Baseball Days

It's baseball season, spring soon to roll into summer, and I couldn't be happier.  There is no place I'd rather be that on a baseball field, coaching.  It doesn't matter if it's a practice or a game.  Along with running, it's the activity in my life that brings me the most joy.  

I've had to adapt this spring to watching JP and his middle school team play baseball, as opposed to coaching him, and them.  It's been an adjustment, for sure, but one I've enjoyed, as well.  Although work has made it difficult to get to some of the games, given the 4:15/4:30 pm start times, I've made it to most of them.

For the most part, JP has played on the A team for MBA, as the only 7th grader on the 8th grade team.  Although he hasn't seen a lot of playing time, it's been good for him to play with the 8th graders.  The A team gets priority on practice time and scheduled games and I'm glad he's gotten the work in with better players.  JP's a team player and he's done everything asked of him, playing backup catcher, right and left field, and second base.  For right now, anyway, he's the ultimate utility player.

Friday, his team played it's last game of the regular season against Catholic (a parochial school all-star team).  MBA got up big, early, and was leading 10-2 by the end of the third inning, when Coach Martin began substituting freely.  Ethan (one of my Dodgers) batted and struck out.  J.D. (also an occasional Dodger and a longtime member of the Dirtbags) came in to play third base and JP came in to play right field.  

Unfortunately, a melange (I love that word) of walks and errors allowed Catholic to score six runs in the top of the 4th inning.  In the bottom of the 4th inning, with JP on deck, J.D. had a tremendous at bat, 13 or 14 pitches.  He fouled off 7 or 8 balls, then worked the pitcher for a walk, which left runners on first and third, with two outs, and JP at bat.  MBA needed an insurance run and JP needed a hit, to continue to build his confidence if nothing else.

This is where the watching gets tough for me.  I always sit to the left, behind the backstop, in a camping chair, usually still wearing my coat and tie from work.  I was nervous, not for me but for JP, because I wanted him to taste a little success.  I wanted to see him deliver in a clutch situation.  I knew that would be big for him.

JP watched a first pitch strike, as he usually does.  I like the fact that JP is not afraid to go deep in the count against any pitcher.  I think he likes to see a pitch or two and because he is a very good curve ball hitter, he's not afraid to get behind when he's batting.  I do wish he'd be a little more aggressive at the plate sometimes but his approach is his approach, and it's been successful by and large.  

The second pitch was down the middle but a little high, a border line strike.  JP fouled is straight back, which meant he had timed the pitcher up.  That's assuming, of course, the pitcher didn't throw him a curve ball or changeup next, always a possibility at this age.  My heart began to beat a little harder in my chest, as I watched JP in what I like to call a high leverage baseball situation.  Runners on first and third, two outs, two strikes.  

The third pitch was a fastball, again down the middle and a little high.  Too close to take.  Hands back.  Left foot stepping forward as the pitch approached.  Hips rotating.  JP swung and the first thing I noticed was the sound - indescribable, really - of a composite bat barreling up a baseball.  Almost startling in its volume.  I watched as ball flew straight and hard into left field, through the gap between third base and shortstop.  A clean, well struck line drive into left field.  An RBI single.

Instinctively and spontaneously, I jumped up from my seat, clapped my hands together and yelled, "JP!  Way to go, JP!"  Sheepishly, I sat down rather quickly, surprised by the intensity of the moment.  In that instant, though, I felt such pride.  I also felt a sense of relief, too.  Mostly, I was happy for JP.  

As he ran to first and rounded the base, JP's teammates in the dugout - to my immediate left - erupted in cheers for him.  A clutch hit that stretched the lead to 11-8.  The next batter made an out, the Drake closed out of the win with a 1-2-3 bottom of the 5th inning.  Another win for the Big Red and a clutch hit for JP. 

It was a good ride home.

Yesterday, Joe's Diamondback had a doubleheader.  Joe was playing both ends following a morning soccer game.  I was little concerned that Joe was starting at pitcher in the first game, then catching the second game, given it would be our first warm afternoon of the spring - 85 degrees - on the heels of non-stop running for his soccer game.  As always, though, Joe is a gamer and my concern was misplaced. 

He pitched well for three innings, throwing slightly more than 50 pitches.  When I asked him how he felt after the first two innings, he looked at me incredulously and said, "I'm good, Dad.  I want to keep pitching."  Joe.

