First of all, I'm standing on the bottom of a hill after the Diamondbacks' final game of the spring season at Warner Park. Oliver is not that much taller than me, I can assure you. Still, I love this photo. I've never known I finer coach of youth sports. It's an honor to coach baseball with Oliver. One of the real ones.
School is over and summer is here, at last.
From a baseball standpoint, it's going to be different for the boys and, of course, for me. For the the first time in a decade, I'm not coaching summer baseball. JP and Joe are playing but I'm not coaching. And you know what? I think I'm okay with that.
Joe is going to play on a 10U all star team, along with Ram from the Diamondbacks. Much like I did with JP's Dodgers back in the day, the Braves - the same team we knocked out of the WNSL end of season tournament - are taking their team to all stars but adding a few players. Joe is one of the add-ons. Having been down this road - taking one league team to all stars rather than taking the best players from various teams - I suspect it won't go well in terms of wins and losses. Still, I'm glad Joe is playing postseason baseball nevertheless.
I want Joe to be coached by someone else. Someone he doesn't know. I also want Joe to play with boys he doesn't know, so he has to establish himself all over again. I think that's good for him. In my view, growth - as an athlete and a person - comes when you get out of your comfort zone. Putting yourself in positions in which you're uncomfortable is how growth happens.
I'm curious to see how Joe performs in unfamiliar territory. I want to see if he's nervous; if he makes friends; if he earns playing time on an established team; if he makes a positive impression on coaches I've never said more than hello to. It's all new. It's challenging and it's interesting.
JP is the in very much the same boat. He's playing for the Nashville Dawgs, a team that's an interesting mixture of private school boys that were Dodgers w/JP - Wes, Benton, JK, Cyrus, and Elijah - a few JT Moore boys and several inner city boys who played high school baseball this spring, as freshmen, for Hillsboro and East Nashville. My friend, Connor, a teacher at JT Moore, is coaching the boys with help from two fo my former coached, Randy Kleinstick and Chris Taylor.
I'm more than a little interested to see how JP's team plays out. It's a big roster, so I'm not sure how evenly playing will be distributed, particularly since the boys are playing 15U tournaments. JP and all of the Dodgers are 14, so the step up in competition is real. We'll see how it goes.
Really, it's the same with JP as it is with Joe. I want JP to get out of his comfort zone and to be coached by someone he doesn't know. I want him to have to earn playing time. I also want him to be around boys that he doesn't know and, hopefully, to make new friends. I want to see growth.
So, here we go. Tomorrow night, Joe has all star practice and JP has a doubleheader. I'll take the boys to baseball camp at CPA tomorrow morning. Jude's mom will drop Joe and JP off at Joe's practice at 4:30 p.m., then I'll pick up JP and take him to his Charlotte Park for his games.
This weekend, Joe has a tournament in Donelson and JP plays in Hendersonville. Divide and conquer.
Baseball, baseball, and more baseball. I wouldn't have it any other way.
In a youth baseball coaching career - and I use that word tongue in cheek - there are moments that stand out above all others. Last night I experienced one of those moments and I will remember it the rest of my life.
This weekend marked the end of the spring baseball season, as Diamondbacks 1 (Joe's team) and Diamondbacks 2 played in the end of season league tournament, in different divisions. The tournament didn't start particularly well for us, as both teams got smoked in their first round games, Diamondbacks 2 on Thursday night (with me at the helm in Oliver's absence) and Diamondbacks 1 on Friday night.
As it turns out, Diamondbacks 1 losing to the Braves on Friday night wasn't altogether a bad thing, based on the tournament draw. With only three teams in Gold Division of the draw, a loss Friday night meant we didn't play another game until Saturday at 5:15 p.m., likely a rematch against the Braves. With pitching at a premium, less games is better than more games.
Sure enough, the Padres shutout the Braves 8 - 0 on Saturday morning, so a rematch of our game Friday night with the Braves was set for late Saturday afternoon. After the Braves loss to the Padres, Oliver overheard one of the Braves' coaches tell someone they would see the Padres the next day because the Diamondbacks weren't any good.
