Where Does the Time Go?

Ain't no time to hate

Barely time to wait

Woah, oh, what I want to know

Where does the time go?

Uncle John's Band (Grateful Dead)

Last night as JP and I walked into the MBA gym to see watch the MBA-Lipscomb game, we ran into Tony Weeks.  His son, Porter, had played in the junior varsity game and was dressed for the varsity game, as well, although he wasn't expected to play.  

It was a normal night but, also, a really good night.  JP chose to sit with me rather than the raucous group of MBA students sitting behind one of the baskets.  That surprised me a bit but it made my happy, too, to sit with him and quietly enjoy watching a basketball game together.  Across town, Jude and Joe were watching the USN basketball game on homecoming night.  

What struck me after talking briefly with Tony and seeing Porter on the court, warming up, and Braden Sweeney in the Lipscomb student section after he played in the junior varsity game is that the boys have grown up so fast.  Overnight or so it seems to me.

Porter looked good on the court and I think he'll earn some minutes for Lipscomb's varsity over the next couple of year.  I couldn't locate Braden's parents, Michelle and Ryan, in the stands at the game.  Why?  Because Braden likely had driven himself to the game.  JP will be driving, too, in a couple of months.  

How did this happen?

I coached Porter, Braden, and JP in baseball for several years.  Porter pitched a complete game shutout against Giles County in Lawrenceburg, TN, to clinch the state championship for the Dodgers.  JP, who pitched and played shortstop, second base, and third base was named to the all tournament team.  Braden got one of the biggest hits in Dodgers' history in a game against our blood rivals, the Dirtbags, in one of our first victories over them when the boys were 10 or 11.  

I still see those boys - all three of them - as they were in those days and earlier, too.  So young, so innocent, so happy to be playing recreational league baseball or basketball with their core group of friends.  It was such a special time in my life, running baseball practices in the fall and spring.  Coaching games with my friends, Chris, Will, Tony, and Randy.  Spending time with the boys and their families.  As Michelle Sweeney once said, our Dodgers' family.

I miss my Dodgers' family.  I miss sending the lineup to Will Wright the night before the game, so he could enter it in Game Changer to keep the online scorebook.  I miss talking to Tony Weeks about our pitchers and watching as he visited the mound to talk to JP or warmed up a pitcher down the left field or right field line during a game.  I miss watching Chris Taylor and Randy Kleinstick coach third and first base, so comfortable in their roles.  

What I might miss most of all is jogging out to left field at the end of a game with the boys running with me.  As the boys slid in the grass and piled on one another, I'd try to settle them down for a few minutes, so I could discuss the just completed game with them.  All eyes on me, as I sat on one knee and talked to the team, recognizing individual boys and mentioning things we needed to work on before the next game.  

Then, as I finished talking and answered any questions, the boys huddled up, yelled "1-2-3 Dodgers!" and ran back to the dugout to collect their gear.  I walked slowly, contentedly off the field.  

Dodgers forever.