He doesn't throw hard - certainly not as hard as Oliver's son, Preston - but he's accurate, just like JP at that age.  The similarities are uncanny, really, in how they pitch and in their approach.  JP and Joe both have grit and never are afraid of the moment.  I love that about both of them.  Joe can heat it up on occasion but he doesn't constantly throw hard.  That will come in time, I think.

After an easy win in the first game, Joe caught Preston in the second game.  Although he's not caught all season, he did well.  Preston was dialed in on the mound, more so than he has been all season.  Through three innings, he was pitching a perfect game, something I've never seen in youth baseball.  Economical with his pitches and throwing gas, the other team didn't have much of a chance.  Rex, in centerfield, caught a fly ball in the second or third inning to preserve the perfecto.

Finally, in the top of the 4th inning, the leadoff hitter drilled a ground ball right back at Preston, who got his glove on it.  Ram, at shortstop fielded the deflected ball cleanly and threw it to Nico at first base but the runner beat the throw.  Clear base hit, although Preston wanted it to be an error, which would at least preserve the no hitter.  Afterwards, he was disappointed, at least initially, to lose the perfect game and the no hitter on the same play.  

Final score, 20-0.  

I was proud of Joe, who hit well, particularly in the second game.  Several boys had big hits.  Ram hit a line drive up the middle, something he has been looking to do for a while.  George followed up a strikeout, looking, with a triple, which was big for him.  Nash absolutely smoked two ground balls, one of which rolled almost to the fence, as he ended up with a triple, as well.

I coached first base int he sedan game, which I love because it gives me a chance to interact with the boys, individually, and coach them up during the game.  Leadoffs after the pitch crossed home plate, stealing second base, not running into a tag when there is not a force play at third base, etc.  Baseball stuff.  

As I sat on our back deck late yesterday afternoon and had a Bearded Iris "Tunnel Vision" IPA, unwinding, I smiled to myself and savored the moment.  A great game for JP on Friday afternoon and two great games for Joe on Saturday.  

Oliver, taking with the boys after their 20-0 game two victory.  The lesson?  Sportsmanship, especially when you're winning big, because it's not fun being on the other side of a score like that, and our boys have been there.  

JP and Joe, after MBA's A team victory, 11-8, over Catholic.  

A Sense of Normalcy

A couple of nights ago, I went to Amerigo's on West End Avenue to pick up takeout for the family.  Dating back to before Jude and I had the boys, Amerigo has long been one of our go to takeout spots, particularly when we want a nicer meal but don't have time for a night out.

When I arrived, I was struck by the fact that Amerigo's was crowded.  The bar was filled with patrons, some eating and some having a drink after work or as visiting tourists.  All of the tables in the restaurant were filled, as well, and servers were bustling around the restaurant.  There was even a wait to be seated, which I haven't seen there in, what, two years.  

For just a moment, I stopped and watched the hum of activity, smiling to myself.  I want - we all want - to get through the pandemic and have things return to normal, whatever that means.  Wednesday night, to me, anyway, it felt like it did to me - at Amerigo's - before the pandemic.  Before I had ever heard of Covid-19.

Normal, of course, is a subjective term.  It's personal.  It means something different to me than it does to you.  

When Jude and I went to the Predators' game on Tuesday night with our friends, Rob and Roseann, Bridgestone Arena was packed for the game against a rival, the Minnesota Wild.  Great game, by the way.  Four fights, two in the first minute of play.  Lots of scoring.  A hat trick by Ryan Johansen, completed in the final seconds of play when he scored an empty net goal.  The fans responded by tossing hundreds of hats onto the ice.  Best of all, the Predators' won, 5-2. 

But, I digress.  Jude wore a mask throughout the game.  Why?  Because she's more comfortable wearing a mask in large group settings even though she's vaccinated and has had a booster shot.  That's he normal, for now, anyway.  Forever?  I don't know.  I didn't ask her.  

The point, of course, is that she wanted to wear a mask at the game and she did so.  It wasn't weird or strange.  No one said anything to her.  A few other people wore masks, too, but not many.  And that was fine, as well.  Normal or, maybe, the new normal.

