Once a Runner

This week, JP is interning at Lewis Thomasson, a law downtown law firm, through an internship program at MBA.  Because it's such a small world and my life seems to be a series concentric circles, the managing partner at Lewis Thomasson is Lisa Ramsay Cole, my longtime friend.  

When I walked into the George C. Taylor College of Law on UT's campus for the first time - this would have been the fall of 1990 - I was a bit nervous and unsure of myself.  The first person I met that morning was a classmate who would become my dear friend, Lisa Cole, from MacKenzie, Tennessee, by way of Bethel College.  We stayed close throughout our three years together in law school and in the years immediately after, as embarked on our legal careers.  

I think it was Lisa (although it may have been Jim Price) that first called me "Newby," a law school nickname that several other picked up during our time together.  As I sip my coffee this morning, I'm smiling as I think of Lisa Cole, laughing at something I said, shaking her head, and saying "oh, Newby."  Lisa is one of the kindest people I know.  She's built a helluva career as a lawyer at Lewis Thomasson (formerly Lewis King).  

This week, JP has been getting up early to run, before going downtown for his internship.  It's a summer of running for him, as he prepares for the fall cross country season and what he hopes will be a successful campaign for the school, and for him.

This morning, as I left the house and was driving down Belmont Boulevard, I saw JP running toward me, finishing a six mile run.  He recognized my truck from a distance, waved his arms, then sprinted by with a strong finishing kick.  Seeing him stirred strong emotions in me.  Love.  Pride.  Admiration.   Nostalgia. 

Shirtless, his body glistening with sweat, running hard, I marveled at JP's youth and vitality.  I wanted to freeze that moment in my mind because it seemed important.  It still does, as I recall it now.  

There's not an ounce of fat on JP, of course, but his upper body is filling out.  He has an exercise routine does, religiously, every night, and he's been working out in the gym at MBA.  He's putting the time in and it shows.  I'm proud of him for that and for so may other things.  

I'm going to do my best to remember that moment this morning, when JP ran toward me, then by me.  He looked invincible.  My guess is that he felt that way, too.  I hope so, anyway.

 

Honors Night on the Hill

I never want to take for granted either of my boys' accomplishments.  So, I wanted to make sure I wrote a little something about Honors Night at MBA, while it was still relatively fresh in my mind.  The beginning of the summer has been relatively chaotic - okay, very chaotic - but it seems we're settling into a bit of a routine with Joe at Woodberry Forest Sports Camp for three weeks and JP on the cusp of traveling to Boulder, CO, to run and train with collegiate runners for a week.  Yikes!

A day or two before the 2025 class graduated, MBA hosted Honors Night.  Last year and this year, the weather has been nice so the event has been staged outside, underneath the trees, with folding chairs facing the stage down a slight decline that allows for a good site line for everyone.  I was among the first to arrive, so I selected good seats in the front of the middle section, for Jude and me.

As was the case last year, the mood was relaxed and a bit festive.  The relief the boys felt to have completed another year of rigorous study and competition was palpable.  Getting through exams was tough for JP, I know, particularly chemistry and algebra, all while preparing for the track and field state championships.  It's a lot for all of the boys.

There are so many awards.  It reminded me, as I watched, how fortunate we are for JP (and next year, Joe, too) to be attending MBA.  So many smart, accomplished boys all together in one place.  It's quite impressive.  Dr. Daughtrey did an excellent job of moving things along, as each academic department recognized outstanding students.  Awards were given, as well, to boys in a variety of non-academic pursuits - theatre, writing, athletics, leadership, etc.  

For his sophomore class, JP received the 3-sport athlete award for best athlete in his class.  He also was one of two boys in his class to receive a $1,000 scholarship.  This year, the best boy of the class award - for which he was one of three nominees - went to his friend, Caleb.  It was well earned, as Caleb played junior varsity basketball while singing in the outstanding MBA choir.  He's an incredibly talented singer and guitar player.  A great student, too.  

JP has worked so hard at MBA.  Academically, athletically, and on Honor Council.  He might be proudest, in fact, of his role on the Honor Council.  When he gets his school ring next year, he's going to have earned it, for sure.  

JP and cross country teammate, Jack McDaniel (2026), who is one of the best boys I know.  He and JP have been friends since their days together as toddlers at Children's House.  Jack received multiple academic awards.  The sky is the limit for him.

JP and cross country teammate, Brady (2025), who has accepted an appointment to West Point.  Such an impressive young man.  I expect big things from him. 

JP and cross country and track/field teammate, Jack Wallace (2025), who is running at Furman University.  Jack was the second runner in a row (Samuel Trumble in 2024) to win athlete of the year after rewriting the track/field record book and leading the Big Red to its first track/field state title since 2001.

A Night in Charlottesville

In hopes of taking a minute to catch my breath, I decided to stay overnight, again, in Charlotte, VA, after I found an Airbnb I liked in the Belmont neighborhood.  A roomy basement apartment in the bottom of a large house.  Very cool neighborhood and walking distance to several restaurants.  

As luck would have it, though, I ended up spending all afternoon on the telephone with my paralegal, Julie, the office, and various clients.  Not a good afternoon.  I had to give bad news to a couple of clients and I parted ways with a couple of other clients.  One is being manipulated by her husband and didn't want to listen to me, which is unfortunate.  The other decided to represent himself, which very well may end up being unfortunate for him, as his wife's lawyer cannot ethically represent two parties.  Sometimes, that's the way it goes.  In truth, as busy as I am, it's probably a blessing in disguise.  

Because I skipped lunch, I decided to walk down for a drink and an early dinner.  I ended up at the bar at Mockingbird Restaurant.  I sat, I read the New Yorker on ma iPad, I had a drink, I ate, and I breathed.  Not bad, at last, after a whirlwind of a week.  Sometimes, it's a lot, you know?  I considered staying another tonight but I'm going to head back to Nashville because I don't want to drive all day Sunday and arrive late with no down time before work on Monday.

As it turns out, I'm glad I didn't go to Bonnaroo.  I saw an alert last night that due to rain and more inclement weather on the way, the rest of the festival (Friday night, Saturday, and Sunday) was canceled.  What a bummer.  That's a first, I think.  Maybe I'll get back there next year.  

I'm thinking about Joe this morning and wondering how his first day at Sports Camp went.  I hope he's making friends and having fun.  I've said more than one silent prayer for him over the past 24 hours.  I just want him to have a good time.  

Time to finish my coffee, head back to the Airbnb, pack, and get on the road.

Woodberry Forest and Saying Goodbye to Childhood

No man walks in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man.

Heraclitus

It's one of my favorite quotes.  As I sit her tonight, in a basement Airbnb in the Belmont neighborhood of Charlottesville, VA, listening to the Coldplay album, Parachutes, I am not sure if it applies to me or to Joe. 

As "Yellow" plays on my iPhone, I can't help but remember a weekend away with Jude 25 years ago this summer, in the Highlands, NC, when I played the album, and this song, over and over on my iPod.  We weren't married yet.  No children.  No house.  No iPhones.  Just a couple on a getaway weekend to the mountains in North Carolina, listening to a relatively new band with a hit album.  

Reprising my role from four years ago with JP, today I dropped Joe off at Woodberry Forest Sports Camp, an hour north of Charlottesville, VA.  He will be there for three weeks.  On his own, trying to figure out . . . well, a lot of things.  Where he fits with his group of boys.  What it's like to be away from home for so long.  What kind of an athlete he is.  How to make friends, in a relatively short period of time, with a group of boys he has never met before today.  

