtyard at NHC Place, where my mom was the several months of her life.  I got to know Dean a little bit because she was there when my mom was there and I often said hi to her, especially after I made the connection with Michael when I saw him there one day.

When I see him occasionally, we have these brief but intense conversations about, well, life.  My mom and how much I miss her.  His mother and how difficult her circumstances are right now.  We talk about death, too.  It's the other side of the same coin or so it seems.

Michael goes by to see his mother often, if not every morning, then pretty close to it.  I get the sense that he doesn't have other family with whom to share the responsibility of caring for his mother.  I think we connect so easily because he knows, really knows, that I understand exactly what he's going through with his mother.  Not an approximately of what he's going through but exactly what he's going through.

As we talked yesterday, I was reminded of how much I enjoyed stopping by to see my mom, first at Maristone, and later at NHC Place (Aspen Arbor, then the Courtyard).  I've written about this before, I know, but there was something about being there - being with her - that centered me and brought me an unabiding sense of peace.

In the middle of a busy work day or a busy weekend, it was nice to downshift to neutral and just sit with my mom for a little while.  It's weird but when I was with her - on the inside (of Maristone, Aspen Arbor or the Courtyard) - the outside world receded.  My every day concerns - personal and professional - disappeared, at least temporarily.  I think that was one of my mom's last gifts to me, to provide me a place of respite, where I could sit quietly and, well, just "be" for a few minutes.  I think she knew I needed that.

That's one of things I miss now, I think.  The interludes of quiet and peacefulness, and the feeling that for those few minutes, I was where I was supposed to be doing what I was supposed to do.  Spending time with my mom.  It was intense, concentrated and focused and yet, it brought me peace and helped me recharge my batteries just a bit so I could find the energy to resume my place in my small part of the world, such as it is.  Again, I miss that, a lot.

There was a time - in the relatively early days of my mom's stay at Maristone - when I often stopped by during my workday, in the early afternoon, after lunch.  As my mom reclined in her chair in the two room apartment on the second floor, I stretched out on her couch in my suit, and napped off an on for 20 or 30 minutes.  When I stirred, my mom would tell me to close my eyes and rest, that I was probably tired and needed a nap.  She was right, as always.

It brought me great comfort to wake up, refreshed, and see he sitting in her chair watching me with voices from the television droning quietly in the background.  I'd give her hug and a kiss, tell her goodbye, and head back to work.

In those days, her apartment was an oasis and a port in a storm for me.  A safe harbor, in a way.  I miss that and so much more about my mom.

I knew it then, sort of, and I know it now, too.  Boy, do it know it now.  Still, I forget it sometimes, which is human nature, I guess.

There's beauty everywhere.  Sometimes you have to look a little harder to find it.

Even in the darkest days with my mom, there was beauty.  And I miss that most of all.

     

The Cars

(Muletown Coffee - Columbia, TN)

It's Monday morning and I'm having a cup of coffee at Muletown Coffee on the Square in Columbia, TN, before a mediation.  Mid-September and still dreadfully, unseasonably hot.  High 90's again today.  Awful.

On the drive down this morning, I listened to The Cars in honor of lead singer and frontman Ric Ocasek, who died yesterday at age 75.  The Cars had a run from 1978 - 1990, which means they would for sure place a few songs on the soundtrack of my youth.  Several, actually.  

As I thought about it, The Cars might have been the quintessential (I love that word) '80's band.  A bit new wave or punk but not too much so.  Synthesizers.  Big hair a new wave look, especially Ric Ocasek - at 6'4" he seemed like he was 6'7" because he was so skinny.  Easily accessible sound.  More pop than punk, really, with three and half minute songs with catchy hooks.

I played Heartbeat City, released by the band in 1984, a million times my senior hear of high school.  I played it again this morning on my drive and reminisced about high school, the '80's, my mom, my friends, my 1966 Mustang and my 1983 Honda Civic 1500S (w/black tinted windows), Steve Jeroutek, spring break in Daytona Beach, a certain kind of innocence lost, youth, life and how it all passes by so quickly.

And it does.

R.I.P. Ric Ocasek

The Game of a Lifetime

Yesterday, during the Dodgers' 9-2 win over our longtime rival, the Dirtbags, I was reminded of why I love coaching baseball so much.

11 - 12 year old fall baseball is different from spring baseball.  It's more laid back with a focus on development.  It's a time to let players play different positions and bat at different places in the lineup.