Is the pandemic over?  It's hard for me to say that it is, personally, given that Joe's 3rd grade teach tested positive for Covid-19 this week.  Jude's sister-in-law tested positive, also, upon returning from a trip to Disney.  So, no, I don't think the pandemic is over.

What I do think is over, though, for better or worse - and I'm not sure which - is the general public's overly cautious, careful approach to the pandemic.  It seems as if people are at a point where they have accepted that Covid-19 is going to be with us for a while - maybe forever - people are going to get it and get sick, or even die.  But life must go on and it will go on, Covid-19 be damned.

Personally, my sense of worry, even dread, about Covid-19 has dropped from an 8 or 9 to a 2 or 3, probably because I had it in January and survived it.  I was pretty sick but my I never felt like my life was in danger.  Would I want to go through it again?  No.  Am I willing to avoid crowds, isolate, and wear a mask in public to lessen my chances of getting Covid-19 again?  No.

What does all of this mean?  I have no idea, really.

I do know, however, that things seem to returning to normal again.  And that's nice.  

Joey Strike Zone

Sunday afternoon, in their second game of the spring baseball season, Joe's Diamondbacks played a team of fourth graders from Brentwood.  We knew they would be good - probably the best team the boys play all season - and they were.

The plan was to start Oliver's son, Preston, who is our best pitcher.  Oliver and I were hoping to get three innings out of Preston, then close the game with Joe, probably our second best pitcher.  As is so often the case with youth sports, however, the plan quickly went awry. 

Preston was hit hard in the top of the first inning and, as Oliver and I watched from the third base dugout, it looked like he was having some discomfort in his right arm.  Oliver, our head coach, went to the mound to talk to him, and left him in to see if he could work through it.  Really, it was impossible to tell if the issue with Preston was mental or physical but when he started lobbing balls over the plate - normally, he is our hardest thrower - Oliver visited the mount again and took him out of the game.  

Joe left shortstop and came on to pitch in relief of Preston.  One pitch.  Popup.  The Diamondbacks were out of the inning.

It's interesting and probably not altogether surprising but from what I recall of JP's pitching at age 10, Joe has a very similar style and approach.  Joe throws hard but not too hard.  He has good control.  He never gets rattled.  No moment is too big for him.  JP was precisely the same way, as a pitcher, at the same age.  In fact, I treated JP like our closer, often bringing him in to pitch in relief in high leverage situations.  I knew his emotions wouldn't get the better of him and, more importantly, I knew if he failed, it wouldn't crush him.  Joe is exactly the same way.  

In the end, Joe got hit, hard at times.  The boys lost 15 - 5 against an older, more experienced, better baseball team.  But Joe pitched his ass off.  He three 71 pitches, considerably more than I had planned or would have preferred.  He pitched strongly the whole time, though, and at one point, after he struck out the last batter to end the inning, the Padres' third base coach patted him on the back as he walked across the infield to get his players ready to take the field. 

What I really loved - and, again, Joe was channeling JP - was that before the last inning he pitched, I stepped into the dugout, found Joe, and asked him how he felt.  

"I'm good, Dad."  Joe said.  

"Do you want another inning?" I asked.  

With genuine emotion in his voice, he looked up at me and said, "YES, of course!"  

After our boys finished batting, Joe walked out to the mound and pitched another inning.  He battled.  And I was damn proud of him.

Can he learn to throw harder?  Yes, in time.  Can his control improve?  Yes.  That, too, will come in time.  Will he put the work in, like JP has?  That remains to be seen but I think he will.

What is awesome to see, though, at age 10, is his confidence and his mental and emotional makeup.  Joe is never afraid of the moment.  He's never afraid of failing.  He wants the ball in his hands - baseball or basketball - in key moments.  Does he always succeed?  Of course not, but he always competes.  And he leads, verbally and by example.  

I'm blessed, I know, to have two boys that love to compete - in sports for now but, later, in life.  I'm especially blessed to have a front row seat to it all.

    

A Perfect Sunday

If I could live one Sunday for eternity, over and over again, it might be today.  

I got up early, as I normally do on Sundays, and went to Portland Brew for coffee and scrambled eggs.  A few quiet minutes while I read the online edition of the Sunday New York Times.  Portland Brew is my place, much like Bongo Java used to be, a lifetime ago.  