Is he ready?  Honestly, I do not know.  I feel strongly, though, that Joe needs this.  He really does.  

It's so hard being the youngest in the family or so it seems to me.  Others do things for you.  You are the youngest, so you are treated differently.  Always, there is someone looking over your shoulder, helping you, instructing you, correcting you.  Steering you in the right direction, or at least trying to do so.  It must be hard to forge your own identity as the youngest in the family.

As I write this, I am hesitant to look back and see what I wrote about JP when I dropped him off at Woodberry Forest for Sports Camp, four or five years ago.  In my memory, it seems like JP was more ready to be on his own for three weeks than Joe was when I walked off the football field today and left him with his group of boys (teammates), Alabama.  It's strange to feel that way, since Joe has slept away at Camp Widjiwagan for several years and, in contrast, JP had never been to a week long sleep away camp before his three weeks at Woodberry Forest. 

They are such different boys in so many ways.  Why is it that I find it so hard, sometimes, to realize that?  Same parents, different boys.  Very different personalities.  Different approaches to life.  And that is absolutely fine.  

Woodberry Forest was a transformative experience for JP, or so it seems to me in my mind's eye.  I want it the be the same for Joe.  I want him to develop renewed confidence in himself and, more importantly, a sense of independence.  I want him to begin to believe in his ability to survive, and thrive, without Jude, JP, or me looking over his shoulder, correcting him or guiding him every step of the way.  I want him to begin to figure it all out.  

Middle School at USN is over.  Hell, the protective cocoon that USN provided is gone.  This fall, Joe will walk into the crucible of seventh grade at Montgomery Bell Academy.  As my friend, John Rowland, said, "MBA is a competition every day.  Academically, athletically, and socially.  Is Joe up to it?  I hope so.

To me, as it was with JP, this marks the definitive end of Joe's childhood.  He's on his own for three weeks.  It's never happened like that before.  Today,  I left Joe in a cauldron of competitive, high achieving, athletic boys.  What will he be like when we pick him up in three weeks?  Tougher?  More independent?  More confident in himself?  More self-reliant?  All of those things, I hope.

It all goes by so fast.  Every time I walk by a father holding his infant son, or pushing him in a stroller, I want to grab him by the shoulders, look him in the eye, and tell him how fast it all goes by.  To enjoy every single minute.  Every single second, actually.  

My boys are not really boys any longer.  It happened so damn fast.  

 

Summer Arrives

With the boys out of school for a couple of weeks and all of the end of year festivities at MBA in the books (Honors Night, Graduation), summer has officially arrived for out family.  It's always an adjustment to suddenly go from the hyper-scheduled school year to the unscheduled chaos of summer.  I know it's important for the boys, though, to have down time and I am glad they enjoy it.

For JP so far, it's been an early summer of working the MBA Sports' Camp, golf, working out in the MBA fitness center, and taking it easy.  This morning, he had his first summer workout with the MBA cross country team.  In a couple of weeks, he will fly to Boulder, CO, to train at altitude with Samuel Trumble and some of his college teammates.  That will be big - really big - for JP, I think.

Joe finished up basketball and soccer a couple of weeks ago.  We made the final decision to pull the plug for Joe on Armada club soccer for next season, given the time demands that he will face at MBA beginning with the fall semester.  It was a tough call but Joe was on board with it.  I hope it was the right call.  

Joe finished up basketball for the spring season with the Stars, too.  What an amazing experience for him to play for Jered Street, the Page High School basketball coach.  In two to three months, he learned and improved more than he had in all of his years of playing basketball.  It was a good group of boys, I thought, as we left a final team outing at Buffalo Wild Wings in Cool Springs.

Joe is off to Woodberry Forest later this week for Sports Camp.  Three weeks away from us, on his own, at Woodberry Forest.  He's excited to go and we're excited for him.  Going to the same Sports Camp four or five years ago was a transformative experience in JP's life.  I hope it's the same way for Joe.  

Because he will be gone for the next three weekends, Joe will miss the rest of the summer baseball season for Harris Baseball Club.  I hate it for him because he's struggled mightily in baseball this spring and summer.  The adjustment to the big field has been a difficult one for him.  There's a lot of work to be done.

Jude started a garden in the very back part of the back yard, near where Chad White and I used a chain saw to cut up a small tree that had fallen.  Yes, I used a chain saw!  That's it own story entirely, as I broke out the chain saw Troy and I bought 20 + years ago at Home Depot and, with Chad's guidance and instruction, cut up the tree in question while Jude and the boys watched with alarm from the back deck.  

After Chad and I stacked up the woods, Jude bought a fire pit (at Chad's suggestion) and put it in the back corner of the back yard.  Over the weekend, she started clearing out a space along the fence line to put in a garden.  I was reminded of how much she loved to work int he garden in the front yard of our old house, on Elliott Avenue.  It's therapy for her, I think.  

As for me, no Bonnaroo fir the second year in a row.  It's this weekend and although I had lined up Paul Jennings' cabin, again, I had to beg out because I wanted to be able to drive Joe to Woodberry Forest and drop him off at Sports Camp.  JP and I made the same trip together and I want Joe and I to have a similar experience.  As Yogi Berra would say, it will be "deja vu all over again."  I may spend an extra night in Charlottesville, though, just to unwind.

Work is a grind right now and I must admit that as my law partners played in a golf tournament Thursday and Friday, and I was burning the candle at both ends at work until late, I had a hard time seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.  I have got to get some help at work.

Coffee over.  Text message from Rachel and Julie are flying in.  Time to get after it.  Again.

(Herban Market)

Saying Goodbye to Father Dexter

In September 2007, Father Dexter Sutton Brewer became the fifth pastor of Christ the King.  He came to Christ the King after spending 13 years as pastor at Good Shepherd Catholic Church in Decherd, Tennessee.  Yesterday, I was blessed to attend what I believe was his final service in the beautiful sanctuary at Christ the King.

18 years at one Catholic Church is quite a run for a priest, even when it's attached to a parochial school, as is Christ the King.  Normally, priests serve six-year terms, then they're moved by the Bishop to a different church.  That's what happened at St. Patrick earlier this year, when Father Hammond left us to become pastor at Cathedral of the Incarnation.  From a doctrinal standpoint, I am sure there is a reason, generally, that priests are moved around, but it's been disappointing to us, over the years, to lose Father Eric (Fowlkes), Father David (Perkin), and Father Hammond.

Although Christ the King is a long walk from our house, for a variety of reasons it never became our home parish.  Perhaps it was a little big for me or perhaps we simply fell in love with Father Eric and St. Patrick, our little (but growing) church just south of downtown Nashville, but that's just the way it worked out.  I wonder, sometimes, if the boys missed out on attending a bigger church, one with Sunday school, youth groups, and social activities.  Shoot, maybe Jude and I missed out, too.  It's hard to say.  We love St. Patrick.

It's been reassuring, somehow, to know that Father Dexter has been down the street from us for all of these years, a half mile away.  During the height of the pandemic, when everyone was terrified of Covid-19, we went to "outside church" at Christ the King on Sunday afternoons.  Those services, outside, were singular, beautiful, and memorable, as parishioners sat in camping chairs on Christ the King's athletic field as Father Dexter led the service from a tent up front.  It was one of things I will always remember - and miss - about the pandemic.  Sitting with my family, outside, attending mass at Christ the King, with Father Dexter's small, cute dog trotting happily through the crowd, accepting treats from those who brought them for him.