As Lee Corso has said a thousand times on ESPN's College Football Gameday on Saturday mornings every fall, "not so fast, my friend."
Cleverly, Oliver had saved our best pitchers, Bennett and Oliver, for the Saturday afternoon game. To make that happen, some of our boys took their lumps on the mound on Friday night - that's you, Nico - so we could have out pitching lined up for the rematch against the Braves. We were ready, out best against their best.
Diamondbacks 1 jumped all over the Braves early - much to the surprise of the Braves and their vocal fans leaning over the fence down the left field line - taking a 7 - 0 lead after a couple of innings. Our boys got the bats untracked and their pitcher was struggling with his control, too. He was an emotional kid and with every run that scored, he got more and more upset.
Bennett was dealing early, keeping the ball low and throwing it hard. Bennett is not a big kid and I think the Braves were surprised by the velocity on his pitches. He was locked in, though, and throwing seeds to Trey behind the plate.
As I recall - and I'm going by recollection and not looking at the box score - the Braves nicked him for a couple of runs in the second or third inning. He worked out of a jam, though, and Joe made a nice play at second base, ranging far to his left and calmly fielding a bouncing ground ball behind the runner before throwing he batter out in a close play at first base.
As so often happens with 9 and 10 year olds, though, Bennett began to tire and his control faded, quickly. He was rolling then he wasn't. It calls to mind the Hemingway quote in The Son Also Rises.
How did you go bankrupt? Two ways. Gradually, then suddenly.
How did Bennett lose his pinpoint control on the mound? Gradually, then suddenly. With, of course, some help from his teammates throwing the ball around a bit too much. For example, Trey sailed a ball over Henry's head at third base in an effort to catch a runner stealing and two runs scored. Little things that become big things.
Just like that, Diamondbacks 1 had surrendered the lead to the Braves and trailed 8 -7. Oliver brought Preston in to relieve Bennett and he worked out of the jam. Inning over.
In the top of the fourth inning, our boys went quietly. No runs. With the Braves coming to bat in the bottom of the fourth inning, we had another problem. Time, as in not enough of it. The games are capped at an hour and half and as Diamondbacks 1 took the field, there was only eight minutes left to play. In other words, if the Braves kept batting for eight minutes, the game would be over. Diamondbacks 1 would lose without getting to bat again.
Preston, working fast, striking out the first two batters. He ignored it when they stepped in and out of the box to waste time - a move straight out of the Pat Lawson (Dirtbags) playbook from JP's days with the Dodgers. With the third batter up, there was four minutes left, at most. Preston walked him. Damn. Runner on first base. Two outs. Time running out. Oliver and I, along with the other coaches, paced helplessly in front of the first base dugout. Our fans shouted encouragement from the bleachers. It didn't look good, though.
The fourth batter of the inning swung at the first or second pitch from Preston and hit a hard ground ball back up the middle. Preston got his glove on the ball and deflected it to his right, between second and third base. Joe, at shortstop, had been moving to his left. He put the brakes on, lunged to his right, and fielded the ground ball cleanly. Infield hit, for sure, but here's where it gets interesting.
As Joe fielded the ball at shortstop, he reached back to make an ill advised throw to first base. Ill advised because the batter was clearly going to beat the throw. That's the game, I thought, because we're going to run out of time.
Joe had no intention of actually making the throw, however. He completely fooled everyone watching, including the runner heading to second base. Thinking Joe was throwing the ball to first base, the runner rounded second base and sprinted toward third.
To my surprise, to the runner's surprise, to everyone's surprise, Joe faked the throw and held onto the ball!
Before anyone - including the umpire in the field - knew what was happening, Joe tagged the runner as he ran by him on the way to third base. There was a moment of controversy, as the field umpire called the runner safe at third base. Our coaches, and our fans, erupted in anger, yelling that Joe had tagged the runner. Fortunately, the home plate umpire saw the whole thing, overruled the field umpire, and called the baserunner out. Inning over. Diamondbacks 1 get to bat.
