The Night Joe Dawg Got It Done

Tuesday night, Joe's Thundersharks played their second to last game of the fall season.  And what a game it was!

It was one of those magical, memorable nights on the baseball field with Joe that will stay with me forever.  I have a few of those with J.P., too, and they're special.  Really special.

It all came together for Joe on Tuesday night.  Offensively and defensively.  And he continued to be a leader on the team, keeping other boys focused and encouraging them.  Always locked in and always vocal.  That's Joe on the baseball field. 

He continued his torrid hitting.  His first two at bats, he hit line drives up the middle.  When I asked him put an early swing on the baseball and pull the ball between third base and shortstop, he adjusted his swing and hit line drives into left field his last two at bats.  One of them went for a double with Joe sliding into second base just ahead of the throw.

Early in the game, playing first base, Joe ranged to his right and nonchalantly backhanded a hard ground ball in the hole, then trotted back to first base for the force out.  

"The Big Cat," I yelled, paying homage to Wes Taylor from J.P.'s Dodgers, the original Big Cat, so nicknamed by me one year when we played "giant pepper" after an all star practice.

"Dad," Joe replied.  There's only one Big Cat!"  I laughed my ass off, as did Chris Taylor (Wes's dad), when I told him about it later in the week.

In the bottom of the last inning, Joe played pitcher.  Coach O rotated our boys, as a result of which the infield wasn't the Thundersharks' strongest.  Other than Joe, the more experienced players were in the outfield.  Although the boys started the inning up 19-12, the other team quickly rallied.  

With one out, the based were loaded, and the score was 19-17.  The batter hit a looping line drive - not hit terribly hard - between pitcher and shortstop.  It looked like it was going to drop in for a single and score one, if not two, runs.  

Joe turned and ran toward shortstop, then leaped and caught the baseball in the air by reaching his glove, backhanded, over his right shoulder.  Truly an amazing catch.  He immediately realized the runner on third base was running toward home, so he ran to third and stepped on the bag for an unassisted game ending double play.  

Ballgame.

Joe's teammates were stunned at first, as were Coach O, all of the rest of the coaches, and me.  Then, Joe's teammates started cheering, ran to him, and mobbed him.  I smiled, shook my head in disbelief, and gave Coach O a high five.  Amazing play by an amazing boys.

After the game, Coach O spoke to the team and, as always, his message was fantastic.  Joe got the pack of baseball cards for the first time this fall season, symbolic of a player who played the game the right way.  Coach O remarked that Joe had been a leader on the team the entire fall.  And he has been.

Walking to my truck, Joe told me that he thought throwing with "Coach Glenn" at J.P.'s game the night before had prepared him to make the catch because Glenn was throwing him pop flied.  We called Glenn on the way home and he was tickled to death to hear about Joe's success.

Joe has worked hard - over the years and lately - to become the best baseball player he can be.  To see it all come together in one game is special.  

Damn near a perfect night for me.  

Toys in the Attic

Tracy, Alice, and I spent the morning at my mom's house, supervising, while some guys from "College Hunks Hauling Junk" cleared out the attic.  

The clearing out of the attic, while a daunting task to be sure, was long, long overdue.  Over 40 + years, my mom had accumulated a lot of stuff/mementos/junk and stored it in the attic.  She was not a hoarder, not at all.  She did, however, save a lot things from our childhoods, and she loved the fall holidays, especially Christmas.  There were a lot of holiday decorations in the attic, many of which I saved and will use at our house or at my office this Thanksgiving and Christmas.

It's a weird feeling to watch strangers hauling boxes and boxes out of my mom's attic.  Although I'd spent a couple of Sunday mornings in the attic, opening boxes, trunks, and generally scavenging through the detritus of her life, I still felt a rising sense of panic this morning, as I hurriedly looked in boxes and plastic storage containers before the the college hunks arrived.  

I was afraid I might have missed something.  Something that was especially important to my mom.  Something that might have reminded me of my mom.  Something that once it was carried out of the house would be gone forever.  A part of her history.  A part of our family's history.  A part of my history.  

I salvaged a few more holiday decorations and a few more books.  I kept an unframed picture of Jesus that had been in a frame that was broken at some point.  I found an old wallet of mine that had photographs of friends from high school.  Kim Reynolds, Anna Shepard, Laura Satterfield, Jimmy Spruill, Melissa Thompson, Shannon Parker, Debbie Billings.  Definite keeper.  The photographs, not the wallet.

I even found the application I had completed for my first drivers' license on July 9, 1982.  I also found belt buckles from when I was in junior high school at Northside.  KISS and Foreigner.  Rock-n-roll belt buckles that I could change out and attach to my leather belt.  Was I cool the late 1970's?  Of course I was.  

