The Last Days of the Dodgers

I'm going to write a book someday.  A book about baseball but, also, about so much more.

Things like coaching boys.  Watching your boys grow up.  Friendships forged.  Winning and losing.  Competing.  Sportsmanship.  Dealing with personal loss and grief.  Resiliency.  Teaching.

And, yes, baseball.

I'm going to call it "The Last Days of the Dodgers."

This morning, the Dodgers played our last game of the truncated spring/summer season.  It was nice to play the 8:30 a.m. game because it hadn't gotten hot yet.  Actually, it was a beautiful morning.

We lost to the Ballers for the fourth time.  7-3.  Previous losses were 5-2, 5-3, and 5-2.  I'm not going to recap this morning's game because that's not what this post is about but, in reality, it should have been a 4-3 game.  We had a couple of wild pitches that scored runs and a throw down to third that got away from Porter and allowed run to score.  The Ballers are slightly better than us but only by a run or two.  It's a good, competitive matchup for us.

It was our last game on the smaller fields (no. 3 and 4 at Warner Park).  Field 3 today.  Now, it's on to the prep field (no. 5).  Regulation baseball.  Bases 90' apart.  Pitching from 60' 6".  Just like in the big leagues.

It's a whole new ballgame.

All morning before the game and, really, during the game itself, I had one foot in the past and one foot in the present.  As I restlessly walked around on our side of the field during the game - the first base side, as we were the visiting team - my my wandered.

So many Dodgers' baseball games with this group for the past seven years.  Fall, spring, and summer.  Hot summer afternoons and cool, sometime cold, fall nights under the lights at Warner Park.

From coach pitch at Harpeth Hills Church of Christ on fields 4 and 5, nestled amongst the trees on the back of the property to machine pitch on fields 1, 2, and 3 at Harpeth Hills and Warner Park on field 2, 3, and 4.  From the first fall season of kid pitch on fields 3 and 4 at Warner Park, when the boys were eight and nine years old, struggling to learn how to steal bases, to today, watching our 12 year old boys play the game the right way.  Holding runners on, taking secondary leads, stealing bases, seeing real curve balls.

I thought about all of those games.  I saw ghosts on the baseball field.  I saw Wes, Benton, J.P., Porter,  J.K., Aidan, and Cooper, as five and six year olds, running around field 5 at Harpeth Hills after a Sunday practice, playing a game they called "diaper tag," as the parents watched, laughed, and talked amongst themselves, building the foundation of friendships that have flourished over the years.

In those days, I always marveled at the fact that the boys had as much, if not more, fun after practice than they had at practice.  And you know what?  That's the way it should have been.  And that's the way it was.

I thought about the ones that got away.

Brennan and Davis, who moved away.  I nicknamed Brennan's dad, Dan, "the Professor."  He ran the pitching for me when the boys were 7 and 8.  He was a master at making the micro-adjustments, in game, to the pitching machine that were necessary to give the boys good pitches to hit.

Ellis, from a single parent home, who more than anyone needed this team and the role modeling that all of us, as coaches, work hard to provide to the boys.  His mom simply couldn't or wouldn't get him to games and practices consistently, even though my coached and I offered to help with transportation.  She pulled him off the team mid-season, selfishly in my view.  I always hated that for Ellis.

Asher, the quiet one who joined us late and played first base and outfield.  He had talent.  His dad, also very quiet, always came to games in a Cubs hat and sat behind the backstop, reading.  I love to read, of course, but I cannot imagine reading at the ballpark while my son played baseball.

Asher drifted away from baseball which happens, of course.  Boys find other sports or don't enjoy hitting off of live pitching.  Or, sometimes, boys' parents don't enjoy baseball and the boys pick up on that.  Braden drifted away, too, after a long run with the Dodgers.    

Emerson, a girl, played with us one fall when the boys were 7 or 8.  As I recall, she was out third best hitter, a year older than most of our boys.  She played the game with such enthusiasm and joy.  It lifted everyone on the team, including coaches.  I always thought she had a crush on Wes that fall, although he was clueless.

