Memories of Baseball (Vol. 1)

Recently, Thomas McDaniel and I had a telephone conversation, followed by an e-mail exchange, about how much we have enjoyed coaching our sons and their friends over the years.  Thomas in basketball with Pike, Joe, and their crew, and me in baseball, first with JP and, later Joe.  

The Bucket Squad and the Dodgers.  It was quite a run for both teams.  

I have been feeling especially nostalgic lately, as Pike, Joe, and their teammates have begun to wind down their time playing together on the Bucket Squad.  More and more, I have found myself missing my baseball coaching days tremendously.  Right about now, we would be in the middle of all-star baseball, playing every weekend at a quaint old ballpark in another small town.  Donelson.  Mt. Juliet.  Lawrenceburg.  Lewisburg.  I loved every one of those ballparks.  We'd be practicing two or three days a week, too.  All baseball, all the time. 

My friend, Audrey, sent me a photo of her son, Huck and Joe, with me, after the boys won an all-star tournament title in Donelson.  They played for Scott McRae, who died this winter, far too young.  I love the photo.  Huck and Joe are so happy and so innocent, as they point their championship rings toward the camera.  

I telephone Audrey after she sent me the photo to thank her for it.  I told her how much I had enjoyed coaching Huck.  One of my all-time favorites.  Emotional but, damn, he cared so much . . .  about how he played and how the team performed.  I'll take a kid who is emotional and cares every time, because that's coachable.  I can teach him how to dial it back but it's much more difficult to teach him to care and to compete.  

Audrey told me that on several occasions, she has overheard Huck telling his travel baseball teammates on the Redbirds, "Coach Phil would never let that happen."  Or, "here's how Coach Phil would do it."  

I mean, damn.  That made me so happy.  

All the practices in the spring, summer, and fall of years past.  All the baseball games.  All the e-mails to parents.  All the conversations with my assistant coaches.  It was all worth it.  Every single second I spent coaching baseball.  All of it.  It was all worth it.

I only wish I could do it again.  

Maybe it's the time of year or the fact that a couple of weeks ago, I watched so many of the boys I coached graduate from high school.  Maybe it's that JP is 18, a rising senior, and leaving on Monday for three weeks in Tasmania as part of an MBA exchange program.  Maybe it's because I turn 60 years old in less than a month.  

For whatever reason, I find myself longing for another baseball season to coach my sons and their friends.  One more season.  It's like an ache that won't go away.  It's palpable.  Lately, once a day something will remind me of one of my teams, one of my players, or call up a memory of a long ago baseball practice or game.  A win.  A loss.  A lesson learned, by a player or more often, by me.

Every boy I ever coached taught me something and enriched my life in some way.  Every single one.  And I'm grateful for the memories.  So grateful.

 

  

 

The Kid 2.0

A couple of weeks ago, Joe told me he wanted to run cross country this fall, as an 8th grader at MBA.

I was skeptical at first, for several reasons.  Joe didn't seem to enjoy cross country that much when he ran at USN as a 6th grader.  He didn't seem to be very interested in putting the work in to be in the kind of shape he needed to be in to race comfortably.  He also had some breathing issues when we ran that were a little bit concerning, although I was never sure if they were related to, perhaps, a touch of exercise induced asthma or not having the cardiovascular fitness that he needed to run two or three miles in the heat.  Mostly, I didn't think he really enjoyed it.  

I also didn't want Joe to run cross country simply to follow in JP's footsteps.  As I have told Joe repeatedly, it's important to me for him to strike his own path, not just at MBA but in life.  I want his experience at MBA to be his experience, not one he's trying to fashion after his big brother's experience at MBA.  I think that's really, really important.

I've always been hands off when it comes to running and my boys.  Obviously, running has been one of the mainstays of my life for 40 years.  It's my north star.  No matter what is going on in my life, I have running.  Work can be crazy, like it is now.  I can be stressed, like I am now.  I can be sad, as I have been at different times in my life, like when my mom was fighting Alzheimer's or when she died, and I still have running.  Running never leaves me.  It's my constant companion, always there, always waiting patiently for me to return.  In some ways, running is my best, my loyal friend.

I want my boys to have that kind of a lifelong relationship with running or, at the very least, with some type of a physical fitness related activity.  How do I help them find it?  I do that, I think, by letting the boys come to running and by me not taking running to the boys.  This is the way.

Slowly, I've come around to Joe running regularly again.  Slowly to him, that is.  Inside, when he told me he wanted to run cross country, my heart was jumping for joy.  Still, I am easing into it with him.  At his request, I sent JP with him to Team Nashville and Terry hooked him up with some running shoes.  I'm going to get him a watch, too, because he'd like to be able to monitor his pace and, more importantly, know how far he is running when goes on runs.