We're near the end, now.  I'm a bit embarrassed that it's taken us this long to get my mom's house (almost) cleaned out.  Still, we're close.  As I prepared to leave, not one but two neighbors approached me and asked about our plans for the house.  One appeared to be a bit of an operator.  I think he wants to flip it or perhaps rent it out.  The other has a friend who is renting in Meadow Lake, a subdivision on the very north end of Brentwood, and is looking to buy a house in Brenthaven, my mom's subdivision.  Everyone, of course, is looking for a fair deal, whatever that means.

It's hard to be at my mom's house, of course.  It makes me miss her more, like opening up an old wound that hasn't quite healed yet.  Still, I know, it's time to move on.

I couldn't help but think - this week - how much my mom would have enjoyed seeing J.P. and Joe play baseball this fall.  They've both played well and their teams have played well.  She would have loved to see them develop as baseball players and to watch them compete.  

I try not to share too much of this, or any of it, with the boys because it's too heavy for them emotionally.  Someday, there will be time for that.       

The Last Days of the Dodgers

A rainy Friday night.  I just managed to slip in a 6 mile late night run while the rain briefly stopped.  Running between the raindrops, I call it.  Now, a busy week at an end, I have few moments to sip a glass of Bardstown bourbon and reflect.

I've been reflecting a lot lately, mostly about the Dodgers.  As the fall baseball season winds down, I'm savoring every last minute I get to spend on the baseball field with these boys - my boys - whom I've coached for so many years.  They mean so much to me.  I love every one of them.

I worry, sometimes, what I will do and how I will view myself after the Dodgers have played their last game together.  For the past seven or eight years, so much of who I am has been wrapped up in coaching fall and spring baseball.  Coaching the Dodgers.  It's been a huge part of who I am and something with which I've happily occupied a tremendous amount of time.  And I've loved - literally - every single minute of it.  

The game last night was a memorable one, a 10-3 win over the "Country Braves," aptly named by who else but Winn Hughes a few years back.  Several boys with long hair, a second baseman with a beard, and nice, albeit "country" fans.  Ergo, the "Country Braves."

I hustled over to field no. 5 from Joe's game on field no. 2 after an exciting 20-16 win for Joe's Thundersharks.  The Dodgers were batting in the third inning, up 3-2.  As I walked up, the boys were bit down after kicking the ball around and giving up a couple of runs in the previous inning.

J.P. had just replaced Wes Taylor at pitcher.  As I settled in, sitting on my bucket of balls, J.P. struggled early, walking the first two batters he faced.  I think he gave up a run, too.  His body language was terrible and he had no energy, so I called time out and walked out to the pitcher's mound from the first base dugout.    

"I'm not upset with the walks," I told him.  "But I'm bothered by your body language and lack of energy.  Lead these guys and have fun out here," I said.  "Smile."  

He was kind of pissed at me but he knew I was right.  He struck out the next batter, puffed out his chest, and started pitching with more confidence.  And, of course, he was completely fine and sailed through the rest of the game without giving up a run.

Both times I watched him bat, J.P. hit the ball well.  The first time, he hit a line drive single to right field.  The next time up, he smoked a ball to the gap in right center for a double.  It was at the hardest hit ball I saw all night.  J.P. has worked so hard all summer and fall, hitting off the tee.  I'm happy for him to see the results of the hard work.

Watching J.P. play well, up close, was fun.  What was as much or more fun, though, was hanging out with all of the boys during the game.  Maybe because I know there's a chance our time together is limited, I treasure and appreciate every minute on the baseball field with them.  Every interaction with each one of them is special.  

In a way, I think I'm trying to have a meaningful interaction of some sort with every boy these last few games, so I can file a memory away about each of them.  So, when I'm older and they're older, and the Dodgers are no more, I can summon up a memory or two or ten to make me smile and warm my heart.  

After I addressed the team after the game behind the bleachers, I gathered up my gear.  As I was walking toward the parking lot, one of the "County Braves" fathers, sitting in a camping chair with a ZZ Top beard that reached his waste, stopped me.  

"Every one of your boys can hit, coach," he said.  

"Thank you, sir," I replied.  And I walked to my truck, smiling the whole way.   

A Baseball Family

 

                                            I love this photo.

The Thundersharks

Through happenstance and good fortune - something we haven't had a lot of during the pandemic - Joe found himself playing baseball this spring and summer for the Diamondbacks and, this fall, for the Thundersharks.  Same team, different name.  Most importantly, same coach - Oliver Davis.

Last spring, I reluctantly decided not to coach the Junior Dodgers because of the pandemic.  Three or four families were not going to allow their boys to play and I was on the fence, too.  I just didn't think I could keep the boys safe based on what we knew, thought, and believed at the time.  

I ran into Oliver in what can only be described as a chance meeting one evening last spring at Green Hills Park, behind J.T. Moore MS, after an early season Dodgers' practice.  He asked if Joe could play with his group - the Diamondbacks - in the WNSL Rookie (machine pitch) League.  They already had played a game but he knew they would be short on players in the coming weeks due to family vacations and other conflicts.

I asked Joe if he wanted to play with the Diamondbacks and, without hesitation, his eyes lit up, he smiled, and yelled "YES!"