Our fans erupted in cheers. Our coaches were high high fiving each other, and our boys ran off the field to the dugout, celebrating. In my mind's eye, I can see Joe running from shortstop toward the first base dugout, spiking the ball on the pitcher's mounds as he ran, grinning from ear to ear.
It was a baseball player's baseball play, a play only a player who is locked in and situationally aware could make. A smart baseball play, to be sure. Crafty. Gutsy. That's Joe.
Believe it or not, that's not even the best of it.
Our boys were going to get to bat to start another inning, down 8 - 7. Let's go.
We got our first two players on base - I don't recall how - and Trey was about to bat. I've coached Trey since he was five years old. One of my all time favorites. An original Junior Dodger. Loves baseball with all of his heart. He's our strongest, but sweetest, 10 year-old and swings the biggest and heaviest bat. Before he stepped into the batter's box against the Braves' pitcher, a hard throwing left hander, I walked out to pick up a bat and pulled Trey aside for a quick word. I leaned down and repeated something I had told him before the inning started.
"You're the strongest man in the world," I said. "You don't have to swing so hard you come out of your shoes. Just swing easy and barrel the ball. Barrel the ball, Trey. That's all you have to do." Trey looked up at me and nodded. I slapped him on the helmet and walked back to the first base dugout.
Runners on first and second, down 8 - 7. First pitch, I think, Trey swung easily and, yes, squared the ball solidly on the barrel of the bat. Two run double into left center field, Diamondbacks 1 up 9 - 8. Our players and the fans erupted in cheers.
I opened the gate, walked outside and in front of the bleachers, and found Trey's father, who always sits in a camping chair behind and to the left of home plate. He was standing up, beaming. I hugged him and we shared a brief moment. Captured in that moment - for me, anyway - was five years of baseball games, fall and spring, triumphs and frustrations, as a kid I love has grown up before my eyes.
"Yes!" Trey's dad shouted happily, and slapped me on the back as I turned to walk back to the gate and onto the field. He may have been prouder of Trey than me but not by much.
What was really weird at this point was the weather. A storm was rolling in more rapidly than we initially thought it would. Not lightning - not yet, anyway - but the sky darkened ominously, the temperature dropped precipitously, and the wind started blowing fiercely.
The umpires stopped the game a couple of times, briefly, when wind blew dust from field 2 onto our field. I've never, ever seen that happen, in all the years I've coached games at Warner Park. A dust storm that paused the game during an at bat.
Next, Nico scratched out an infield hit and, suddenly, there were runners on first and second base, with our number nine hitter, William, striding to the plate to bat against the hard throwing Braves' left hander.
It was eerily reminiscent of the scene in The Natural when Roy Hobbs, a left handed hitter, finally gets his shot for the New York Knights, just before a storm unleashes a torrential rain late in a game. Like Roy Hobbs, William is a lefty. And like Roy Hobbs at that moment in the movie, William was due.
It's tough, really tough, for boys this age to hit left handers because they rarely see them. It's damn near impossible for a left handed batter to hit a left handed pitcher because it looks like the ball is coming right at the batter when it's release, especially if the pitcher throws hard. This kid threw hard and William is a lefty. That's what William was dealing with in the moment.
A little bit about William.
While he's the smallest player on our team, he may have the biggest heart of any player on our team. Hell, he might have the biggest heart of any player I have ever coached.
Everything William does, he does with a smile on his face. Always. He gives me everything he's got every single time he steps on the baseball field, and that's rare. Emotional? Sometimes, but only because he wants to succeed so damn bad. To help the team and to contribute. More than coachable, he's an absolute joy to coach.
In a word, William is a winner.
William struggled at the plate this spring. At times, he's had a hard time staying in the batter's box against hard throwing pitchers. That's not unique to William, of course. Several of our boys, including our 10-year old's, have fought that battle at times, too. It's completely normal at this age.
In our first tournament game - also against the Braves - William got too far inside his head in his first at bat leading off the game against a hard throwing pitcher. He was nervous and had tears in his eyes during the at bat, which ended in a strikeout.