The makeup of our team - the Dodgers - has changed, well, dramatically, for the first time this fall.  That's a story for another day but when the dust settled, we had a roster of 10 players with only five or our original Dodgers.  At this age - 11 - it seems that some boys begin to settle into other sports and some give up baseball.  Some don't play fall baseball.

So, the Dodgers have a bit of a different look this fall and that's taken a little getting used to for me.  We're also not as talented as we were when we fielded two rosters in the spring but it turns out that's okay, probably preferable, to me.  That's all part of the other story I'll tell at some point.

Back to yesterday and the Dodgers' 9 a.m. game vs. the Dirtbags.

We have a player - Elijah - who joined us last spring from Bellevue.  He's a big kid.  Quite, respectful, very coachable.  Sweet kid, like a teddy bear.  He listens and is genuinely appreciative of all of the coaching he gets.  He's a first basemen, for sure, but has the versatility to play other positions, especially in the outfield.  He was a bit of a diamond in the rough last spring when he joined us but it was clear to me he had talent and was a baseball player, which is what I told him, often.

This summer, he worked really hard and attended a few baseball camps.  Baseball is his thing which, of course, I absolutely love.  And, again, I think he's got real talent.

At practice this fall, he's been ripping the ball in the batting cage.  Hitting it harder and more consistently than maybe any player I've ever coached, in large part because he's so big and strong, and because he's worked hard to get better.  I started telling him he was dangerous with the bat in his hand and that someone might call the authorities if he hit the ball in games as hard as he's been hitting it in the batting cage.  I started calling him "Danger," and some of the other boys picked up on it, and he seems to like it.

Unfortunately, in our first game, Elijah's hitting in the cage didn't translate and he struck out twice and didn't make good contact with the ball.  Yesterday, before our game as we were working in the batting cage, I suggested he stand a little closer to the plate.  I'dl like to thing that what happened next, in the game, was due to the adjustment I suggested but it may have been coincidence.  Who knows?  Baseball is a funny game.

His first time up, in the second inning, there was one man on base.  Elijah, a right-hander, absolutely crushed the first pitch he saw to dead center field.  When it bounced, I initially thought he had hit a ground rule double but when he kept running, I realized he had hit the ball about 220 feet, over the fence in center field, for his first career home run.  As he trotted around the bases, the other players poured out of the dugout to congratulate him.  The smile on his face was mile wide as he rounded this and the players mobbed him at home plate.

What a moment.  Watching a player hit his first home run - Wes did it last year - is a privilege.  I still remember my first one - off Kevin Johnson - during a Sunday makeup game at Brentwood Civilian Park in my childhood neighborhood.  A grand slam.  My feet never touched the ground as I ran the bases.

The next time up, Elijah roped a single up the middle and knocked in another run.  Then, even though he's the biggest and probably, the slowest boys on our team, got an amazing jump and stole second standing up.  Why?  Because he listened at practice Thursday night when we talked to the boys about getting secondary leads and practiced it on the base paths with a live ball.  He listened and it paid off, which is so rewarding to see.  Then, for good measure, he stole third base, sliding in under the tag.

Later, after getting on base yet again, he stole home on a passed ball.  When I saw him take off as the ball got away from the catcher, I thought he was going to be out by a mile.  But he hustled down the third base line and slid head first (!) into home.  The umpire called him safe and the players in out dugout went wild.  To see our biggest kid play that hard was inspirational to all of the boys and, frankly, to me.

Elijah caught a fly ball in left field and in the bottom of the sixth inning, he dove for and almost caught a sinking liner.  A couple of batters later, the win was in the books.

I was - and am - so proud of Elijah.  I identify with him a bit, I think, because he lost his father at a young age, like I did.  He's a kid I keep an eye on and try to connect with and give a little extra attention to at practice.  He listens, responds and is grateful for all of the coaching he gets.  That's like I was when I was his age, as I soaked up all the instruction I got from Warren Gilley, my next door neighbor's dad and my baseball coach on at least two teams of my youth.

So, here's to Elijah and the day he had that I'll always remember - long after I'm done coaching baseball.  I bet he remembers it, too.  

Running Man

In J.P.'s 5th grade P.E. class, the kids were allowed to pick an activity rather than participate in the regular class every day.  Much to my surprise, J.P. picked cross country, which meant he would run a mile or so every day in class.  Cool, I thought.