Father Dexter is an accomplished runner, having competed marathons through the world.  He used to lead a small running group in the neighborhood that, at one point, I almost joined.  I would see him, early in the morning, running, and he once asked me to join the group.  As I recall, I broke my hand playing softball shortly thereafter and was off running for a while.  That was that, as they say.

Yesterday, I had to work and Jude was in Gatlinburg with Joe for the weekend, at a basketball tournament.  JP had an ACT prep class, so I decided to go to the 8:30 a.m. service at Christ the King.  I am so glad I did, because Father Dexter's homily was one of the most memorable I have heard since I joined the Catholic Church so many years ago.

He talked about the ascension of Jesus into Heaven after the Resurrection and what that meant, as a practical matter, to the apostles.  

Then, walking up the aisle and into the congregation, as is his style, Father Dexter began to talk about how to know when something has come to an end.  When it's over.

Sometimes it's easy to know when things end.  Graduation from high school and college, for example.  Those are clearly marked, definitive endings of a time in one's life.  Getting married marks an ending, too, often times of living at home or of being single.

Other times, it's harder to know when something to end.  He was talking, of course, of his his tenure at Christ the King.  He started thinking about it three years ago, he said, and when he decided it was time to retire, he felt an overwhelming sense of peace.  The same kind of peace, he said, that he felt when he decided to become a priest, an epiphany of sorts he had many years ago while living in a sparsely furnished apartment in the Paragon Mills are of Harding Place.  

He talked, movingly, of how he had loved everything about being pastor at Christ the King.  The church, the people, and leading the services.  Father Dexter is such a brilliant orator, so comfortable speaking and able to relate the homily to his life and our lives.  Father Eric Fowlkes has the same talent, as I recall.

What moved the most, I think, was when he told us that on those occasions at the beginning of a service when he felt unworthy or less than, he felt, again, that overwhelming sense of peace when he said to the parishioners, "Peace be with you."  And we replied, "And with your spirit."  That expression of love lifted him up, he said, every time at every service.

It made it more meaningful, yesterday, when I replied in unison with the other congregants, "And with your spirit," to him a final time.  I think I'll often fondly recall Father Dexter in the future, at St. Patrick or elsewhere, when Father Nick says "Peace be with you," and I reply, "And with your spirit."  

When I walked up to take communion, as luck would have it, Father Dexter gave me the bread.  He blessed me as I took and I looked at him and said, "thank you."

For everything. 

Saying Goodbye to University School Nashville

Thursday, Joe walked out of University School Nashville for the last time.  And just like that, our family's 11 year run there will come to an end.  

Bittersweet, to be sure.  There have been far, far more ups than downs at USN for both of our boys.  The  education JP and Joe received there has been top notch.  The boys have had outstanding teachers across the board.  Ms. Hagan, Ms. Roth, Mr. Kleiner, Ms. Dortch, Ms. Fields, Ms. Abington, and so many others.  Nonpareil educators each and every one of them.  

JP and Joe have been seen, nurtured, taught, and mentored at USN.  Honestly, if I could do it all over again, I would send both of them USN.  No doubt about it.  The school has shaped who my boys are and who they will become.  I'm grateful for that.

I remember the Friday morning when Jude and I sent the e-mail to Juliet Douglas, the Director of Admission, to tell her that we had decided JP would attend USN that fall rather than Oak Hill School.  Thinking about the e-mail she sent back to us in reply - all these years later - makes me smile and almost cry, too.  In that e-mail, Juliet wrote that she was, literally, dancing around her office in celebration of the fact that our JP, and our family, would be joining the USN family that fall.  And we did. remaining a part of the USN family for the next 11 years.  

Socially, the boys fit in well at USN.  JP and Joe found their people, so to speak.  For JP, it was Henry, Cecil, JD, Abe, Aidan, and a few others.  For Joe, it was Sam, Rory, Sawyer, Walker, Bennett, Jackson, and Max.  At USN, the boys were seen, nurtured, and generally enveloped in a cocoon of tolerance, love, and friendship.  In many ways, it was an idyllic time in their lives.  Learning.  Growing.  Maturing.  All of it under the watchful eyes of a caring faculty and administration.

At times, I've regretted that Jude and I didn't get more involved at USN.  We rarely socialized with parents other than those we already knew when the boys started to school there.  Certainly, we didn't make any new, close friends among the parents of USN children.  Sure, we donated to the Annual Fund every year and appeared at school for popsicle parties, field day, etc.  We went to all of the boys' parent-teacher conferences and the presentations they did in the classroom.  I guess we never were socially involved.  Neither of us served on the board of directors. 

I was so very involved at Children's House.  I served on the board of directors for seven years, in total, and served as board president.  I was consumed by Children's House.  It was an intensely beautiful time in our lives when the boys were in school there.  In a way, perhaps I felt like another school, even USN, couldn't match Children's House in terms of our level of commitment and engagement.  Maybe I felt like USN didn't need my involvement as much, because it's a much larger operation.  Or, maybe I was a little burned out.  

What always strikes me the most and causes a twinge of guilt, however, is that after 11 years of the boys at USN, if I walked in the school this morning, I still don't completely know my way around it.

For me, leaving USN marks the end of childhood for our boys.  That's a tough one for me to take, too.  The end of recess and P.E.  The end of birthday parties on weekends.  The end of parent-teacher conferences.  The end of pickups from After Care.  The end of little or no homework.  The end of no exams.  The end of innocence.  

When I'm running the neighborhood and I pass by Children's House, I feel a twinge of nostalgia.  Every time.  I miss "Joe Time," the 45 minutes or so he and I spent together every morning after Jude took JP to USN.  I miss doing the drop-off for Joe at Children's House every morning, often pushing him in the swings on the playground before school.  I can almost hear the children's voices as I run by Children's House.'

I'll probably feel the same way when I run through Music Row when my route takes me by USN.  Maybe more so, since the boys were there longer.  

As I close, I've got the Byrds' 1965 classic on my mind, "Turn, Turn, Turn."  It seems appropriate for a Sunday morning, Memorial Day Weekend, as I think about saying goodbye to USN.

Turn, Turn, Turn

  

State Champions!

For the first time since 2001, MBA's Track and Field team won the State Championship Wednesday night by three points over Memphis Christian Brothers.  Unbelievable!

I drove over to Murfreesboro on Wednesday morning to watch Jack Wallace run the 3200.  It was the first and only event of the morning, scheduled to allow those that were running multiple events to have time to recuperate before the meet started in earnest later in the afternoon.  It was a strong field with Jack Bowen (McCallie) and Zachary Youngblood (Chattanooga Christian) running.  

Jack Wallace ran damn near a perfect race, starting in the middle of the pack, then moving up to the top three about halfway through the race.  As his mom and I stood together along the rail and watched, he made his move with two laps left, which seemed a little early.  Not for Jack, though.  Not with the way he has been running lately.  He pulled away from Jack Bowen, particularly on the last lap, and comfortably won the state title in the 3200.

I returned home to do some work, then drove back to Murfreesboro early in the afternoon.  JP was running the first leg of the 4x800, which was set to go early in the meet, at 4:45 p.m.  I arrived early, as I often do, so parking wasn't a hassle.  I watched the pole vault, which is always fascinating to me.  Henry Ambrose for MBA won the state title at 16' 1" and broke the school record.

