Coming Down from the Mountain

I just dropped JP off at MBA and I am having my Monday morning coffee at Dose before beginning a busy week at work.  Mediations three days in a row to close out November, then the spring to Christmas begins.  

Our time on the Mountain, in Sewanee, was a much needed respite for our family.  A time to recharge our batteries and to downshift into neutral for a few days.  

In the end, we were all glad we stayed, again, in the Midyett's house on campus, on Tennessee Avenue.  So convenient to all of the things the boys love to do which, of course, is sports, sports, and more sports.  Soccer field across the street, the Fowler Center nearby, and the football and baseball fields a few blocks away.  We packed a lot of fun into a five nights on the Mountain.

• JP and Joe walked across the street and played soccer Wednesday while Jude worked a bit and nursed a bad cold she's been fighting.

• Thanksgiving Day with Jude's parents, Jane and Jim, was good family time.  Smoked turkey from Martin's, ham courtesy of Jane White, and pies from Meridee's.  We gave them a tour of All Saints' Chapel, which they enjoyed.

• I had a nice trail run on Thanksgiving Day on the Dimick Lake trail, one of my favorite trails in Sewanee or anywhere else for that matter.

• JP and I had a nice run together on Saturday morning on the Mountain Goat trail.  It was so good to get a run in with him, as it had been a while.

• We had a list from the Davis family on Saturday, as Oliver, Tera, Preston, and Morgan joined us on the Mountain.  After a visit to the Cross at the end of Tennessee Ave. and a tour of All Saints' Chapel, we had lunch at Shenanigan's.  Great adult conversation while the kids played UNO.  Later, a baseball workout on Sewanee's baseball field followed by basketball at the Fowler Center.

• I alternated reading America, America (Ethan Canin) and First:  Sandra Day O'Connor (Evan Thomas).  Two excellent reads.

• I attended the Sunday morning service at All Saints' Chapel, early, at 8 a.m.  Seminarian AJ Boots ('24) gave a memorable sermon.

• We had two rousing games of family Catchphrase much to Jude's delight.

• On my laptop, I watched UT destroy Vandy, 56 - 0, much to my delight.

• Soccer, tennis, golf, baseball, and basketball for the boys.  Our own sports camp on the Mountain.

• We had front row seats, literally, in from the big screen television on the breakfast side of the Blue Chair to watch the USMNT tie England, 0 - 0, in the World Cup.  Really cool.

• The boys and I had breakfast Saturday morning at the Blue Chair, always a highlight for us.

• Friday evening, I sat in an Adirondack chair across the street from the house, behind the School of Theology overlooking the rugby field, and read a story, two poems, and an essay from, appropriately enough, the latest issue of the Sewanee Review.  It arrived at our house the day before we left.  

All right, my Monday morning reverie is over.  Time to get to work.

Sunday Morning at All Saints Chapel

This morning, in a reprise of the Sunday after Thanksgiving last year, I went to the 8 a.m. service at All Saints' Chapel, walking distance from the house we are renting on Tennessee Avenue.  

All Saints' Chapel is a beautiful, historic church on University Avenue in the middle of Sewanee's campus.  It's well over one hundred years old.  The stained glass windows are exquisite and provide a historical record of the Sewanee and the Episcopal Church.  There are historical markers - tablets, they're called - anchored to the wall of the Chapel in memory of various individuals with a connection to Sewanee.  Visiting All Saints' Chapel - especially for a church service - is a highlight of every trip to the Mountain for me.

I have a history with the Episcopal Church that predates my marriage to Jude, completion of the RCIA class, and eventual membership in the Catholic Church.

At some point in time in the late 1990's, I asked my mom if I had been baptized.  I assumed I had been, given that we attended the Methodist Church throughout my youth, although Tracy and Alice were more active than I was, to be sure.  To my surprise, my mom replied that she wasn't sure if I had been baptized or not.  I was mildly concerned because based on my very limited knowledge of general religious doctrine, being baptized was a prerequisite to being admitted into Heaven upon one's death.  

I had been attending St. Paul's Episcopal Church for a while and, truth be told, felt like for once in my life, I had found my church home.  Every Sunday morning when I attended the 7:30 a.m. service, I felt an overwhelming sense of peace and certitude that I was where I was supposed to be.  I had never experienced that sense of belonging at a church before but it was very real to me, then and now, in my memories.  