I picked up Ladybird Taco on 10th Avenue, near our old house, for Jude and the boys on my way home.  Breakfast  burritos and early morning chips and queso.  Jude took JP to his confirmation class, while Joe and I hung out together at the house.  

When JP got home from church, he joined me for a five mile run.  Fairfax to Elmington Park and back home by way of Belcourt Avenue and Dragon Park.  It was a beautiful spring day for a run.  It's always special to run with JP and today was no different.  We ran an easy five miles at an 8:15/mile pace, 15 seconds per mile slower than we normally run.

Afterwards, I grabbed a quick lunch at home, then drove Joe to soccer practice at MBA.  There had been some confusion about soccer, as I missed a couple of e-mails and didn't get him signed up in time.  Fortunately, his coach worked it out and Joe will be able to play soccer this spring.  

While Joe practiced soccer, Oliver Davis rode with me to Headquarters Coffee.  There, we got coffee and made plans for the baseball team we coach together and on which our sons, Joe and Preston, play.  Then, back to soccer practice and a race across town to baseball practice at Harpeth Hills Church of Christ.

Our group of boys are fabulous, so it's always fun to coach them.  I worked with four or five of them on throwing and catching, while the other boys worked with Oliver on base running and catching pop flies.  Too soon, practice ended, and Joe and I raced home.

Jude, JP, Joe, and I went to the Predators - Flyers game at Bridgestone Arena and saw a scintillating 5 - 4 Predators' victory before a packed house for a 5 p.m. start.  It had been two plus years since I had seen a hockey game at Bridgestone because or the pandemic.  Damn, it was nice to be back.

And that, my friends, was a wrap.  A perfect Sunday.

The Last Days of the Dodgers (Epilogue)

All good things must come to an end.

So it is with JP's Dodgers after our 10-year run together as a youth baseball team.  In what quite literally feels like the blink of an eye, the boys - my boys - went from coach pitch, Wookie league baseball as 4 and 5 year olds to the Prep league on the big, regulation baseball field at Warner Park to Middle School baseball for David Lipscomb, Harding, University School, J.T. Moore, and Montgomery Bell Academy.

And I find myself sitting at a quiet Portland Brew early Saturday morning, drinking coffee, wondering how it all went by so quickly. 

I officially pulled the plug on the Dodgers earlier this week when it became apparent to me that without a lot of scrambling and adding players I had never coached, it wouldn't be possible to put together a Dodgers' team to play in the West Nashville Sports League or, possibly, in tournaments on weekends.  I've known this day was coming for a while.  Still, it doesn't make it any easier for me to contemplate a life that's not in many ways - spring and fall, anyway - centered around JP's Dodgers.

A part of me recognizes it's time for the boys to move on, individually and as a group.  For their development, it's time for them to be coached by someone else.  Someone - hopefully - with more experience than I have playing the game and with more experience coaching older boys.  Teenagers.  It's also time for my boys to play with other, more skilled players and against other, more skilled players.  

Yes,  it's time for my boys, the ones who really love baseball, to play tournament, or travel, baseball.  

It's also time for me let go of the group and my place in it as the leader.  I think that's the hardest things of all for me, saying goodbye to these boys and their families, in the sense that I won't be sending encouraging e-mails to the parents before and during the season.  I won't wake up at night thinking about lineups for the next day's game.  I won't be interacting with the boys, one-on-one and as a group, at practice.  I won't be watching them improve, close up, from season to season and, sometimes, from week to week.  I won't be coaching during games with men who have become my close and dear friends, Chris Taylor, Will Wright, Tom Hayden, and Randy Kleinstick.

I also think - no, I know - that it's time to turn my focus to Joe's baseball team, the Diamondbacks.  I've been involved, of course, since we disbanded the Junior Dodgers when the pandemic arrived two years ago and Joe began playing for Oliver Davis.  Oliver and I have become close friends and, for all intents and purposes, I've been his assistant head coach.  The Don Zimmer to his Joe Torre, if you will, mostly because I've already traveled the road he is on, so to speak.

Still, the last couple of years, if there was a scheduling conflict between the Dodgers and the Diamondbacks, I generally missed Joe's game because I was the head coach of JP's team.  It didn't happen a lot but there were times when I missed Joe's practices or games.  It was okay because I knew Joe was in good hands with Oliver, who is young, energetic, and, honestly, the best youth coach in any sport I've ever been around.  