I smiled to myself and thought about the first practice I ever lead, as head coach.  It was at Sevier Park and my father-in-law, Jim White, helped me.  We were the Red Sox that fall or spring.  I forget which but it's the only time I've coached a team that wasn't the Dodgers or Junior Dodgers.  I was nervous and, really, didn't know what the hell I was doing.  Still, Jim and I made it through that practice, and I made it through that season, and the core group of the Dodgers was on that team.  Crazy, when you think about it.

I thought about players, and families, whom we have picked up over the years.  Boys like Elijah, Ethan, Turner, and Nico.  I wish like hell they had been on the Dodgers from day 1 because they fit so well with the rest of our group.  Still, I am so glad they ended up with us and that I got to coach them.

I thought - a lot - about the love and gratitude I feel for my assistant coaches.  Chris Taylor, Tony Weeks, Randy Kleinstick, Will Wright, and Chad Poff.

The late night telephone conversations about lineups, which player is down and needs a little extra attention, scheduling, practice drills, and tournaments.  The "coaches meetings" I used to call when we would meet, after bedtime for our boys, at Edley's for a beer or two and a lot of baseball talk.

These men are the Dodgers.  They're role models for out boys, every one of them, and I love them for that.

I thought about how, when the boys were younger, after every game I would race with them out to right field to talk.  Win or lose, they ran with me, tackled each other, slid onto the ground, and we shared a few minutes together after the game.  Many times, half of them didn't know, or care, if we won or lost the game.  Yesterday, I walked with them out to right field again, for old time's sake, and spoke to them.

I told them how much I loved them.  I thanked them for this season and for giving me, and my coaches, a sense of purpose again, and providing a distraction from the stress of every day life.  I told them I was proud of them.  I told them how lucky they were to have such a great coaching staff.  

So many games on so many fields for the Dodgers over the last seven years.  I've loved every game, every inning, every pitch.  Wins and losses.  Individual triumphs and individual failures.  Lessons learned, by the boys and, of course, by me.

I don't know what the future holds with middle school ball looming for several members of our baseball team, including J.P.  I think, and hope, the Dodgers will play together in the fall on the big field at Warner Park.  We'll lose a few players but all signs point toward having most of our core group.  I hope that's the way it works out.

Either way, it's the last days of the Dodgers.  Or close to it.

And it's been one helluva ride.

54

I turned 54 years old yesterday. 

I'm not big on birthdays.  Never have been, really, at least not since I was a kid.  I don't care about getting presents.  I don't want to have to expend the mental energy to tell my family what I want for my birthday.  That doesn't make things too easy for them, I know. 

Also, I've been incredibly busy at work, so my birthday this year kind of sneaked up on me.

So did the fact that I'm 54.  I mean, damn, that sounds old.  Probably because it is old.

Yesterday morning, J.P. and I ran 4 miles together.  That, in and of itself, was a birthday present to remember.  Every run we get together is special to me.  Every single one.

I left work early and went to pick J.P. up from golf camp at The Little Court (at Legends Golf Club).  When I arrived, he saw me and walked over to my truck to put his golf clubs in the back.  Then, he trotted off to say thank you and goodbye to the instructors and a friend or two he had met.  He did that on his own - with prompting from me.  That made me proud. 

He seems to love golf, a sport that I've never played consistently.  He's a quiet kid in many ways, not overly emotive or demonstrative.  Maybe golf will be his sport or, at the very least, a lifetime pursuit.  I'd like that, I think, because I'm such a fan of golf and golf history, even though I don't play the game.

At any rate, J.P. and I rushed home to change clothes, then rushed out to his baseball game, which had been moved to a 5:45 p.m. start.  Dodgers - Red Sox. 

I juggled the lineup a little bit, anticipating that the Red Sox weren't that strong of a team.  I was correct in that regard, although they gave us a competitive game. 