The Rector, Bob Cowperthwaite, who served St. Paul's for 25 years before retiring to St. Augustine, Florida, in 2014, subsequently baptized me in the Episcopal Church after I took the necessary class over a period of months.  As I recall, my mom and my sister attended the service at St. Paul's where I was baptized and it meant a lot to me for them to be there to see it.

I was going through a difficult time in my life at that point in time, personally, and I relied a great deal on Father Bob's sermons on Sunday mornings for the spiritual sustenance to keep me going throughout the week.  The quiet fellowship of my fellow early rising Sunday morning parishioners was important to me, as well, not the least of which was a handshake and kind word from my law partner's grandmother, Brownie Puryear.  

I was newly single and Mark Puryear and I had left our jobs to start our law practice, so to say it was time of transition for me - personally and professionally - would be an understatement.  Still, throughout that challenging and difficult time in my life, St. Paul's and the Episcopal Church were there for me, something I can never forget.  

This morning, at All Saints' Chapel, a seminarian, AJ Boots ('24) - great name, isn't it? - delivered the sermon.  She was amazing.  Earnest, genuine, articulate, intelligent, and thoughtful.  All of those things and many more.  She was nervous - I was sitting close enough to see her hands shaking just a little bit - but that only added to the impact of her words on me.  

She talked about her studies at Seminary and, in particular, about dreading taking the choral class that was required of all seminarians because she always had been embarrassed about her singing voice.  Still, she completed the class and today, at the end of her sermon, she sang a bit of a hymn from her home parish in New Hampshire.  

It was beautiful, not because she has a classically trained singing voice.  It was beautiful because it was heartfelt and meaningful expression of her love of God and her love for all of us.  

I was blessed to be there, this morning, to hear AJ Boots' sermon and her voice lifted in song at All Saints' Chapel.

Thanksgiving on the Mountain (2022)

We're back, again, for Thanksgiving on the Mountain.  For the third consecutive year, we're staying in a house on Tennessee Avenue, on campus.  The boys chose for us to stay in the house again in part because we'r directly across the street from the Sewanee soccer field and a long walk (or a short drive) to the football and baseball fields.  The Fowler Center (basketball) is just around the corner, as well.

I'm glad to be here, of course, because being on the Mountain somehow rejuvenates me.  I love it up here.  

Jude and the boys arrived on Tuesday evening.  I had a mediation on Tuesday and needed to work on Wednesday, at least for a half day, so I drove up Wednesday evening.  Wednesday, the boys played soccer, nine holes of golf, and tennis.  Sewanee is like sports camp for them, so it's easy to see why they love staying on campus.  

I ran five miles on the Lake Dimmick trail yesterday.  It was beautiful to be outside plus there is always something special about running on a holiday.  The path was carpeted in leaves, so I was careful not to trip over tree roots.  I've been down that road, or trail, in a manner of speaking, when I broke my big left toe several years ago on a January trail run on the Cornelia Fort trial in Shelby Bottoms.  To this day, I can't grow a toe nail on that toe.  

There was a point in my run - about halfway through - when Lucinda Williams' song, Blessed, began playing and I thought, "how appropriate.  What a perfect song to capture my mood."  It was Thanksgiving morning, I was on a run, my family is well, and I felt strong.  In that moment, as so often happens when I run, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude to the Lord for my life.  I stopped and took a few photos, which is not something I normally do when I run.  I guess I wanted to try to capture that feeling in the very moment, although it's not something it's really possible to do.  

I guess that's part of what I love about this place.  So many of my runs, especially the trail runs, are damn near perfect.  In a given year, if I pinpointed my top ten runs, half of them probably would be runs I had on the Mountain.  In fact, a couple of my all-time favorite runs happened up here.  Certainly, I have had more memorable runs on the Mountain than anywhere else.

JP is itching to run with me today, which would be nice, because we haven't run together in a while.  With soccer practice every day and basketball or baseball workouts on weekends, combined with homework, it's been hard for him to find a time to run with me.  A little Cats in the Cradle?  I don't think so, not yet anyway.  

JP got the word on Wednesday that he made the basketball team at MBA on Tuesday evening.  We assumed he would make it but you never know, I guess, so we were grateful.  Unless I miss my guess, he will be playing on the "A team," but we'll learn more about that at the parents' meeting next week.  As was the case last year, I'm looking forward to seeing how much he can improve with a basketball in his hands almost every day.  