I want to give Joe and his teammates the time and attention I gave to JP and the Dodgers.  It's been refreshing, and fun, to help Oliver organize and run preseason workouts at D-bats in West Nashville for the Diamondbacks on Sundays in January and February.  The myriad of after work or late night calls that Oliver and I have had, and continue to have, as we discuss the nuances of 9 - 10 year old baseball are reminiscent of the same telephone calls I had in years past with Chris, Randy, and Will.  That's comforting, to me.  

It's easier, in a way, to say goodbye to the Dodgers, knowing that I have the Diamondbacks, the boys and their families, on the other side, ready to begin our journey together over the next few years.   

I've often thought that I wanted to write a book about my experience coaching JP and the Dodgers = for the past 10 years, a memoir, I guess.  Maybe, someday, I will.  I wanted to call it The Last Days of the Dodgers.  That title stuck in my mind a year or so ago, as I began to feel that things were winding down with this group.  Or, maybe, I'll write a long form essay.  That might work, as well.

What a run it was!  The best times of my life - hands down - have been spent with JP and his teammates, at practices and games, on baseball fields across middle Tennessee.  I'll never forget those days and nights together.  The memories will last a lifetime and beyond.

Dodgers forever.  

  

Santa Rosa Beach is in our rear view mirror, receding into the distant past, as we quickly resume our busy lives.  

Work, school, baseball practices and games, interrupted yesterday by a trip to the emergency room with Jude when she got a kidney stone.  Hopefully, she will slow down a bit and not work so hard as she waits to pass the kidney stone.  

Jude and I began going to Santa Rosa Beach more than a decade ago, before Joe was born, when JP was a toddler.  Over the years, we've stayed in multiple houses - some more than once - in Old Florida Village, across 30A from the beach.  Two swimming pools, maybe 30 houses on a dead end street, quiet.  Perfect for our family.

It's funny but being away from Santa Rosa Beach for two years because of the pandemic, I had forgotten how much we love it there.  In many ways, it was Sewanee for us before we began going, regularly, to Sewanee.  A place where we felt comfortable, like slipping on a old sweater.  Our home away from home, albeit seven hours away.

Some highlights from our trip:

• Jude's early morning walks on the beach are probably reason enough to go to Santa Rosa Beach at least once a year.  Every morning, Jude got up before the rest of us and drove the golf cart to the beach.  As the sun rose, she walked along the shoreline and picked up shells that she brought home to show us later.  Those early morning walks, I think, center her and recharge her batteries (trite, but true).
• I loved being able to run, again, on the Longleaf Pine Trail.  I loved, even more, taking JP for his first run on the trail.  The trailhead is one street down from Old Florida Village, so it's really easy to get to for me.  I don't remember when I first discovered it but it was long, long ago.  
• Although the temperature of the water was cold - cold enough that there were never more than a handful of people in the ocean at any given time - Joe, predictably, couldn't get enough of the ocean.  He would be perfect content to stay in the ocean all day long, getting knocked down by the waves over and over again.  It's paradise for him, much like it was for me at his age and through my teens and twenties.  I've often thought that as a California native, the ocean is in my blood.  It's in his, too, or so it seems.
• We had a blast at Shunk's Gulley, watching the NCAA tournament.  The boys, on different days, tried raw oysters, which was impressive, and hilarious.  JP liked them more than Joe did but, still, I was impressed that Joe tried one.  
• Sadly, the Pickle Factory - our favorite pizza joint on 30A - closed, apparently about a month before we arrived.  Grayton Beach won't be the same.  Also, our friend, Jed (and his family), sold the Blue Mountain Beach Creamery last December, so we didn't get to see him.  We've known Jed since he began working at the Creamery at age 14 or 15.  Now, he's in his mid-20's and we keep up with him on Instagram or with the occasional text message.  Still, something was lost for us not seeing him - and getting a photo - at the Creamery.
• As usual, renting a golf cart was key.  It gave us the flexibility to be two places at once, with or without the boys.  JP, of course, was itching to drive it.  We let him drive around the neighborhood with one of us supervising from the passenger seat.
• We saw a beautiful sunset one evening at Blue Mountain Beach.
• Jude and the boys invented a baseball game - played with beach paddleballs - and we played one morning at the beach.  Over the years, Jude and the boys have invented all kinds of games to play on the beach.  It's cool that they still want to play with us, particularly since that will change sooner rather than later.
• I finished three books during our stay - Scoundrel, The Mercenary, and, finally, Jay Drescher's Glasby's Treasure.  Jay is a lawyer friend of mine and Glasby's Treasure was his debut novel - a tale of pirates in the late 18th century, self-published 5 years ago.  I had meant to read it forever and finally did, finishing it, appropriately enough, sitting in a beach chair on the beach, a few yards from the ocean.  Great book.
• We discovered the Grove, an outdoor restaurant on 30A, right before Blue Mountain Beach, and had a wonderful late afternoon lunch there.  The Grove's lease is up in October, we learned, so my guess is that it won't be there when we return.