That, though, is maybe the thing that impresses me the most about William. His courage and resiliency. He has the heart of a lion. Think about it. He works so hard to overcome his fear and, most at bats, stays in the box and gets his swings in.
Baseball is a pass/fail endeavor, especially when you're batting, and everyone is watching. Still, William gets back in the batter's box every time. His dad, Allan, and I have been dying for him to get a big hit in a game.
Huge moment. For William and for our team.
I looked at Allan - who coaches first base - and said, "Should we have William bunt? He can bunt." Allan was noncommittal. Ball one.
"Oliver!" I said. "Let's bunt William." Ball two. I'm not sure Oliver heard me because he didn't reply.
Glancing back and forth between Allan and Oliver, I contemplated shouting at William to get his attention, then given him the bunt sign. But, for some reason, I hesitated.
William had a great swing on the third pitch, a fastball low and inside, though he missed it. He stayed in the batter's box and swung from his heels, hard. I looked at Allan, who said, determinedly, "let him hit."
Let him hit.
As I sit here now, listening to Ryan Adams on the back deck of our house while I drink a glass of a nice Cabernet, it's hard to put into words what happened next or how important it was. To William. To Allan. To me. To our entire team.
In your life, if you're lucky, you're a part of a few moments that resonate. A witness to those moments. Snapshots in time that stay with you forever. They become the memories you summon when times are tough, when you're sad, when you're wondering what it all means. For the rest of my life, I will be thankful that I was a part of this moment.
Pitching from the stretch, the left handed pitcher looked in at the catcher, lifted his right leg, and uncoiled his left arm, launching a fastball toward home plate. As the ball arrived, low and inside, William stepped into the pitch and swung his bat on a level plane directly at the ball.
The first things I noticed was the sound when the barrel of William's bat met the ball, squarely, in front of home plate. It was loud, dangerous, and a bit frightening. The ball jumped off William's bat and screamed down the first base line, knee high. The first baseman, playing off the line, never had a chance. The ball bounced in short right field and rocketed to the fence before the right fielder could get anywhere near it.
Trey and Nico scored easily and William, who can fly, rounded first base, then second, and slid into third base with a 2-run triple. Diamondbacks 11 Braves 8.
What happened next? Sheer bedlam. I ran toward Allan and leaped into his arms. Our players were screaming in disbelief at the top of their lungs, laughing and smiling. Our fans were on their feet, streaming out of the stands, cheering wildly, and hugging each other. The Braves' fans were silent. Stunned.
William stood on third base with a smile as wide as the Grand Canyon as Ryan, our third base coach and one of the nicest men I know, congratulated him.
Roy Hobbs, in the flesh. The similarities to the clip I mentioned above are remarkable. Storm approaching. Lightning. A left hander who desperately needs a break hits a triple, after which the game ends.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tlNLhuxeDJQ
I've been coaching youth baseball for 10 or 11 years. Other than a play involving one of my boys, it was, without question, my favorite play of all time.
To have a front row seat to a moment like that is why I coach baseball. It's why we all coach baseball. Hell, it's why we all have children. That one moment - so singular - is everything that is right about youth sports and, really, life itself as a parent. I'll remember it forever.
Not that it matters, of course, but the game was stopped due to inclement weather after William's shot heard round the world. It began raining, light at first then much harder, as the boys rushed to the dugout and gathered their gear. Amidst the thunder, lightning, and a driving rainstorm, everyone scattered to their cars with the game set to resume sometime Sunday afternoon. William on third, Diamondbacks up 11 - 8.
I drove JP and Joe home - Jude was out of town - then went to BurgerUp to pick up takeout for dinner. As I sat at the bar, waiting on our food, my guy, Troy, made me a "Friday Night" (Uncle Val's gin, Jack Rudy tonic, and a splash of soda). I recounted the night's events to him, excitedly, as a couple other patrons at the bar listened intently to my story. Troy's a friend and I enjoyed sharing the moment with him because he's such a good person. He totally got it, too.