I've watched JP work out and scrimmage, at MBA, 5-on-5, a few times and he's way ahead of where he was last year.  He has a handle that I never had and he's been playing the point and distributing the ball.  Coach Amos knows he sees the court well and is a good passer, so I'm guessing he'll play point this season or, maybe, off guard.  He gets to the rim and has a nice 3-point shot, too.  Defensively, he's quicker and tougher than I ever was, no question.  He's a complete player at this point, so it will be interesting to watch the season unfold.  

I'm finishing my coffee at Stirling's Coffeehouse, on campus.  I'm so glad they're open this weekend because it's one of my favorite coffee shops anywhere.  Location, location, location.

Tough Times for the Kid

Sometimes, in this space, I find myself only writing about the boys' successes.  It's almost like Instagram, where all you see are people looking their best on the best days.  Happy.  Successful.  

Yes, my boys' accomplishments are many and, for sure, Jude and I are blessed beyond measure to have JP and Joe as our son.  Still, it's not all wine and roses.  Not by a long shot.  The boys struggle and, of course, that's part of growing up, too.  In fact, that might be the most important part.  It's easy to be happy and well-adjusted when things are going well.  It's much harder, though, when times are tougher.  

What we're trying to do as parent - certainly, what I am trying to do - is prepare my boys to face adversity as men and not to give up when times are tough.  Adversity is always around the corner, though it's not something to be feared.  It's something to be embraced, accepted, and fought to at least a draw if not a win.  

JP loves Montgomery Bell Academy and he's excelling in all aspects of life there.  Scholar.  Athlete.  Gentlemen.  That's the motto and JP is all three of those.  His grades are fantastic.  Privilege list every quarter so far.  He's a stellar athlete.  The most versatile athlete in his class, in my view.  

Still, school at MBA is hard.  Really, really hard.  He studies in his room for a couple of hours after practice (cross country, soccer, etc.) every evening, comes down for dinner, then goes back to his room to study for a couple of more hours.  I'm guessing he puts in three to four hours of homework and studying every night on top of what he does in study hall at school each day.  It's a lot.  

I know JP is stressed right now because he's talked about it a little bit with Jude and to a lesser extent, with me.  Although I remind him that he's the same kid walking out of school - regardless of what kind of a grade he made on a quiz or test - as he was when I dropped him off at school that morning, it's tough for him because he expects so much of himself.  He wants to be the best student, to continue to make all A's.  He wants to be the best athlete, too, someone his teammates can count on and someone his classmates can admire.  

He wants to carry the torch - and I admire that about him - but it's a heavy lift for him, sometimes, to measure up to the goals he sets for himself.  I've been there and I get it. 

Today, for example, he has a Latin quiz, a project due in Cultural Geography, a big (Honors) Earth Science test, and the second day of basketball tryouts.  That's a lot for a 14 year old boy, right?  I know it's a helluva lot more than I ever had to handle, at one time, when I was 14 years old, especially since he's at the most demanding - academically - school in Nashville.  

Lately, at times, JP has snapped at Jude, Joe, or me, which for him is very rare.  In fact, that's one of the ways I know he's under a lot of stress. 

Lately, Jude has started going up to JP's room and laying on his bed, answering e-mails and working, while he sits at his desk and does his homework.  She does it to keep him company because he seems to get lonely upstairs, in his room, alone, night after night, while the three of us are downstairs watching television, usually a game or reruns of the Office.  It's sweet and a simple act of love.  

I reminded JP this morning, on the way to school, that all we wanted - and all he should want - is for him to do his best.  The rest will take care of itself.  He's put the work in, relax, and just do his best.  That's all he can do.

That's all any of us can do.

Back to Bongo Java

There was a time - a decade ago - when I had coffee at Bongo Java almost every day.  In fact, I had never had coffee, or even liked coffee, until I started rolling JP into Bongo in the stroller, the legendary Baby Jogger City Elite.

If memory serves, JP and I started going to Bongo on Sunday mornings.  Saturday mornings were mine and I normally went for a long run in Shelby Bottoms.  Sunday mornings were for Jude and while she went for a walk at Radnor Lake or simply relaxed, JP and I had breakfast at Bongo Java.  

It was our time together, every Sunday morning, and as I sit at Bongo this morning - for the first time in years - I'm dumbstruck by the waves of nostalgia washing over me as I sip my coffee, listen to the music, and watch a few people scattered at tables, talking quietly with each other.  Honestly, I've sat at every table in Bongo multiple times, often with JP and later, Joe, sleeping in the stroller beside me.  