Strangely, I wasn't very nervous before the 4x800, although perhaps I should have been.  I walked over to the far side of the track, away from the stands, and ended up talking with several of the MBA coached and administrators who were there to support the boys.  This, of course, was after watching the Division I and II girls' 3200 and the Division I boys' 3200.

When the race began, JP quickly settled into second place behind a Christian Brothers runner, who was pushing the pace.  As they pulled away from the field, I was concerned that the pace was too fast.  JP stayed three or four yards behind him for the first lap and a half, then began to fade a bit.  By the time he hit the last turn, JP's tank was completely empty and he slowed considerably.  Two other runners passed him as he neared the exchange point, baton in hand.

My view of the exchange was blocked by a tent on the infield.  Suddenly, one of the coaches said, "they dropped the baton!"  My heart sank.  I though a disqualification was imminent, so it surprised me to see Charlie Wallace start running with the baton in hand apparently after he picked it up.  What I learned is that, apparently, if a team drops the baton but doesn't impede another team, it's not an automatic disqualification.  Still, as MBA's runner struggled to make up lost ground, I was devastated for JP.  

In the end, MBA finished 5th, picking up four important points.  More on that later. 

From talking to the coaches before and after JP's race, I gathered that MBA didn't have much of a chance overall, as Christian Brothers had picked up 30 + points in the throwing events (shot putt and discus).  MBA hadn't even scored in those events.  Jude and I made the fateful decision to leave the meet, which is what we did last year.  Big mistake, as it turned out.

A couple of hours later, as Jude and I were sitting outside on the back deck enjoying the spring evening, JP started texting us.  The score was close.  Jack Wallace had finished third in the 1600, then won the 800.  MBA was in a battle with Christian Brothers for the overall lead.  What in the damn hell?!?  Whey weren't we there?  Bad parenting, I guess.

JP texted us again.  MBA was up by one point over Christian Brothers.  One point!  The only remaining event was the 4x400, anchored by Jack Wallace.  It was simple.  If MBA beat Christian Brother, MBA won the state championship.  If MBA finished the race behind Christian Brothers, no state title.

My immediate fear - and it was paralyzing - was that MBA would a place behind Christian Brothers and, because JP dropped the baton, MBA would lose the state championship by one point.  The thought was terrifying because I knew if it worked out that way, JP would carry it around with him the rest of his life.  So would I.

Jude and I kept checking out cell phones for text messages from JP.  Finally, we got the one we wanted.  In the 4x400, CPA, MBA, Christian Brother went 1-2-3.  For the first time since 2001, MBA had won the state championship in track and field! 

Jack Wallace took the baton on the anchor leg about five yards behind the Christian Brothers' runner.  By the first turn, he was even with him, then he pulled away.  On Instagram, I saw a photograph of Jack crossing the finish line, baton raised high, eyes wide open.  He has a look of such intensify on his face.  It's a beautiful photograph that captured what undoubtedly will be one of the high points of Jack's life.  

When I finally talked to JP, he was celebrating on the field with his teammates, as excited as he has ever been, I guess.  Or at least as excited as he's been since our Dodgers won the 11U Cal Ripken state championship in Lawrenceburg.  How many times in your life can you walk off the field, or the track, as a champion?  Not many.

How did I feel?  Jubilant.  Proud.  Relieved.  Happy.  Blessed.  Did I mentioned I felt relieved?

The next morning, before school, JP was bouncing around the kitchen, almost dancing.  For JP, who always is even keeled, this was real emotion, real happiness.  He's understated from an emotional standpoint so to see him so happy meant everything to Jude and me.  Everything. 

MBA Track and Field.  State Champions.  

That has a nice ring to it, doesn't it.

Charlie Wallace, Jack Ferringer, Gabe Guillamondegui, JP.  the 4x800 team.

JP and Jack Wallace.

When the Light Bulb Goes On

It's been a transformative spring basketball season for Joe, or so it seems to me.  Thanks to the coaching he's received from Jered Street and, perhaps, playing with boys he doesn't know, Joe's game has improved in all aspects.  

He's scoring more, although that's not typically Joe's game.  He's stepped his intensity up a notch, which has improved his defense.  He's rebounding more which is tough, because he vertically challenged, so to speak.  Still, he's probably the only player on his team that boxes players out - actually puts his body on them - and consistently fights for rebounding position.  His ball handling has improved, although his left hand needs work.  He's turning the ball over a lot less.  Most importantly, he runs the offense with confidence and continues to be an excellent passer, which is helped by the fact that he sees the basketball court so well.

After last night's game at Murfreesboro Riverdale H.S. - a 10 point loss to bigger, more athletic team - I talked to Coach Street for a few minutes.  Laughing, he told me it was hard for him to take Joe out for the game, because Joe always makes the right basketball play.

Joe always makes the right basketball play.

As a father, as a coach, as a sports fan, there's probably nothing a coach could say that would make me prouder than that.  That's especially true because what Jude and I are trying to do is raise two boys who "always make the right play."  In basketball, in baseball, academically, but more importantly, in life.  What more can a parent want than a child that "always makes the right play."

Last night, off the opening tip, Joe drove the lane and got fouled on a lay up.  He hit both free throws, although the second was disallowed when a teammate hopped in the lane too soon.  A minute or to later, he hit a three pointer, which was big because Joe has struggling this season with his outside shooting.  He finished with seven points and should have had nine, after missing a chippy in the lane on a nifty drive in the second half.

What was most impressive, though, was all of other winning basketball plays Joe made throughout the game.  On offense, he penetrated into the lane several times, then kicked the ball out to a teammate for an open three.  He played unselfishly, because that's who Joe is on and off the basketball court.  He guarded one of the other teams big men with an unmatched intensity, bodying him so much when he was fronting him in the paint to deny him the ball that the boy shoved Joe.  This happens once a game, actually, because Joe is not afraid to be physical with a player bigger than him.  It gets Joe fired up.  It gets his teammates fired up.  It gets the parents fired upon.  Hell, it gets me fired up, to see Joe fight and battle, in the post, undersized every time.

After the game, one of his teammates' parents pulled me aside and complimented Joe on how hard he played on defense, particularly on how he defended bigger players in the post.  I beamed with pride.  Not because Joe's the most skilled, most talented, or most athletic player.  He's not.  But no one on this team works harder, plays with more intensity or with more confidence, at least not as of late.  

When you think about it, there's a life lesson in there, too.  Defense the post.  When you're outmanned, outgunned, out-talented, defend the post.  Inspire others with how hard you work, with how hard you defend the post.  

There was one play last night that, for me, encapsulates where Joe is a basketball player at this exact moment in time.  The pace had become a bit frenetic, up and down the court.  Our boys were pressing in the backcourt after a made basket, which resulted in the other team running a modified fast break.  As a guard passed a ball to the middle of the court, Joe, in a dead spring, got his hand on the ball as the player started to dribble and tipped it away from him for a steal.  The trailing referee called a foul, although he was out of position to do so.

As play stopped and our parents grumbled, Joe reacted with a concentrated fury, throwing his hands up in the air but walking away as he did so, careful not to show up the referee.  I loved the intensity.  That's Joe.   He didn't complain after his brief outburst.  He just walked down court and got ready to play defense.  He was so into the moment, the competition, and that's what I loved the most, I think.