Ethan worked a couple of innings and managed his emotions well.  J.P. caught Ethan and other than one passed ball that allowed a run to score, he was comfortable behind the plate.  For the first time in a while, Benton caught, too, and did reasonably well.  I pitched Turner an inning plus and, though he struggled a bit, he did well once he stopped aiming the ball and just pitched it. 

The boys got the Dodger bats going, which was good to see.  Benton hit his second home run in two games, a shot to dead center field.  Elijah followed Benton's home run with one of his own, also to center field.  I moved the boys around a lot in the field.  They love to play positions they don't normally play.  I got lots of smiles, for example, when I played Wes at shortstop, Porter at first base, Aidan at shortstop, and Cooper at third base. 

Turner got into a bit of a jam when he tired in the fourth inning.  With a runner on second and third, not outs, and an 11 - 8 lead, I decided not to let the win get away from us.  I brought in J.P. to pitch, so I could save Porter and Benton for the weekend and because J.P. has good control.

Sure enough, J.P. picked the runner off third base right away, then retired the next two batters on six pitches.  No runs.  He got the save and I was proud of him for putting out Turner's fire.

I think the final score was 13 - 8, as the game ended with us batting in the bottom of the fourth inning.

As I packed up my truck and left, I called in a takeout order - for the millionth time - to Burger Up.  Troy was working, so he made me a "Friday Night" to go that was ready for me when I arrived.  He wrote "Happy 54th, Phil" on the plastic cup.  My guy. 

Understated birthday?  Yes, but one of my favorites, too.

Even before my boys - my Dodgers - sang happy birthday to me after the game and Scott Tygard recognized me over the public address system - I told someone that on my birthday, there is no place I'd rather be than at the ballpark coaching our boys in a baseball game. 

That was the best birthday present of all.

 

The Dodgers and the Dirtbags

Over the years, JP's Dodgers - my Dodgers - have played many, many baseball games against the Dirtbags.  Fall, spring, and summer.

The Dirtbags have been our measuring stick.  Our one true rival.

Coached by Pat L., a former high school athletic director who has become a good friend of mine, the Dirtbags had the edge on us in the early years.  We won occasionally but more often than not, they beat us.

Our boys knew most of the boys on their team and were close friends with a few of them.  Same with the parents.  All of which, of course, made for more intense baseball games.  The boys on both teams - and the parents and coaches, too - seemed to want to win those games just a bit more than the other games.

The games were always intense.  Pat L. and I are competitive, protective of our players, and, at times, emotional.  On one occasion, years ago, when the boys were eight years old, we went nose to nose in an argument after a game at Harpeth Hills Church of Christ.  I had called him out for something he did or said during the game and he didn't like that.  He didn't back down and I didn't back down, which is pretty typical for each of us.  We worked it out, of course, and probably became better friends afterwards.

I love Pat's son, Will, and another one of his stalwarts, J.D.  Both of those boys have played basketball with our boys, J.D. for several years, in fact.  Great, great kids and great competitors.  Winners all the way around, really.

A couple of years ago, though, things shifted, and the Dodgers began to beat the Dirtbags more often than not.  I'm not really sure why that happened but I can remember the game when it did.  It was a close game, in the spring, at Warner Park on field 3.  I had to leave early to coach the Junior Dodgers - Joe's team - on field 2.  Midway through Joe's game, while I was pitching - it was coach pitch baseball - several of the Dodgers came running up to tell me they beat the Dirtbags.  Damn, I was happy for them.

A couple of years earlier, when the boys were eight years old, we were leading the Dirtbags in the final game of our end of season tournament at Harpeth Hills Church of Christ on field 2.  With the bases loaded in the last inning, one of the Dirtbags hit a ball back to our pitcher, probably J.P., who threw him out in a play at first base that wasn't even close.  Coaching third base, Pat L. yelled "Safe!" after which the umpire, all of 17 years old, panicked, and called the baserunner safe.  I, of course, was livid, and told the umpire as much.