As I sipped my drink and replayed William's at bat in my mind, over an over again, I couldn't stop smiling. I felt like I was having an out of body experience, floating on a cloud of happiness, for William and for Allan, too. I could have sat there, in that moment, forever, reliving the greatest moment of William's baseball life to date.
But, dinner arrived, and I drove home and settled in with the boys, still marveling at what I had seen.
Postscript:
It was almost anticlimactic but Preston struck out the next afternoon with William on third base to end the Diamondbacks 1 at bat. Preston struck out the first two batters in the bottom of the inning and then, because nothing ever comes easy, he walked a boy then hit the next batter on an 0 - 2 count to put runners on first and second base. He struck out the last batter on three pitches to end the game and our players celebrated. Game over.
And that, my friends, is a night I'll never forget.
The night I met Roy Hobbs.
Yesterday was the last practice of the spring baseball season for the Diamondbacks. Sadly, I had to miss it, because I had a mediation (one of my own cases) that didn't settle until late in the day. Afterwards, September and I had to file a Response to a Motion for a hearing next week. Busy at work, as always.
When I arrived at Harding Academy's athletic fields - secured by Oliver and Thomas for the last practice - the boys had just finished the annual end of season water balloon fight and were chasing each other around the soccer field and track. When they saw me walk up, wearing a suit and tie, several of the boys ran over, pointing and laughing. I smiled as I realized they had never seen me dressed for work.
After a rough couple of days at work, it felt pretty good to have several of the boys want to give me a hug or a high five when I arrived. Little things like that make all the work I've put in with boys over the year worth it, and then some. As I took in their smiling faces, I forgot about work completely. That was a gift to me, for sure.
One of my favorite boys, Henry S., ran up to show me what he was wearing. An avowed Vanderbilt baseball fan, Henry had on a Tennessee Vols' t-shirt and hat. With a giant grin on his face, he asked me where I'd been, then told me he'd worn the t-shirt and hat for me. Honestly, as I write this, I'm tearing up a bit - sitting in Dose w/my morning coffee surrounded by a cacophony of voices - thinking about Henry and the look on his face yesterday when I noticed what he was wearing.
Sometimes, in games he's catching, I hear Henry tell the pitcher, to "win this pitch." That's something I tell the pitchers, too. He's heard me say it and, now, he's repeating it, at just the right moment. I love that kid. He's in my hall of fame of boys I've coached.
Those two stories, to me, are Henry in a nutshell. Earnest. Innocent. Sweet. Coachable, always coachable. Hard working. Serious. Fun loving. Competitive.
Henry is everything you want in a kids as a coach. Truthfully - and I think his dad, Matt, knows this - he's everything a father would want in a son. That's why he's in my hall of fame.
I stood by myself for a few minutes and watched the boys frolicking on the soccer field. Playing tag. Playing some game they invented on the fly, where one boys through an empty water bottle in the air and the others tried to catch it. Running laps around the track for no apparent reason, fueled by the unbridled joy of youthful innocence. 9 and 10 year old boys without a care in the world.
It was damn near perfect and I didn't want the moment to end.
I talked with a few of the parents and discussed plans for baseball this fall. Joe and I lingered in the parking lot after everyone had left, talking with Oliver and his son, Preston. We said our goodbyes and drove home.
Life is beautiful sometimes, isn't it?
This morning, Joe played a baseball game at Harpeth Hills Church of Christ at 8:30 a.m. on field 1. It had been quite a while since I'd been to HHCC for a game. Mostly, those fields are used for the younger boys - the Wookies (4 - 6, coach pitch) and the Rookies (7 - 8, matchine pitch).
Some of my fondest memories are of games on fields 4 and 5 - the Wookie fields - w/JP and, later, Joe. Dodgers and Junior Dodgers. Those were the days, for sure.
Today is Steeplechase Day at Warner Park, so we ended up with an early game against the Padres - a 4th grade team - on field 1 at Harpeth Hills Church of Christ.
Our boys weren't ready to play. Oliver and I never should have started his son, Preston, at pitcher, because it was readily apparent he had no energy and just wasn't ready. We should have started Bennett. Bennett wanted the ball to start and was pissed when he didn't get it. I love that about him. End result, the Diamondbacks got smoked, 20 - 0. By far, our worst game of the year.