I called my friend, Isaac Conner, on the way home.  Ike played basketball in college at UTC and is an outstanding basketball coach.  I've coached his boys, Cyrus and Elias, in baseball.  When JP was about the same age as Joe is not, he played a season for Ike.  Ike is intense and he coached JP hard, which I absolutely loved.  It completely changed the trajectory of JP's baseball career, such as it was.  He got more confident, played better defense, and rebounded better.  I think that season playing for Ike is why JP played, and stared, on the MBA basketball team in the seventh, eighth, and ninth grade.  

The spring basketball season has been a similar experience for Joe, I think.  Coach Street is a lot like Ike.  Intense.  Focused.  Demanding in a good way.  Joe has thrived in much the same way JP did at the same age.  

I'm just so damn proud of Joe.  It's not always easy, it seems to me, to be JP Newman's little brother.  Still, Joe is making his own way, carving out his own identity.  That's what I want and that's what he seems to be doing.  

Joe always makes the right basketball play.

Stars for a Saturday

Saturday afternoon, I watched Joe's Stars' team play a basketball tournament game at Legacy Courts in Franklin that I'll remember for a long time, maybe forever.

It was an up and down the court game unlike any basketball game I've ever seen 12 and 13 year olds play.  It wasn't that the defense on either team was necessarily poor.  Rather, the shot making for both teams, especially 3 pointers, was outstanding.  Joe's team was a bit overmatched size wise but they made up for it by hitting 3 pointer after 3 pointer.  They actually led 36-30 halftime, in large part because of how well Joe's second unit played, before falling in the end by a score of 79-67.

79-67!  Sixth grade basketball.  Incredible!  But for the other team adding "Johnny Rostercheck" - a player wearing a t-shirt with a taped on number - Joe's team might have won.  

It was the kind of game where, on multiple occasions, our team's parents looked at each other, shaking their heads.  A couple of times, I looked at Amy (Douglas's mom), sitting beside me, and said, incredulously, "What is happening!?!"  It was that kind of game for our boys.  

It was a game where everything seemed to come together.  The practices, the lessons, the discussions, the earlier games this season, several of which were blowout losses to bigger, older, more talented teams.  The boys shared the basketball, almost always making the extra pass to find an open man.  The boys trusted in each other and believed in each other, which was evident in the unselfish way they played.  They played as a TEAM, no easy task when they've only been together for the winter/spring season.

All of this, of course, is a tribute to their coach, Jered Street.  He's the head basketball coach at Page High School.  In a few short months, he's imparted more basketball knowledge in these boys than any of them have gotten their entire lives.  I know that's true for Joe and I suspect it's true for all of his teammates.  

I marvel at what Coach Street has accomplished with these boys.  He's taken an undersized, moderately talented, hustling group of sixth graders and turned them in to a basketball team in the truest sense of the term.  They believe in him wholeheartedly.  On multiple occasions after games, Joe has said to me, laughing and shaking his head, that in the huddle, "Coach Street drew up a play, told us where to be and where to go, and that we would get a wide open bucket, and that's exactly what happened!"  Off a diagram on his clipboard, no less.

At times this spring, especially early on, Jude and I wondered if we had inadvertently over scheduled Joe as it relates to sports.  Jude bore the brunt of having to pick up Joe from USN baseball practice at the River Campus, then drive him down to Page High School for practice.  On top of that, Joe missed some Stars' practices because of a conflict with Armada club soccer practices.  Still, the effort was worth it, because Joe has learned so much about basketball from Coach Street.  More importantly, playing for Coach Street has increased Joe's love of basketball exponentially.

Because it's almost a footnote to how much I enjoyed watching Joe's team play Saturday afternoon - play and compete - Joe played the best basketball game of his life.  He scored ten points, only turned the ball over once late win the game, defended, rebounded, and ran the offense with confidence and precision.  He handled the ball with a sense of purpose and always made the right pass.  His buckets were a result of him pump faking and driving into the paint or cutting to an open space on the baseline, receiving a pass, and hitting a jumper. 

In the second half, he got a bigger boy off his feet with a pump fake, drove the right baseline into the paint, and finger rolled a layup into the cup.  I was astonished because I had not idea that Joe had that movie in his bag.  Immediately, I texted JP, and said, "Joe be like Kyrie." 

And for one play on one Saturday afternoon, Joe was like Kyrie Irving.

What a basketball game.  What a spring basketball season for Joe.

  

A Matter of Seconds

Friday night, it was all happening.  The final day of the Regional Track and Field Meet.  The varsity baseball team played Memphis University School in the first game of a best of three series.  The lacrosse team played Memphis University School in the state semi-finals.  All on a beautiful, albeit slightly chilly, spring night.  I was up for all of it it, too, particularly since JP wasn't scheduled to run the 800 until 8:15 p.m. 

I cut out of work a little early and upon arrival, set top my camping chair in its usual place, off the track, just to the left of the scoreboard.  I watched a couple of races, then wondered over to the baseball game.  There, I ran into Alice and Jerry, who had come to watch the game, too.  I stood with Alice on the overlook beside the press box and watched the last few innings on an exciting MBA win, 1-0.  Connor Hamilton, MBA senior starting pitcher and Vanderbilt baseball signee, was as advertised as he threw a four hit, complete game.  Sadly, MBA lost a double header yesterday to MUS, which brought their season to an abrupt end.

The lacrosse team absolutely smoked MUS, 14-4, to set up a championship game against MBA's biggest rival, Chattanooga McCallie.  I have to think that MBA, led by JP's buddy, junior Cade Sturdivant (a West Point commitment), is the favorite to win their second state title in three years.  Certainly, that's what Knoxville Catholic thought when they forfeited, at the last minute, a quarter final match at MBA rather than face an inevitable drubbing at the hands of the Big Red.  If what I've heard is correct, Knoxville Catholic's forfeit resulted in the TSSAA banning from the lacrosse playoffs next season.  Just desserts, if you ask me.  

As I waited for JP to race, watched several races.  4 x 800, 4 x 100, 400, 110 hurdles, etc.  I've grown to enjoy wondering around the track at meets because there is always something going on.  On top of that, there's time to sit in my camping chair and read, usually the New York Times or the Wall Street Journal one my cell phone.  It is relaxing right up until the third call for JP's race.  At that point, the nerves kick in for me.

Friday night's 800 field was packed, again, with god top level runners.  Jack Wallace, Thomas Arender, and Ryder Ortner all are strong runners in the 800.  I was hoping JP would run well enough to compete with the big dogs, which would require him to run under his current PR in the 800, 158:80.  The fastest high school runners in the 800 typically run around 1:54.  Anything below 1:50 is smoking fast. 

At the start of the race, JP got boxed in just a bit from his starting position in lane 4.  However, as the boys rounded the second turn on the first of two laps, he followed right behind Thomas Arender and quickly moved into fourth place, behind Jack Wallace and Ryder Ortner.  As Jack and Ryder tried to pull away near the last run of the first lap, JP stayed with the group of four, running slightly behind them but maintaining contact.  

He continued to stay with the group of four through the first half of the second lap, too.  For a brief moment, I thought I might be about to witness an unexpected finish if managed to pull even with Jack Wallace, in the lead, or Ryder, in second place.  As the runners neared the final turn, however, JP tired and dropped slightly back.  Jack Wallace won and Thomas Arender finished strong to nip Ryder Ortner at the finish line for second place.  