We tied that game.  I guarantee you that every one of my coaches remembers the end of that game as vividly as I do.

Another time, when the boys were 10 years old, on field 3 at Warner Park, J.P. hit a line drive rocket right back at J.D. when he was pitching for the Dirtbags.  I think it was the hardest ball I've ever seen J.P. hit.  It happened so fast.  J.P. swung, the baseball jumped off his bat, hit J.D., and J.D. fell to the ground crying.  It was terrifying.  Fortunately, the baseball hit him in the arm and, to his credit, he finished out the inning.

Last season, in the Cal Ripkin all-star district tournament in White House, TN, the Dodgers beat the Dirtbags twice in the finals to come out of the losers' bracket and win the district title.  The first game was close and several of the Dirtbags' players yelled at our pitcher from their dugout - especially Benton - which I thought was particularly bush league.

After our boys held on to win the first game, I tried to talk to Pat L. to see if we could agree for our teams' players to act a little more respectfully toward each other in the second game but he wasn't having any of it.  "Let the boys be boys," he said.  My thought, of course, was that particularly since our teams are from the same league and the boys are friends, the boys should cheer for their teammates and not against each other.

Game two wasn't even close, as the Dodgers drilled the Dirtbags to win he district title.  It was a sweet victory, no doubt.

Last Monday, in the last game for the Dodgers before the Fourth of July holiday, the boys played the Dirtbags for the first time in this abbreviated season.  Sadly, several of their longtime players are playing travel baseball, including Will and J.D., so it wasn't the same.  The intensity wasn't there.  Our boys were flat before the game started.

The Dodgers got out to an early lead, 5 - 0, I believe, with Porter on the mound as the starter.  J.P. hit a ball hard to left centerfield for a single in the first inning.  The Dirtbags nicked him for a couple of runs without hitting a ball out of they infield in the second inning.

I brought Benton in to pitch in relief in the third inning and he struggled with his control.  He gave up a run in the third inning to make the score 5 - 3, then the wheels fell off in the fourth inning.  With two outs and the bases loaded, I pulled Benton and after my pitching coach, Tony, and I talked it over, I brought in J.P. from centerfield to pitch.

Here's the thing about J.P. - on the baseball field, no moment is ever too big for him.  I've never hesitated to bring him in to pitch in a tight game, because he's so even keeled on the mound.  His control is almost always good.  Win or lose - and he's done both - he's always believed in himself enough that I knew it wouldn't crush him if failed.  And, in those kind of moments, he's certainly succeeded more than he's failed.  Monday night was no exception.

On the first or second pitch, J.P. induced the batter to hit a routine ground ball to Turner at second base.  Perhaps because he was distracted by the runner running in front of him, Turned booted the ball and as it rolled into right field, two runners scored, and the score was tied at 5.  J.P. struck out the next batter, if memory serves, and the boys were out of the inning.

I was pissed, because the team we had on the field was much, much more talented than the Dirtbags' team.  And yet, here we were, tied at 5 in the fourth inning.  Frankly, at that point, I thought it might doe the boys well to lose the game, so I could emphasize how important it is to be ready to play every game no matter who the opponent is.

In the top of the fifth inning, our boys rallied.  Turner got a huge two strike single to center field to drive in a couple of runs.  He as 2 - 2 for the game which was huge, because he's been scuffling a bit. Elijah had a key hit, as well.  Although we had two boys thrown out at home trying to steal on passed balls (Cooper and Nico) and a third thrown out at home trying to score from second base on Porter's single (Benton), we took an 8 - 5 lead into the bottom of the fifth inning, short on time.

J.P. struck out the first batter, then retired the next two batters in order to end the game.  He calmly walked off the field after the last out, cool as a cucumber.  "Just like Tom Glavine," Tony said.