Now, there are some reasons for that. We had three boys from Diamondbacks 2 playing for Diamondbacks 1 because there was a soccer game at 11 a.m. Our best nine players can play with the Padres - I think, anyway - but we're not good enough to beat them. Yet. There's a big difference between third and fourth graders.
Joe played shortstop early and, for the first time, I saw JP in him. In the first inning, he fielded a ground ball cleanly and threw out the batter at first by a step, just like JP.
In the second inning, with a runner on second base and one out, a hard ground ball was hit to Joe at shortstop. He moved to his left, fielded the ball cleanly, took a quick look at the runner at second base, then fired a seed to first base and got the batter by a half step.
Just like JP at age 10. Honestly, it was uncanny. It was like watching a movie I had seen before.
Confidence. Situational awareness. Ability. Talent.
All of that and more. Yes, it was only one play. However, that one play spoke to me and told me a lot about where Joe is as a baseball player and as a 10-year old boy.
He's a leader, which is what I want. He's comfortable in his own skin, which is something else I want. He wants the ball hit to him, which I love.
Big brother. Little brother.
As the spring baseball season winds down for Joe, I've been thinking about how lucky we were to bump into Oliver Davis in the parking lot of Green Hills Park in April 2020. It was the early stages of the pandemic, the Junior Dodgers had splintered, and we had decided Joe wouldn't play baseball that spring.
That meant, of course, that I wouldn't coach Joe in baseball that spring, as well. I'm not sure who would have been more disappointed, Joe or me.
As I arrived late to a practice with JP's Dodgers, I ran into Oliver in the parking lot. He asked me if Joe was playing baseball that spring. When is said he wasn't, Oliver told me he could use him on the Diamondbacks, and the rest is history.
Fast forward two years later. Joe is a Diamondback stalwart, along with Oliver's son, Preston. New friendships have been formed and existing friendships have been strengthened, for Joe and me. Joe and Preston are tight, as are Oliver and I. It's special.
This spring, we have 18 players on Diamondbacks 1 and 2, including several of my original Junior Dodgers. Joe, Ram, Trey, Nico, George, and Bennett. To have coached them when they were first playing baseball - at ages 4 and 5 - and to be coaching those boys now, when they're nine and ten years old is the thrill of a lifetime for me.
What's really amazing, too, is that having done this once with JP and his crew - JK, Wes, Benton, Elijah, Porter, and all the rest - God has blessed me with the opportunity to do it all again. Just as the sun set on the last days of the Dodgers, I've been able to do it all again with Joe's Diamondbacks. It's more than I could have expected and more than I deserved. And I'm loving every single minute of my time with these boys.
As much as I miss being on the field, at practices and games, with my Dodgers' coaches - Randy, Chris, Will, Tom, and Tony - I've been incredibly blessed with the opportunity to forge new friendships with Ryan, Matt, Alan and, of course, Oliver. In many ways, it's the same, almost an extension of the times I shared with my coaches. Now, I share them with Oliver's coaches.
The group of Diamondback families, too, is markedly similar in so many ways to what Michele Sweeney so aptly called our Dodgers' family. Parents, grandparents, and older and younger siblings. I love interacting with all of them.
And, of course, there's the boys. Huck, Rex, Bennett, Cullen, Ram, Trey, George, Nico, Leland, Nash, Austin, William, Preston, Henry, Henry, Pike, Patrick, Schuyler, and Joe. Without question, they're the best part of all of this. Each one of those boys is unique, special, and gifted.
There's the International Bank of Schuyler, where Schuyler and Ram have accounts. Currently, I owe Schuyler $20 and Ram $15, payable in cryptocurrency. With both boys, I made deals. Five dollars for every hard hit ball regardless of whether it results in them getting on base. I want good, hard swings and good, hard contact. However, if one of them doesn't hustle on the base paths - that's you, Schuyler - or makes a boneheaded play in the field - that's you, Ram - I take five dollars back.