JP finished fourth but ran hard until the end.  The biggest news, for him, was that he clocked in at 1:56:52, a PR for him by more than two seconds, which was absolutely huge.  A sophomore who has played baseball all spring, running track part time and training on his own, running a 1:56:52 is impressive.  Very impressive.  The best part, of course, is that he felt much better about his finish in the 800 than he did about his finish in 3200 on Tuesday night.

In the end, his time was the 10th fastest in the state for MBA's divisional.  He was two spots out of qualified for the state finals in the 800.  It was quite an accomplishment for JP and made me even more excited at what's ahead for him on the track, at the state meet and for the next two years as an upperclassman at MBA.

Mind Game

Exam season is upon JP, starting today at MBA.  It's a lot of pressure, for sure, but JP has put the work in, and he will keep putting the work in, to get to the finish line.  Still, I said a quick prayer for him this morning because I know it's a lot.  

Next year, in seventh grade, Joe will have his first exam season in December.  For now, though, Joe is living the life of Riley as a sixth grader at USN.  P.E.  Recess.  Lunch.  Field trips.  All of the fun stuff.  I've encouraged him to especially enjoy the end of the school year with his friends because this is the end of the line for his group.  I'll write more about his later, I know, but Joe's been with his group for seven years.  That will change next year, just as it did for JP's crew, when the boys split off to go to different schools.  

JP races tonight in the Region at MBA.  He's running the 800 in what I know will be a fast field.  I hope he runs his best race.

Tuesday, he ran the 3200 in the Region, also at MBA.  Jack Wallace ran away with the race, as he finished it in a blistering 9:05 +, .27 off the school record set last year by Samuel Trumble.  Thomas Arender finished a distant second, although he ran with Jack the first three laps or so.  

In reality, it was two races.  Jack and Thomas ran one race.  JP, Gabe, Clark Steffen, and a few others ran the second race.  JP led the second group from the inside lane the entire race, which was tough to do from a tactical standpoint.  In my mind, it's harder to lead a race of any distance wire to wire, particularly when your competition tucks in right behind you and runs on your hip the entire race, which is what Gabe did.  

At the halfway point of the eighth and final lap, Gabe pulled ahead of JP and out kicked him in the end to finish in third place.  JP finished fourth.  Gabe and JP ran PR's, which was impressive.  Although the official result haven't been posted yet for some reason, I believe JP finished slightly under 9:30, which was his goal.  

It's going be fun to watch JP and Gabe compete against each other the next two years.  As I've said since last fall, they're going to make each other better runners.

Missing the Vibe

For me, it's always been a bit sad when the Belmont U. students leave for the summer.  Yes, things are less congested in the neighborhood, parking is easier, and the pace seems to slow down a bit.  What's lost, though, is the synergy that exists between denizens off the neighborhood and Belmont students.  There's a youthful, infectious energy - something that's palpable - that's created by the students when they're in school, walking across campus or through the neighborhood, or having coffee and studying in Bongo Java.

What's got mean a little down this morning - other than the rain outside and the fact that it's Monday ("'Rainy days and Mondays always get me down . . . ") - is that as I sit here in Bongo Java, sipping my coffee, the vibe is totally different than it has been all spring.  It's subdued.  Quiet, even.  The music is different, too, not the seventies songs that Michelle (Herbes) was playing every morning.  A graduate assistant for the cross country and track team, she's finished her two year tenure at Belmont and is returning home to Oregon soon.  

From what I observed, she appeared to be the catalyst for the upbeat vibe in Bongo Java this spring.  A connector that bound together the disparate group of baristas.  Today, none of the baristas or other employees are talking to each other.  As of late, they stood behind the counter, smiling and laughing, clearly enjoying each other's company and making customers feel like this was a place where you can get your day off to a good start.  Today, Michelle is gone and it's silent as a tomb.

The list of baristas who have temporarily brightened my mornings over the years is extensive.  The tough thing, though, is that working as a barista is the most temporary of jobs.  All baristas are on their way to somewhere else, to another life.  That's understandable but for someone who thrives on routing, on a certain sameness, it's not always easy to adjust.  

Over the weekend at the end of my month off social media, I connected on Instagram with Rachel (late of the Frothy Monkey), who had posted about how much she and her husband, Josh, missed their days managing Frothy Monkey.  The two of them made magic at Frothy Monkey.  For a time, it was my port in the storm on Saturday mornings when I stopped their for coffee before driving to Franklin to visit my mom at NHC Place.  She loved Frothy Monkey's cookies.  Those were tough mornings, so it was nice to visit with Josh (or Grant) on Saturday mornings, talk music or a little baseball, as I gathered myself to go see my mom.

The baristas at Bongo Java that fell in love with my boys and or family is legion.  Almost too numerous to mention, really.  I keep up with a select few on Instagram (George Dorrance, Ayla, EJ Holmes), though I never see them. 

Recently, a couple of the mainstays have left Dose, too.  It's interesting how in a small coffee shop, just one or two departures can change the vibe.  

Time to venture off into a rainy Monday, to Lebanon, to see if I can find a way to get my Tennessee Real I.D., whatever that is.   

The Captain

For reasons I won't go into - at least not here and not today - Joe's 2012 Armada club soccer team appears to be splintering at the end of the spring season.  

Earlier this spring in Cleveland, Tennessee.

Some players already were going to stop playing club soccer as they enter middle school and the academic and athletic requirements become more rigorous.  That may well be the case with Joe, as he enters 7th grade at MBA this fall.  A few others are in the same boat as Joe.

On top of that, Armada's Director, Gabe, foolishly allowed a rift to develop with Mario, the coach of Joe's team, as result of which Mario is leaving for a job as Technical Director at a newly formed soccer club.  Unless I miss my guess, many of Joe's teammates will leave Armada and follow Mario to the new soccer club.  The best player is likely to join Nashville Soccer Club's Youth Academy, which is a huge loss.  

It's unfortunate to see Joe's team break up because it's such a good group of boys and families.  The team has grown up together, in a way, in the three years that the boys have been together.  Moreover, the team has improved tremendously the last two years under Mario's tutelage.  These things happen, of course, in club or travel sports but it's the first time the boys have experienced it.

Yesterday, Joe's Armada team played their first game of a weekend tournament in Franklin.  Late in the afternoon, it appeared highly unlikely the game would be played because it pouring rain.  I drove to Honest Coffee Roasters about 4 p.m. to get some work done, still dressed for work, waiting for the call that the game was off.  Sure enough, the rain stopped and just like that, the game was on.  I changed clothes and drove over to the soccer complex on Downs Boulevard.  

I missed most of the first half, which was fine because Joe and Liam split halves in goal.  Joe usually plays goalie the second half, as was the case yesterday.  It turned out to be a beautiful early May evening to watch soccer, although it was a little nippy.  When I arrived, Armada was winning 2 - 1.  Liam warmed up Joe in goal at halftime as I talked to Liam's dad, Adam, who has become one of my all time favorite soccer friends.

Unlike the first half, Armada's opponent dominated possession most of the beginning of the second half, and Joe had quite a bit of action in goal.  He played well.  Aggressive, communicative, vocal, and in control.  It was probably the most confident I have seen him in goal this season.  Thanks to Luke's artistry, Armada scored a couple of goals midway through the second half to lead 4 - 1.  Armada added a fifth goal on a nifty pass, almost an alley-oop, from Luke to Hamed that led to goal.  