Santa Rosa Beach has changed a lot in the two years since we last visited.  It's still much less developed than Seaside, Watercolor, etc., but it's slowly catching up.  Old Florida Village is "gated" now, which was strange.  There are new houses, and developments, being built all over the place.  A neighbor told us her house in Old Florida Village had tripled in value over the past decade.  Time marches on.

A great week at the beach for our family.

 

Passing the Baton

Yesterday, we spent the middle of day at the beach.  The weather had warmed up to the high 60's/low 70's and it was actually pleasant to sit in one of our beach chairs and watch the boys - lunatics, especially Joe - swim in the cold ocean.  Lots of people of the beach but few people in the ocean.  The waves were bigger than normal, though, and Joe couldn't get enough of them.

I managed to sunburn the tops of my feet, horribly, but that's another story.  Epic fail on my part, as one of my rock solid goals in life is never to get sunburned again. 

After we left the beach and returned home in our electric blue, 6-seater golf cart - street legal, of course - I took JP for a run on the Longleaf Pine Trail.  It's one of my favorite trails in the world to run on, possibly because it's in Santa Rosa Beach and I have such bond memories, in general, of vacations we have had here.  Possibly, thought, it's because I discovered the trail by accident more than a decade ago, and it's been a bit like a secret place I go to run, once a year for a few days, to rejuvenate and find myself again.

I was looking forward to sharing the Longleaf Pine Trail with him.  It's funny but when I take JP for a run for the first time on one of my regulate routes, or trails, it's like I see it for the first time.  I notice things I haven't noticed before or, at least, not for a while.  That's the thing about having kids, I think.  Through them, you see the world, your world, differently.  I know I've found that to be the case with my boys.

It's a single track trail and since he'd never run it before, I stayed in front of him.  We didn't talk much.  Rather, we listened to Book of Rules, a reggae playlist on Spotify I got from Hiss Golden Messenger a few years ago.  It was nice - almost a form of meditation - to run with JP through the coastal woods, sand under our feet and surrounded by pine trees, with reggae music as our constant companion.  

Perhaps because I had run six miles on the trail the day before or, maybe, because I've been under the weather and taken a few days off running since we were in Sewanee, I struggled with the run, particularly the last half of it.  JP pushed me, as he always does, and we ran an 8:42 pace, which is fast considering the trail has a lot of roots, switchbacks, and sand.  I was breathing hard and, as we approach the trailhead, I lost the internal battle with my head and decided to stop at five miles and walk.  

As I slowed down, I pointed out they way home to JP - straight up the road, a turn onto 30A, then another right turn into Old Florida Village.  He listened intently as he breathed normally, nodded, and off he went.  With more than a little pride, I watched his figure as it receded in the distance ahead of me.  I was walking, then jogging again, and he was flying.  Naturally and effortlessly.

In that moment, I felt like he had taken something from me that I had given him, willingly, a gift I wanted him to have as his own.  Something I have nourished and cared for lovingly over the years.  My love of running.  I think - I hope - he has it now.  I also hope he will take care of it as I have and maybe, someday, pass it along to his son or daughter, and that maybe a part of my soul will live on through that shared love of running. 

I said a little prayer that I often say when I watch him run.

"Please run with him, Lord.  Run with him.  Now and always." 

I jogged home, a 55 year old man feeling every one of those 55 years, and met him outside our house.  He gave me a fist bump, and we walked the circle through Old Florida Village to cool down after our run.