And, guess what happened? First, Schuyler started swinging harder and hitting the ball harder. Then, Saturday, after I opened up an account for Ram at the International Bank of Schuyler, he started smoking the ball. Schuyler's at $20 and Ram is at $15 and, more importantly, both buys have bought in - pun intended - and are having a blast. When of them gets on base, they look at me coaching first base or standing outside the dugout and I hold up five fingers or shake my head, sadly. They laugh, I laugh, and we share a moment or two.
To me, that's what coaching is, in a nutshell. It's finding a way to reach each boy that motivates him and, at the same time, lets him know that you care about him and only want what is best for him. It's establishing and building trust over time - sometimes years - so that when you correct a boy, or even get on him a little bit, they know it comes from a place of love. It's knowing which boys need you, occasionally, to light a fire under their asses and which boys need you to reassure them, to build them up.
It's my job, as a coach, to figure out the best way to motivate each boy to be the best he can be, to give full effort all of the time, while making sure he is enjoying playing baseball. I love that part of coaching.
So, on to this weekend games, then the end of season house tournament next weekend. Can't wait.
I'm exhausted, mentally and physically. Three straight days of mediating a divorce case that involves a very, very high asset estate, complicated tax issues, six attorneys, two financial experts, and two anxious and, at times, angry, parties will do that to you. It's draining. And they're coming back for day 5 on Friday.
Still, before the week got away from me, I wanted to write about Joe's baseball doubleheader last weekend. Classic Joe.
After playing in a soccer game at 8 a.m. against his classmates from USN, a 2 - 1 victory, Joe had back-to-back baseball games at Warner Park at 3 and 5 p.m. on fields 2 and 3 with his Diamondbacks. That's a good sports day.
In game 1, Joe played catcher. Crazy, but just like JP, Joe can catch, pitch, and play anywhere on the infield. He didn't catch much last fall or early this spring but he's caught twice in the past week or two. Ram - a USN kid w/Joe that I've coached since he was five years old - pitched.
Joe was solid at catcher, settling in and helping Ram get into a good rhythm. Ram had struggled pitching as of late but I encouraged him to throw hard, the thought being if he's going to walk batters, walk them throwing fastballs, hard. No aiming the ball, just throw it. I'm trying the same thing with Joe in an effort to help him increase his velocity when he's pitching. So many of the boys throw hard generally but aim the ball when they get on the mound, in a game situation.
What was really impressive, though, was that Joe threw two batters out as they tried to steal third base. Both good, strong throws that Henry St. caught and applied the tag. Granted, these were not fast, skilled baserunners but still, catchers in our league rarely throw baserunners out in our league at ages 9 and 10. Joe had a third baserunner nailed when he tried to steal third base, too, but Cullen dropped the ball as he applied the tag.
Diamondbacks 1 won easily, the we hustled over to field 3 for the Diamondbacks 2 game. The plan was for Joe and a couple of other boys from the Diamondbacks 1 team to sit mostly in the second game and bat lower in the lineup.
Preston - our best pitcher - started and got into trouble in the first inning when our boys made a couple of errors behind him. It was clear that two or three of our boys weren't focused and ready to play. So, before our boys took the field for the second inning, Oliver and I decided to bench three of the players for an inning because we had substitutes - including Joe - and to reinforce the importance of working hard and being ready to play.
Joe went in at second base and sure enough, the first batter hit Preston's first pitch to Joe's left, between first and second base. Joe took a few steps to his left, fielded the ball cleanly, and threw it to first. Out one. I could see Preston take a deep breath after the play and visibly calm down because he knew he had someone behind him who could make a play.
The next batter hit a ball, hard, to Joe's right, toward second base. Showing good range, Joe moved smoothly to his right, backhanded the baseball, and calmly threw it to first base for the second out of the inning. This was a much harder play than the first one - a real baseball play. JJoe made a difficult play look routine.
Our parents' cheered and, instantly, our players' spirits - including Preston's - lifted, which was good to see. Diamondbacks 2 went on to win the game easily and Joe finished the game at catcher.