The presence of JP's toddler ghost is palpable.  My mind is playing tricks on me, for sure, because everywhere I look, if I look hard enough, I can see JP or Joe as they were at age 2, or 3, or 4, or 5, and so forth and so on.  So many happy memories in this place.  Bongo Java is, in many ways, where I felt the most like a father in the early days.  Eating breakfast with my son or stopping in for a Saturday afternoon cup of coffee while JP or Joe napped in the stroller.

For the longest time, I planned on writing an essay about Bongo Java - maybe I still will - entitled "How a Coffee Shop Became the Center of My Universe."  I thought about it a lot.  Still do, actually.

My memories of this place are so happy, I think, because of where I was in my life.  As I've written before, my Bongo days were a time of innocence and a time when anything was possible.  

What drew me back this morning - a Saturday - is that a friend tipped me off this week to the fact that someone at Bongo Java - probably the owner, Bob Bernstein, had pulled out a framed photo of the boys I game to our favorite manager, EJ, year and years ago.  

The photo was taken at Frothy Monkey in 12South when we were displaced for a couple of weeks while Bernstein replaced the front porch.  The boys were, I'm guessing, 7 and 3, and I told them to look sad in the photo.  JP held up a sign that says, "We miss EJ.  @bongojava."  It's hilarious, actually, and now it's on the wall at Bongo, below another black and white photo of a dad and his infant son laughing at a table in Bongo.

In the earliest of my Bongo Java days and for the longest time thereafter, my drink of choice was a Mood Elevator.  Chad was the first barista I met here, well over 15 years ago, and he turned me on to it.  A double iced mocha with hazelnut, two shot, very light on the mocha.  

Chad was fierce looking and intimidating, with pointed side burns, covered in tattoos with a lot of piercings.  But he had a huge smile and he loved JP, always engaging with him and making him smile.  Chad had personal problems and after he left Bongo, I heard he accidentally ran a samurai sword through a roommate - who survived miraculously - in an argument.  But that's another story, to day the least.

JP and I used to sit in the back at the same table most of the time.  It backed up onto the window seat, so he could sit up high, see everything, and look out the window, too.  There were only three or four tables back there so it kept us from disturbing anyone if JP was feeling particularly rambunctious.  The back room is closed off, now, and used as some type of a supply closet, which is a little sad.  

As I reflect back, I think something was lost when Bob Bernstein replaced the front porch.  He raised prices, as I recall, which drove some of the longtime regulars customer away, like Ms. Joyce.  It just didn't feel the same when he reopened.  Also, it caused me to branch out and try different coffee shops, Frothy Monkey and Portland Brew in 12South and 8th & Roast.  

The biggest thing, though, is Bob Bernstein slowly but surely ran off all of the old heads, the baristas who really cared about making good coffee, and replaced them with Belmont undergraduates who didn't care a whit about coffee.  Chuck, Hunter, Taylor, Adam, and finally, EJ, all gone.  That's what ended my run at Bongo Java, really.  The people that I knew and that loved my boys were let go, one by one, over a few months' time.  

Still, there is a magical feeling in this place for me.  The sense of nostalgia is so overwhelming I can feel it.  I don't think there is any one place where I have as many happy memories as I have here, at these table, inn this coffee shop, that once upon a time was indeed the center of my universe.  

Saying Goodbye to Soccer

In the HVAC tournament championship game last night at USN's River Campus, JP's MBA team lost to a tough David Lipscomb squad, 2-0.  

Lipscomb's goalie, Campbell, who plays travel soccer with my law partner's son, was the difference.  He was tested several times but never allowed a goal.  MBA's goalie wasn't as strong, and Lipscomb scored a goal late in the first half and another early in the second half.  Really, that was that, as MBA just couldn't break through.  

The first goal was a tough one, as JP - playing left back - and one of the midfielders miscommunicated on a ball that could easily have been cleared.  As a result, one of the Lipscomb players lobbed it over JP's head and Lipscomb's best and fastest forward beat JP to the ball and scored a relatively easy goal.  I felt for JP because he should have taken the ball and cleared it.  I think his inexperience showed on that play and it cost MBA a goal.

Truthfully, I was a little glad when Lipscomb scored the second goal.  I didn't want MBA to lose 1-0 and for JP to have given up the only goal of the night.  In other words, I didn't want his last memory of soccer to be of giving up the only goal in the championship game.  That would be a tough one but, yes, part of life, too.

 Last memory?  I think so because in high school, soccer is a spring sport, as is baseball.  It's very likely - a certainty, according to JP - that he will want to play junior varsity and varsity baseball, rather than soccer, next year and beyond.  In fact, on several occasions, including a couple of nights ago, he has told Jude that this is his last season to play soccer.  