Yesterday, I worked from home.  Joe asked me if we could run in the morning. "Of course," I replied, and we did.  We ran up Belmont Blvd. to Belmont U., around the grassy area, back down past our house and over to Hearts in 12South.  Two miles for him and three miles for me, as I ran one mile before I picked up Joe at the house to get two miles in.  We sat at the bar at Hearts, talked about real estate, and had a nice breakfast, then walked home.  A perfect summer morning for me. 

Last night, he asked if I was going to run this morning.  "Sure," I said.  "Can I come with you?" he asked.  "Of course," I replied, again.  Of course he can run with me.  

We ran a bit of a different route, up to Belmont U. again but, this time, down and around to Portland Avenue and back home.  I dropped him off at the house, then I ran down to 8th & Roast, my current favorite coffee shop.  

In our run, I think a saw something today.  A glimpse, maybe, of little of that joy in Joe.  The joy of running.  Of feeling good.  Feeling strong.  Feeling confident.  That's what running can do for you.  That's what running will do for you if you commit yourself to it.  

Every run with one of my boys is a gift.  A true gift and something I never, ever take for granted.  

      

A Week in DC and Another Close One

Joe returned home Saturday evening from a week away.  He had been on a Wilson Grant trip, with 14 classmates, to Washington D.C.  It was a great experience for him - one that JP had in seventh grade, too - and one that we're grateful MBA provides through the Wilson Grant Program.  Joe got to spend time and become friends with some of his classmates that he didn't really know well, before the trip, which is kind of what it's all about.  

It was a trip packed with sightseeing with a historical emphasis.  One of the chaperones on the trip was Mr. McMurray, Joe's history teacher last year in a class that he thoroughly enjoyed.  It all worked out very well, actually.  Joe's favorite things to do were going to the Washington Nationals' game, where the boys took off their shirts in between innings and were shown on the Jumbotron, much to their delight.  He also was really taken with the Spy Museum, which I had never heard of.  An intern who is a graduate of MBA and working for Senator Hagerty gave them a tour of the Senate Chamber, which Joe enjoyed.

JP tried one final time to qualify for New Balance Nationals in Philadelphia by running the mile in a Toad track event at Green Hill High School in Mt. Juliet.  He ran hard, set a new PR at 4:20:12, but came up a little more than two seconds short of the 4:18 time he needed to qualify.  He was disappointed, of course, but seemed a little more philosophical about it than he was after the mile race at Lee University a couple of weeks ago.  

JP was in the second heat when, in reality, he should have been in the first and fastest heat.  Two of the other competitive runners in his heat didn't show up, so he led wire to wire and won his heat easily.  The problem, though, was that after the pacer left the track after two laps, it was harder to maintain the pace he needed to run a 4:18.  If he would have run in the first heat, chasing faster, collegiate runner, might have helped him run just a bit faster.  That's track, though, so we'll never know.

He ran the 800 a little more than an hour after the mile race, and clocked a respectable 1:57 +.  It was slower than the PR he ran in the 800 at Lee University (1:55:02) but still impressive, as he raced the 800 after having just raced the mile a little earlier.  My guess is he would have been close to sub-1:55 had he run only the 800.  

In the big picture, JP finished the track season strong, I think, setting PR's race after race.  Yes, it's tough to wonder what might have been had he not been hurt early and missed more than one month of training time.  But, again, that's track.  I'm proud of how hard he worked to get back and how he's performed since he got back.

Sunday afternoon, Joe played in a couple of tournament games in Donelson with his Bucket Squad basketball team.  Nash was in California, but Thomas McDaniel picked up three boys from the Stars' Gold team.  The boys won two games on Saturday to gain the top seed in their pool.  Through the grapevine, I heard that Pike had broken out of his Stars' shooting slump and was raining 3's during both games on Saturday.

Sunday, it was the same thing.  Pike looked like a different player, and not just because he was sporting a summer crew cut.  In game one, he hit 3 after 3 to the point that the other team's parents were talking about what a pure shooter he is.  Joe hit a 3 early then, later, hit a step back 3, which I didn't know he had in his bag.  A little James Harden.  He made some nifty passes, as well, and ran the offense with confidence.

I left partway through the final game, which the Bucket Squad won by 5.  Joe played okay, although not as well as the first game.  He thought he was fouled on a 3-pointer early in the second half and complained to the referee in a way that I am not comfortable with.  Private school basketball, I call it, when a young player doesn't get a call, turns his hands over and palms up, whines and complains to the referee.  

A play or two later, a kid came over Joe's back to get a rebound and, again, Joe didn't get the call.  Why?  Because he complained so much about not getting the previous call.  That's how it works.  We talked about it afterwards and, hopefully, Joe will clean that up in the future.

It was a good tournament title for the Bucket Squad.  It reminded me of how much more free and loose the boys play when the coach is relaxed and not uptight.  I was proud of Joe and all his teammates.  

Bucket Squad.  Joe, Thomas McDaniel, Pike, Rex, Cole, Elliott, Aaron, and Chandler.