The takeaway for me - and what really impressed me - was the way Joe played with confidence, at catcher in games 1 and 2 and at second base, when he entered the game in the second inning of game 2. His confidence inspired his teammates to play better, and looser. That's leadership.
Joe has that something. Charisma. Confidence. Self-assurance. Something. It translates to leadership plain and simple. I'm not sure you can teach a boy those things to any great extent. Some just have those traits.
Look at the pics below and the smile Joe has on his face, after game 2. To me, it's the smile of a boy who believes in himself, is comfortable in his own skin, and is ready to lead. I love it.
There were a million reasons not to go see Trampled by Turtles at the Ryman last night.
My buddy, Mike Matteson, had to bail on me. I am under the weather, plagued by my annual sinus infection, and just started a round of steroids and antibiotics. Too much work to do, with a 3-day mediation starting on Monday. And I was tired, after attending an 8 a.m. soccer game and coaching a baseball doubleheader for Joe.
One of the advantages of living so close to downtown Nashville is that I can drive there in 5 minutes, find parking, and walk into the Ryman for a concert or Bridgestone Arena for a Predators' game in no time flat. So, that's what I did last night.
Also, I made a vow to myself when I missed Tom Petty's last Nashville show before he died that I wouldn't miss any more shows I wanted to see, so that was in the back of my mind, as well.
It would have been easy to eat the tickets and the take the night off but I'm damn glad I didn't.
Trampled by Turtles is a special band to me. As I've written in this space before, it was the first band I loved that Joe loved, as well. He and used to listen to "Stars and Satellites," a 2002 album by TBT, over and over again.
I have memories of Joe, Carley, and I listening to it on my old, original iPad that plugged into a portable iPad speaker, in the kitchen of our old house. Joe, in his high chair eating breakfast, while Carly and I chatted before I left for work. It was a time of real innocence, as I look back. The days passed more slowly then, when the boys were so young, or so it seems to me now.
Many, many Saturday or Sunday afternoons, I packed Joe and the City Elite in my Yukon Denali, played "Stars and Satellites," and Joe fell asleep singing along to the second song, "Alone." Then, I'd park outside Bongo Java on Belmont Boulevard, unpack the stroller, transfer Joe into it, and off we'd go for a walk. We'd finish with coffee for me and milk for him, at Bongo Java.
Trampled by Turtles was his band and it was my band, too.
In November 2013, a few months before Joe turned two, I saw Trampled by Turtles at Marathon Music Works. I went by myself to what, as it turns out, is the only show I've ever seen at that particular venue. It was crowded but by the time TBT started playing, I'd slithered through the crowd of fans mostly younger than me, and I was standing in the front row. I remained there for the entire show, smiling, dancing, and singing along to TBT's unique blend of hopped up bluegrass, country, and Americana music.
I've seen Trampled by Turtles at Bonnaroo multiple times, too. Last year, in what was my first cancert since the pandemic started, Mike, Doug, and I saw TBT play outside at the amphitheater at the Caverns in Pelham, Tennessee. That was a memorable night, perfect in many ways.
Last night, I had seats on the main floor of the Ryman - section 5, row Q, dead center. Great seats. Since Mike couldn't make it, I had two seats to myself, which allowed me to comfortable spread out a bit. Sometimes, in a crowd, sitting on the church pews at the Mother Church for two plus hours can get uncomfortable, particularly if you're packed in tightly. No such worries last night.
As I watched the band play, I realized it was my first concert, inside, since the pandemic arrived in March 2020. As I looked around the Ryman and watched people dancing, singing, laughing, or just bobbing their heads in time to the music, I was struck by an appreciation of the communal aspect of music. People need this, I thought. At church, singing along with the church choir, or at the Ryman - the Mother Church - singing along with the band and each other.
Humans are social creatures. We have an inherent need to share experiences with each other, even with complete strangers. I know I need that but I think most people do, as well. Church, a sporting event, a move at a movie theater, or a concert.
There was an energy in the Ryman last night that it felt good to be a part of. I'm glad I went to see Trampled by Turtles - again - and I can't wait to catch them down the road again in the not too distant future.
