The Night I Met Roy Hobbs

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.