I've enjoyed immensely the run his team has been on this season - 10-0 before last night's loss.  I've really enjoyed watching him compete in a sport about which I know very little.  He plays hard, physically, and aggressively, which I love.  He competes, because he's JP, something else I also love.  Although he's relatively inexperienced compared to a few of his teammates who play travel soccer, JP has not seemed out of place at all in any game.  What he lacked in soccer acumen, he made up for in athleticism and desire, or so it seemed to me.  

As I watched JP play last night and Tuesday night against USN, I couldn't help but think back to all of the recreational league games on Saturday mornings over the years at First Presbyterian Church, playing for Thomas McDaniel.  I thought about the FCS club team he played for with University School Classmates before it disbanded after a year or so.  Those are good memories, for sure, even though admittedly I'm not the biggest soccer fan.  

Watching JP play this season and seeing his skill level increase, undoubtedly because he's practicing and playing with more skilled teammates, I've wondered how different things might have been had he chosen to pursue soccer at a higher level at an earlier age.  For example, if we had moved JP to something like Joe's team, Armada, at age 10, my guess is that he might have had a future in soccer, particularly at the high school level but maybe beyond.

JP's body type is perfect for soccer.  He's thin, narrow waisted, and he can run forever.  He's got big, strong legs, too.  The only thing he lacked was the foot skills - the ball handling skills - that a few of his better teammates had.  That, of course, comes from years of playing soccer at a highly competitive level.  

What's really impressive, though, is that JP heads straight to basketball tryouts on Saturday and Monday.  Unless something changes, he'll make the A team or, at least, the B team, then he'll play baseball in the spring.  I don't think any of his soccer teammates will be playing basketball and baseball.  I continue to be amazed by JP's athleticism.  

Next year, out of necessity, JP will have to make a decision about which sports he wants to continue to play competitively.  High school sports require more time, practicing and playing, and it's just not practical to dabble in multiple sports.  My guess is that he will run cross country in the fall, play basketball in the winter, and play baseball in the spring.  To be continued, I guess.

JP was the last player to leave the sideline last night after the loss.  I walked across the pitch in the cold, shivering a bit under the lights on a cold, clear November night.  As I approached, he hugged each of his four coaches in turn, the longest hug reserved for his head coach, Giles Cheevers, of whom he is very fond.

I overheard the coaches congratulating JP on a good season.  I might be overthinking it but I think his coaches recognized it was very likely JP's last soccer game.  I shook the coaches' hands and thanked them, as JP gathered his gear, seeming to linger on the sideline for an extra moment or two, like he was soaking in the moment.     

Coach Cheevers put his arm around JP, looked down at him, and said "JP, are you okay?"  "I'm good," JP replied, nodding his head, as he shouldered his backpack.  

As we walked away from the sideline, father and son, I told JP how proud of him I was, and that I knew it was a tough loss.  

"You competed," I said.  "All season long.   Tonight, you were the man in the arena, and that means something."  

We met up with Jude and Joe on the far sideline and just like that, JP's soccer playing days were over.  

When One Goal is Enough

Last night, in what might be the first legitimately brisk night of fall, JP's MBA middle school soccer team ran it's record to 10-0 by defeating USN 1-0 at USN's River Campus in the semifinals of the conference tournament.

Now, I'm not the biggest soccer guy, granted, but last night's game was different.  It was suspenseful, to say the least, as MBA scored early in the first half - Noah, of course - and held on the rest of the game for the win.  It was, by far, the most nervous I have been at a soccer game.  

The drama was heightened, of course, for me because several of the players on USN's team were boys JP has known and gone to school with since kindergarten or in a couple of cases, since the Children's House days.  Honestly, it was a bit emotional for me to see so many of the boys I've known competing against each other - really, really competing - on the soccer pitch.  

Henry, Calhoun, Aiden, and Cecil.  All of them have grown up with JP, from toddlers or little boys to the 13 and 14 year old young men they are now.  As I saw them playing an extremely physical game last night in the cold, under the lights, laying it all on the line, in my mind's eye I simultaneously saw them playing recreational league soccer together at First Presbyterian Church and, later, club soccer for Coach Gordon and FCA.  

The effect, for me, was almost like the picutre-in-picture feature on a television.  Two games going on at once but with the same players at different ages.  The game on the field and the one in my mind. 

The passage of time is such a curious thing.  Time is ethereal, yes, but in some ways, maybe it can be stopped by the memories we carrying in our minds and in our hearts and the stories we tell others based on those memories.  