I missed his first cross county meet - at USN's River Campus - but was tickled to death when he finished 7th out of 35 or 40 5th and 6th grade boys.  A couple of his soccer teammates finished ahead of him and another one of his buddies passed him at the end, which kind of pissed him off.  Still, a great first cross country meet.  He really wanted me to watch his next meet and, fortunately, I was able to get over there this past Tuesday and damn, am I glad I did.

Running is something I know and know well, of course, since I've been a serious runner for more than 30 years.  I've run in a million road races of all shapes and sizes, a handful of trail races and a few marathons.  I don't race as much these days but there was a time when in almost every race I ran, I tried to set a P.R. (personal record).  At the very least, I was conscious of the time I wanted to run and more than willing to put my body through hell - runner's hell - to get the time I wanted.  In short, I know what it's like to run and to race.

I arrived at the River Campus a half hour or so before the race and was able to talk briefly with J.P. as he warmed up with his USN teammates.  It was deathly hot, at least 95 degrees.  I thought about pulling J.P. aside and giving him some advice on running in the heat, running a negative split and finishing strong but I decided against it.  He seemed focused before what would only be his second race.  Better to let him run his race, future out what works and what doesn't and we could talk about it afterwards if he wanted to.

As I walked over to a good viewing spot in the early part of the course, I realized I was nervous.  I've coached or watched J.P. play a thousand baseball, basketball or soccer games, and I don't think I've ever been nervous, for him or me.  I think perhaps it's because I could identify with everything he was feeling - everything - as he stood at the starting line waiting for the starter to fire his pistol.

Suddenly, I heard the shot and the boys were off.  USN, Oak Hill School and FRA.  As the boys made the first turn and headed down a straight stretch toward me, I had my camera ready.  J.P. was in the second group, in the top 10.  He looked good and strong, as I snapped a few photos.

After J.P. passed by, I hurried across the parking lot to get a look at the boys as they approached the halfway point of the 1 1/2 mile race.  I cheered for J.P. as he ran by, now in 5th or 6th place.  I walked back across the parking lot to my first viewing spot and waited for what seemed like forever until, finally, the leaders came into view.  A USN 6th grader - who is a stud - was in first, followed closely by a big Oak Hill boy.  Next, came J.P.'s classmate, Abe, a tall, redheaded hockey player who is a surprisingly good runner, and another boy.  A boy from another school was running just behind Abe.

All alone in 5th place was J.P., although a smaller boy from Oak Hill was about 10 yards behind him.

It's difficult for me to explain my emotions as I watched J.P. run.  I was nervous.  Proud.  Excited.  Anxious.  It was intense, for me.

J.P. looked good.  Very focused.  I knew he was in pain because I've been right where he was, many times.  And it was really, really hot.

After he ran by, I hustled across to the finish line.  As J.P. made the final turn and ran down the straightaway toward the finish line, I could see the Oak Hill boy trying desperately to catch him.  My heart was pounding - yes, pounding - as I yelled to J.P. to pick it up and finish strong.

And that's exactly what he did.  He pulled away from the Oak Hill boy and finished the race in 5th place.  He cut a little more than 30 seconds off his time in the previous race in much hotter conditions.  Damn, I was - and am - so proud of him.

He was in obvious distress immediately after the race, so I walked over to him and put my arm around him.  He leaned on me and told me he was in pain, that his stomach hurt.  "I know, buddy," I said.  "I know.  Let's walk a bit and you'll feel better in a minute."

We walked together, J.P. leaning on me, two runners.  One older, who has run many races and one younger, who had just run his second race.  It was one of those snapshot moments that I'll remember for the rest of my life.

I asked him later that night - because I was curious - what he was thinking as he ran toward the end of the race.  "I just didn't want anyone to pass me, Dad," he said.  You're damn right, I thought.

I've watched J.P. close out baseball games on the pitching mound, striking out boys much bigger than him.  I've seen him have walk off hits to win games and I've seen him make defensive plays at shortstop or second base to end games.  I've seen him win a state tournament and the make the state tournament all-tournament game.  I've seen J.P. take over soccer games with his aggressive and goal scoring.  I've seen J.P. score baskets in basketball games and play good defense.

Still, I'm not sure I've ever been as proud of him as I was on Tuesday, watching him finish that cross country race in 5th place.  It was amazing.

Running has been such a big part of my life for son long.  It's part of who I am and what I do.  I think and hope it always will be.  So, to see him run - and compete - took my breath away.  His focus.  His determination.  His perseverance.  His courage.

I'll never forget it.