It's difficult for me to put into words how much it's meant to Joe, and me, to be a part of the Diamondbacks/Thundersharks, last spring and this fall.

Joe is one of the older boys, at 8 +, and he's taken on a real leadership role on the team.  He encourages other boys, helps position them, and helps them keep up with the number of outs, the score, etc.  He works hard at being a good teammate and friend.  

Joe and Oliver's son, Preston, have really hit it off.  Several times, we've stayed late after practice so Joe and Preston could get some extra work in.  Joe's become friends with Henry, Matthew, William, and others, too.

For me, being able to contribute on the field in a hands on way has been rewarding.  I had completely forgotten what a great age this is for boys playing baseball - 7 and 8 - and how much I love coaching boys that age.  

Fall baseball in the Rookie (machine pitch) League at WNSL might be my favorite.  Why?  The boys have adapted to the pitching machine and almost all of them can hit it regularly.  It's not as competitive.  There are still coaches on the field - and running the pitching machine - so there's more teaching and a focus on development.  Also and perhaps most importantly, there's still an innocence about the boys at this age.  Winning is not everything.  For them, what happens after practice is as much fun as what happens during practice.  

This group of boys and families is really, really special.  As I've said, it reminds me so much of my Dodgers' group when those boys were 7 and 8.  Having been through it before and knowing what is to come, hopefully - many more practices and games on many more fields - there's an optimism for me about this group.  I hope it stays together and I hope Joe is a part of it.

So many dads are on the field, just like in the glory days of the Dodgers.  Practices and games are run so well, in large part because Oliver is so organized and because so many dads are willing to help.  

In a relatively short period of time, I've grown to love these boys - Cannon and Andrew (twins), Jack, Patrick, John, Henry and Henry (not twins), Pike (Joe's longtime buddy), Preston, Matthew (maybe the best 7 year old baseball player I've seen - a 5 tool player), Parkes, William, Luke ("the Punisher"), Roman (my guy, a first time player with little athletic ability), Westin and, of course, Joe. 

Joe has fit in seamlessly with this group and to see him so excited to play baseball every weekend or to go to practice on Tuesday evenings, so joyful, is a beautiful thing.  Last Sunday afternoon, after playing two games Saturday and two games Sunday, we arrived home and Joe asked JP if he wanted to go out in the backyard and throw the baseball.  And they did, much to my delight.

Joe needed the Diamondbacks/Thundersharks and you know what?  I did, too.  More than I possibly could have imagined.

    

   

A Day of Baseball and a Day of Reflection

It's Saturday evening, late.  The boys are asleep upstairs and Jude has just gone to bed.  I'm sitting in the reading chair in the living room, sipping a bourbon (Bardstown) and unwinding after a Saturday of baseball.  

Two games this morning, helping Oliver Davis coach Joe's Thundersharks.  Two more games this evening at Liberty Park coaching JP's Dodgers.  The Thundersharks won swept both games and the Dodgers got swept.

JP and Joe are both hitting really well this fall.  All of the work they have done - and keep doing - hitting off the tee in the backyard has paid off, I think.  They're doing work and it shows.  

It's interesting, the juxtaposition of coaching 7 - 8 year olds and 12 - 13 year olds, in baseball, in one day.  

With the Dodgers, we've been together for so long.  So many practices, games, and seasons.  Wins and losses.  WNSL league games, all-star games, and travel tournament games.  The Dodgers are very obviously nearer the end than the beginning.  That makes me nostalgic and more than little sad.  I've watched so many of these boys grow up and I love them like they're my own.  I'll reflect on these days gone by and cherish the memories of the Dodgers for the rest of my life.

The Thundersharks (aka the Diamondbacks), it seems to me, might be on the verge of evolving into a cohesive, special group that will stay together for the next several years.  Like the Dodgers.

I see similarities, for sure, between the Dodgers four or five years ago and the Thundersharks now.  Great families.  A great, inclusive coach (Oliver Davis) who is amazing with the boys.  Several dads who help, hands on, at practice and during games.  That's key.  And good, really good, coachable boys.  

I miss my Junior Dodgers very much.  It makes me sad to think that maybe, must maybe, they're no more, due to the pandemic.  For some reason, though, the Junior Dodgers group never gelled like the Dodgers group.  That much is clear.  I just don't think you can create in a petri dish - like I tried to with the Junior Dodgers - what formed organically with the Dodgers.  

In many ways, for me, 7 - 8 year old baseball is the best.  The boys are innocent, curious, and so eager to learn.  It can be tough because when a boy strikes out, it might be the first time he's failed in a public setting.  But that's how to teach resilience and perseverance.  Fail, then try again.  And again.  And again.

There's more pressure on the older boys - like the Dodgers - from some parents, sadly, and what each boy puts in himself.  

Every day I get to coach my sons, JP and Joe, and all of my other boys on both teams, is a blessing.  I don't take it for granted and I don't want it to end.