The game was so intense, by far more so than any soccer game this season.  Very, very physical, too, with several penalties.  Nothing dirty.  Just good, hard, physical play.  The fans of both teams were way into the game, too, yelling about this or that call or non-call.

Joe, Jude, and I sat in camping chairs on the sidelines, bundled up against the cold.  Honestly, it was hard for me to watch late in the game as MBA desperately tried to fend off USN's spirited attack.  USN pulled their defense up the field - like a hockey team pulling its goalie - in the last five or six minutes in an effort to generate some offense.  They got close but could never put the ball in the net and MBA held on for the win.

JP played left back the entire game.  He moved the ball well and, along with Jay "the Eraser" at middle back, played solid defense and prevented USN from having a sustained attack until late in the game.

After the game, as we waited for JP, the three of us marveled at what a great game it had been.  The funniest part was Jude didn't realize MBA had scored early, so she thought the game was tied the entire time and headed for a shootout.  Now, that's suspenseful!

As we stood there, JP and Henry, one of his oldest friends from USN and one of their better soccer players, walked up together.  Arms around each other, I asked to take their picture.  Without any prompting from me and entirely on their own, they exchanged jerseys like professional players do and posed for a photo.  

With tears in my eyes at their spontaneous gesture of sportsmanship, friendship, and love, I took a photo that I will treasure for the rest of my life.  I hope they will, too.

Play Baseball Will Travel

This weekend, JP and I traveled to Knoxville for his last baseball tournament of the fall.  I missed Joe's soccer games, Saturday and today, but it was nice to get away for some one-on-one time with JP.

We drove over Friday night after I got off work and didn't arrive at the Hilton Embassy Suites Downtown until about 10:30 p.m. with the time change.  JP and I were beat, so we ate a late meal of Subway sandwiches, watched SportsCenter, then turned in for the night.

Saturday morning, JP took advantage of the complimentary breakfast while I went for a 5 mile run from downtown to campus and back.  It's been a minute - as they say - since I've been on campus, so I was looking forward to running over and seeing what has changed.  The answer, of course, is almost everything.  

New buildings.  New streetscape.  A whole lot of construction but, strangely enough, very few students out and about on a Saturday morning.  I ran back up Cumberland Avenue (aka "the Strip") and, similarly, it was hardly recognizable.  Stefano's Pizza (1977) and Copper Cellar were still there but that was about it.  There were new apartments everywhere, looming over the Strip, which was kind of depressing, honestly.  

When it comes to college and your college town, I'm not sure if you can go home again, after all.

JP and I drove over the Seymour early Saturday afternoon for his first baseball game, which was at The King's Academy.  He started and played a clean and confident second base.  He hit well, going 2 - 2 with a pair of singles to left center field.  The boys has one bad inning and lost a tough one to a Knoxville team, No Chance" by one or two runs.  

After the game, we hustled over to campus for a game under the lights at Lindsey Nelson Stadium - home of the Vols - which was cool.  The boys played the Tigers, an older, better team fro Virginia with the best pitching we've seen this fall.  JP didn't start but pinch hit late in the game.  Against an excellent pitcher, he struck out looking, ever taking the bat off his shoulder.  Very unlike JP but he took a couple of outside fastballs for strikes, then was completely fooled by a curve ball.  

In the last inning, however, JP made a nice play on a ground ball to shortstop, and threw a runner out at first by a half step.  Nice. confident play, and a good one to end his night.  I was glad he got to play on Lindsey Nelson field, even if it was only for an inning.  The boys lost again but played the Tigers relatively tough.

Today, the boys played another No Chance team, also at The King's Academy, and lost 6 - 4 in a game they probably should have one.  As has been the case, they had one bad inning and it cost them.  JP played shortstop and struck out in his first to at bats, before singling sharply to left center (line drive) in the bottom fo the 7th inning.  The boys rallied from a 6 - 1 deficit and had bases loaded with no outs but J.D. grounded into a double play and the last batter grounded out to the third baseman.

JP was 3 - 6 for the weekend.  Good, yes, but I think he can hit better.  It's something we're going to work on this winter with some private lessons.  Joe, too.

So, now, it's back to reality.  I've got a big week at work and JP's MBA soccer season is winding down.  They're 7 - 0 and hoping to finish the season with the HVAC championship.  Basketball tryouts are next week for JP and so it goes.

JP and JD.

JP.  Lindsey Nelson Stadium in the background.