Joe got caught out of position late, having moved up almost to midfield, only to have the other team send the ball upfield quickly to a player who got behind him.  The result was an easy goal but in the end, Armada own 5 - 2 in a bit of a laugher.

The best part of the game, for me, was what happened immediately after the referee blew his whistle three times to signal the end of the game.  Joe, in his light blue goalie's jersey, sprinted from the goal to our left to midfield, arriving before any of his teammates left the field.  Why?  So he could give every teammate a handshake as he arrived at Armada's sideline.  

That, in essence, is Joe in any sport, on any team, in any athletic contest.  A leader.  The heart and soul of any team he plays on.  A connector.  Always supportive of his teammates.  I'll say it again.  A leader.

The Captain.  

I still remember the telephone call I got from Caleb, his Armada soccer team's first coach.  Before a weekend tournament in Murfreesboro, he wanted me to know he had named Joe the captain and that he was going to announce it to the team on Saturday morning at the first game.  When I asked why, he told me that Joe ran the drills for half of the group at practice, was the most vocal player and the best communicator, and that his teammates respected him.  

I was one damn proud father during that telephone call.  I was one damn proud father last night, too, watching Joe set his defense on direct or corner kickers, shout encouragement to his teammates during the game, and handle the soccer ball with poise and confidence after making stops in goal.  And, of course, watching him congratulate every teammate as they walked off the field after a solid win.

Since Mario arrived and certainly, this season, I'm not sure Joe has officially been designated the captain, although Mario always has been complementary of his leadership skills on our conversations.  He doesn't wear the captain's sleeve like he did when he played for Caleb.  Actually, no one wears the captain's sleeve so, to me, Joe is still the captain.

I don't know where Joe will go in soccer from here or, for that matter, if he will continue playing.  That really hit me for the first time a week or so ago, as Jude and I made plans for the fall and discussed Joe's course load at MBA and the time constraints he will be operating under.  If this spring is it, for Joe and this  2012 Armada team, it's been a memorable run and won I am glad I had a front row seat to watch.

The Captain.

Extra Innings

And just like that, it was over.

JP started in centerfield and batted eighth last night in MBA's junior varsity semifinal game against a loaded Christ Presbyterian Academy team.  Will Brock pitched valiantly for MBA and the game was tied, 1-1, after four innings.  He tired, though, and CPA scored two runs in the fifth, sixth, and seventh innings to win the game, 7-1.  

CPA is an older, bigger, more experienced team, especially since they started at least one varsity baseball player, Josh VanOrman, in the game.  The boys fought the entire game and, in the end, got beat by a better team.  There is no shame in that, to be sure.  All in all, it was a good season and MBA's young team, dominated by freshman, gained valuable experience that will pay off down the line.  I fully expect the core of this group to contend for state championships in 2027 and 2028.

JP couldn't quite catch a deep fly ball hit over his head, close to the wall, in dead center field, in the second inning.  The official scorer ruled it a hit but I think JP would like to have caught it.  He got turned around a bit as he tried to go back on the baseball, which happened once earlier in the season.  He's had to learn to play outfield on the fly this season as, for the most part, he's been an infielder his entire baseball career.  He's versatile, though, so he's made it work.  He's made some nice plays, too.

In his only at bat, JP struck out against a very good CPA pitcher who only allowed a couple of hits in six innings.  What I liked - no, what I loved - about the at bat was that JP went down swinging.  All three strikes were balls he swung at and, on top of that, he fouled a pitch off, too.  If memory serves, the count was 1-2 when he struck out.

JP went down swinging.

As a father, that's all I can ask for.  Step into the box against a very good pitcher, throwing hard, and get your hacks in.  Let the rest take care of itself.  In baseball and in life, that's a pretty good philosophy.  Get your hacks in and go down swinging.  

After he batted, Coach Anderson pulled JP, and Whitt went in to play centerfield.  Honestly, I was okay with that.  I very much appreciated that Coach Anderson started JP and got him an at bat.  Whitt is a good ballplayer, had family there, too, and deserved to play.

JP had quite a contingent of fans there to support him.  Jude, Joe, Jane, Jim, Tracy, Alice, Jerry, and me, all  sitting in camping chairs along the fence between the bleachers and MBA's third base dugout.  Gavin O'Heir sat with us, as well, entertaining everyone with his banter.  Of all of the friends I've made watching JP play baseball, he's probably my favorite.  Boston born and bred, I feel like I've known him all of my life.

It was a good, suspenseful high school baseball game.  

For me, it wasn't about that game.  It was about the hundreds of games that came before it.  Fields 4 and 5 at Harpeth Hills Church of Christ in WNSL's Wookie league with me on one knee, pitching to four and five year old boys, including JP.  Machine pitch games in Warner Park on fields 2, 3, and 4 in the Rookie League.  Kid pitch baseball, also on fields 2, 3, and 4 in the Minor League.  Big boy baseball on regulation fields - 1 and 5 and Warner Park - in the Major League and the Prep League.

And, of course, All-Star games and travel baseball games in ballparks all over Middle and East Tennessee.  

Brutally hot summer days in June and July and cold nights in October.  Coaching in so many different dugouts, followed the last few years by camping chairs and quiet conversation as I watched JP play for other coaches.  All of it.  

And just like that, it was over.

Surprisingly, this morning I feel relieved more than sad.  I realize that will probably change.  Perhaps it's because JP tweaked his knee coming out of the box on a ground ball Friday night, so much so that he cut his running workout short on Saturday morning.  I think he's okay.  Still, it was a reminder of where he feels like his focus should be now, and that's running. Cross country and track.

What makes me happy is he left baseball on his terms.  His choice, not someone else's.  And, as I said, he went down swinging.  

I'm so proud of JP.  Great teammate.  Hard worker.  Quiet leader.  Competitive.  Courageous.  All of those things and so much more.

After the game, I thanked Coach Anderson as I shook his hand.  "JP's a great boy," he said.  "A pleasure to coach."  Yes, he is.  

And just like that, it was over.

It's time to move on, it's time to get going, what lies ahead I have no way of knowing.

- Tom Petty

No. 1 Seed

MBA's Junior Varsity team is young.  9 freshman, 4 sophomores, and 1 junior.  The freshman can really play, which has caused me to think all season long that when they in a couple of years, MBA is going to have an outstanding baseball team.  I could be wrong but I suspect they will compete state championships in 2027 and 2028.  

As I've discovered, the end of a season in high school sports is bittersweet.  I recall feeling this way at the end of baseball season last year and at the end of cross country season this year.  Just when you really start to get to know the parents, and the boys, the season suddenly ends.  To an extent, that's probably what the entire 4-year experience of high school with each of our boys will be like for us.  

After being rained out Friday evening, the boys played another archival, Father Ryan, yesterday afternoon at CPA.  JP started and played center field, as Whitt pitched.  If it were a hockey game, I would describe it as a chippy contest.  Both dugouts chirped at each other throughout the game.  Father Ryan's pitcher set the tone in the second inning when he caught a comebacker and rather than throw the ball to first base for an easy out, he raced the batter up the baseline and stepped on first base himself, turning back an sneering in the process.