I was proud of him.  He led by example, which is just who he is.  I'd like J.P. to be a bit more of a vocal leader and we talk about that a lot.  I've got to let him be who he is, though.  And who he is, I think, is one tough hombre on the baseball field.  A silent assassin who burns with a competitive fire within that can, at times, be hard to see.  It's there, though, and I love that about him.

Seeing the Dirtbags out on the field - good boys, everyone one of them, with good parents - I was nostalgic for baseball games gone by and baseball seasons gone by, fall and spring.  My time with the Dodgers is running out, I think, as the boys begin to play middle school baseball.

This season has been a strange one because of the COVID-19 pandemic.  It started so late and we've practiced so little.  Now, we're going to cram nine games into three weeks to finish out the season.

Still, I'm so grateful to have this season with the Dodgers, even if we're near the end of the line.  To be able to be around these boys and their parents is special.  When we're on the field together, I can forget, just for a little while, about what's going on in the world.  I can forget about losing my mom and Carley.  I can - almost - forget about this terrible virus.

So, here's to the Dirtbags and here's to the Dodgers.  A rivalry I won't ever forget.    

  

       

The Diamondbacks

A while back, I made the difficult not to coach the Junior Dodgers this spring/summer due to the COVID-19 pandemic.  I didn't feel like I could keep seven and eight year old boys safe and socially distanced from each other during practices and games.  All of the parents agreed with me, which was nice.  Still, it left Joe out of baseball this spring for the first time in four years.

Last week, at an informal practice we had for J.P.'s Dodgers at J.T. Moore MS, I ran into Oliver, a friend whose son Joe played basketball with last fall and winter.  Oliver is a great guy and an outstanding baseball coach.  He asked if Joe had any interest in joining his Diamondbacks for the WNSL spring/summer season, which had just started.  Joe, of course, was ecstatic about the opportunity to play baseball.

I described Joe as a rental - a player trade to a rival team in the last year of his contract.  He'll return to the Junior Dodgers the fall but, for now, he's a Diamondback.  I'm excited about it, too, because it's great for Joe to play for another coach and to hear a voice, on the baseball field, that's not mine.  He's one of the older players, too, which provides him an opportunity to be a leader on the field, which is something I'm excited about, too.

Yesterday, I coached third base for the Diamondbacks at Oliver's request, as a couple of the assistant coaches were out of town.  It was great to be there, on the field, but without the responsibilities of being the head coach.  Plus, I got an up close view of Joe playing baseball, and I didn't even have to coach him.  I did, however, have to wear a mask while coaching third base, thanks to the COVID-19 pandemic and a much needed mandatory mask order from the public health department.  That was different.

Joe batted third and played most of the important positions - important, that is, for 7 - 8 year old baseball - first base, second base, pitcher, shortstop, and third base.  The work Joe (and J.P.) and I have been doing in the batting cage, along with Joe's new baseball bat, seemed to pay off.  Joe went 4 - 4 and hit the ball hard to the left side of the infield each at bat.  More importantly, he encouraged his teammates and was a vocal leader, something that comes naturally to him.

The play of the day, as I far as I was concerned, occurred in the fourth inning.  Joe was playing shortstop and Oliver's son, Preston, was playing shortstop.  There was a man on first base when the batter hit a hard grounder to Joe at third base.  Joe fielded it cleanly, looked to second base, double clutched to give Preston time to get there, and fired a strike to Preston for the force out.  The fact that Joe immediately knew the right play to make - a baseball play, no less - and made it, was impressive.

The crowd paused for a moment, then cheered as the boys ran off the field.  Joe and Preston slapped gloves as they headed toward the dugout.  Standing in right field, I nodded my head and smiled to myself.  My guy, Joe, making a baseball play.  There were probably two players on the field that could have made that play - Joe and Preston - and one of them was mine.

The boys won 17 - 0.  They really do have a good team.

I miss my Junior Dodgers, but we'll be back with them in the fall.  For now, go Diamondbacks.

Notice the Dodger blue shoes.  Nice.