An inning or so later, Whitt, pitching by far his best game of the season, did almost exactly the same thing.  He added a twist, however, giving the baserunner the peace sign as he beat him to the bag on a ball hit right back to him.  Unbeknownst to me, that's Tyreke Hill's (Dolphins' receiver) signature move when he streaks past a defender for a touchdown.  That got Father Ryan's dugout going.  After one of their players yelled "Billy Badass," MBA's dugout responded in kind.  Archrivals.

A couple of innings later, Whitt "sworded" a Father Ryan batter after he struck him out to end the inning, so Coach Anderson pulled him.  I love Whitt's competitiveness but he probably needs to channel it more effectively.  He's a funny kid, though, and a real competitor.  I enjoy watching him play baseball.  

It was a real pitcher's duel to be sure, as the 1-1 score held up through all seven innings.  JP was at the plate in the bottom of the seventh with two outs when Bennett was picked off first base for the second time in the game.  JP walked in a good at bat early, then later grounded out.  He made a nice play in the top of the seventh inning in center field, ranging far to his left to catch a fly ball.  I thought it might carry but he judged it perfectly.

The game ended in a tie.  MBA won a coin flip and got the overall #1 seed.  The boys play CPA on Monday night.  Here we go.

The Last Out

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about the end of things.  

As Joe finishes 6th grade in less than 30 days, our family's time at University School of Nashville will end.  11 years in total between JP and Joe.  Really good years, too, at a place where our boys have been nurtured and seen.  It's been quite a run.

Although it's been in the works for a while, Harris Baseball Club and Harris Training are coming to an end.  The boys have played travel baseball for HBC the last few years.  Brian's lease ended and the building was sold, as a result of which the facility on Wilhagen Road, off Murfreesboro Road, where the boys have trained and practiced so many times, is closing.  

JP's baseball season ends this weekend with the junior varsity tournament.  Although you never know, it's quite possible JP's won't play competitive baseball again after this weekend.  As I've written, that's a bitter pill for me to swallow in so many ways.  It's almost unfathomable for me to imagine a spring or summer when JP is not playing baseball.  

Yesterday was the last game of the regular season for JP's team.  A home game vs. Brentwood Academy.  He started and played centered field.  In his only at bat, he struck out.  What was really cool, though, was that JP got to pitch in a key spot.  

I was so happy for him because he hasn't pitched much at all the last couple of years, playing on the junior varsity team.  It's been an adjustment for him, and for me, since he's always been a pitcher.  A good one, too.  Great control although not a ton of velocity.  The 75 pitch complete game he threw in a 1-0 loss to David Lipscomb in the last tournament game as an 8th grader was a game I will never forget.  

Yesterday, Coach Anderson brought him in from center field to pitch in the top of the 4th inning, with runners on second and third and one out.  On a 2-1count, Brentwood Academy called a suicide squeeze.  The hitter go the bunt down, which JP fielded as the run scored.  He whirled and threw to first for the out.  Brentwood Academy got greedy, however, and the runner who had been on second base was thrown out  by MBA's first baseman as he tried to score, too.

In the top of the 5th inning, JP gave up a single to right field on a sinking fly ball down the line.  The next batter punched a line drive just past Bennett at third base, who dove to his left but couldn't come up with the ball.  Pitching against the smallest ballplayer on either team, JP quickly got top 0-2, then left a fastball out over the plate.  The hitter lined it into right center field, tying the game up at 7-7.  JP got out of the inning with no more damage and, in the end, MBA won 9-7.  Solid win.

If it's the last regular season baseball game plays, it was a pretty good way to go out.  He played center field.  He batted.  He pitched.  JP always has been the ultimate utility player, Jose Oquendo style.  There is not position he cannot play.  He made the MBA middle school "A" team as a 7th grader solely because he could play catcher.  He wasn't a catcher but he could play catcher.

At Brentwood Academy on Tuesday, JP started in center field and in his first at bat, stayed back on a 1-2 curve ball and stroked it into right field for a hit.  Unfortunately, he was doubled off when he attempted to steal second on the first pitch and the batter popped up to the second baseman.  

The batter, of course, should have been taking the first pitch since JP was stealing but so it goes.  The baseball intellect on his team isn't the highest.  Perhaps that will change as the freshman get older and mature.  Perhaps it won't.  In baseball, it's the little things that matter.

What I loved the most and what almost made me cry, though, was watching JP hustle out with a catcher's mitt to warm up the pitcher in between innings after Coach Anderson removed him from the game earlier than I would have preferred after his base hit in the second inning.  JP loves baseball and above all else, he loves being part of a team.  He's a leader and the ultimate team player. 

Lately, I've been flooded - literally flooded - with memories of JP and baseball.  Throwing with him on the strip of grass at Mt. Gilead Baptist Church (gone now) across from our old house after dinner, before dark.  

Throwing batting practice to him in the cages at Harpeth Hills Church of Christ and Warner Park.

Running practices and coaching games for his team with Chris Taylor, Randy Kleinstick, Will Wright, and Tony Weeks.  I miss those days terribly and will cherish the memories forever.

Celebrating the 11U state championship with JP and the rest of the Dodgers in Lawrenceburg and smiling as JP was handed his all-tournament trophy.  

Hitting JP fungoes at Rose Park so many times.  Doing the same on the baseball field at Sewanee whenever we visited.  

Those memories are front and center this week along with so many more.  Too numerous to write about, really. 

Last Sunday, JP and Joe asked me to go with them to the facility (Harris Baseball Training) to throw some batting practice.  Of course, I went.  I did so, though, with a heavy heart, knowing that it might be my last time to throw batting practice to JP.  Brian has begun to dismantle and remove some of the gear there, which made me even more nostalgic for baseball days gone by.  

Spending an hour or so with JP and Joe, throwing batting practice and talking baseball, with no one else around.  Listening to reggae on the Brian's Turtle Box.  Just putting in some work.  It was, maybe, a perfect way to bookend so many years of baseball with JP.  I think the end of all of that is here, this week.

Last night in the first tournament game, JP didn't play against Ensworth.  I was disappointed, for him but not for me.  I want to go out playing, not sitting.  

Still, it was a fabulous game, a 4 - 2 MBA win that Aidan punctuated after the game ending strikeout by looking into the Ensworth dugout and furtively putting his index finger to his lips.  Just for an instant.  Shhhh.  No one saw it but me and I loved it because, as usual, the Ensworth dugout had been obnoxious. 

Incidentally, I sat beside and talked the entire game with the grandfather of Ensworth's center fielder (Cooper).  He's 78, a retired dentist and Detroit native.  He was in a wheelchair, as he's fighting pancreatic cancer.  It was such a blessing to sit with in and talk baseball.  The 1969 Tigers.  The 1984 Tigers.  World champions, both.  Life is beautiful at the most unexpected times.  His name is John and his daughter (Cooper's mother) is Stacy.  

When Chris Taylor texted me to see if JP was running in the Great Eight at David Lipscomb, I felt a little guilty for briefly wishing I was there, with JP, instead of watching a baseball game in which he wasn't playing.   

All good things must come to an end, I know.  Never say never, of course, but it's probably time.  

My life has been enriched beyond measure over the years by sharing the game of baseball with my sons.  God has blessed me with two boys who love baseball - and all sports, really - like I do.  What an incredible gift I've been given.  I wouldn't change a second of the time I've spent with JP, baseball gloves on our left hands.  Throwing.  Fielding.  Hitting.  Talking.  All of it, a gift.  

WNSL Dodgers forever.