Nine Innings

The other day, I dusted this article off and found it was appropriate for a warm day just begging for nine innings to be played on it. Baseball is a way of redemption for me that allows me to reminisce, enjoy the present and ponder the future all at the same time. It was written some seven years ago, so keep in mind this was the spring of 2004.

1st Inning
“My son plays third base,” I proudly exclaim to any of my friends who would ask. Jordan is thirteen and playing baseball for his school. Quite frankly, I’m just thrilled that he can walk and the fact that he plays any type of position is a bonus. Only four years, before I wasn’t even sure if he would live or even survive after he sustained injuries in a car accident. Lucky dad.

2nd Inning
I can remember this past spring at one of his games as he came to the plate and after a few pitches he swung and connected and the ball sailed over the left fielder’s head. I was so proud of him. In my mind, it was a miracle he was even alive and now he was running. Deep inside me, as I waved him into second from the first base coach’s box, all I could think about was that’s my kid. Proud dad.

3rd Inning
It was just the other month that I was reading an article about a teenage baseball player who had suffered a serious injury affecting his ability to play for which the father blamed himself. Before the accident, both his parents held out such high hopes that one day he might be a professional ball player. As I read the article further, it was quite apparent that the parents were not dealing well with the loss of this dream as the mother blamed the father and the father felt absolutely guilty. Meanwhile, the son continued to attempt to play but was rendered less than ordinary. Trying to find a bright spot the article ended with the boy stating that if baseball did not work out his second choice would be the computer field. Distressed dad. Smart kid.

4th Inning
A few years ago I was attending one of my son’s fall baseball games. During the game the pitcher on the other team was struggling and the coach, who happened to be his dad, went out to discuss the situation with his son. What transpired next still perplexes me to this day. The father was quite upset and became very enraged with the situation and asked for his son to hand him the ball. The son flung the ball in anger in the dad’s general direction. The boy then proceeded to run as fast as his fifth grade legs would carry him into right field. Subsequently, the father used a few choice words and insulted his son’s manhood and proceeded back into the dugout. Misguided dad.

5th Inning
In my own personal baseball career, my dad never coached me on any of my teams, but as far back as I can recall he has come to almost every game I have ever been in. My most cherished memory is just playing catch with my dad in the backyard as a kid. He would usually say, when asked, that he didn’t have the time, but if I would get his baseball glove out of the bottom of his closet he would try to fit it in. The way my dad made time for me was more important to me than whether I was any good at the sport. Discerning dad.

6th Inning
A couple of weeks ago, I finally experienced something that I had never done in my entire softball career. I hit a homerun over the outfield fence. It felt good but not as fantastic as I thought it would. About 45 minutes later, the sky got very dark and because of the threat of lightning the umpire postponed the game. So, as I drove home under the gray conditions I felt somewhat mixed emotions. I was happy, but disappointed because my son and family were not there to witness the event. Funny how some things don’t seem as important if you don’t have your family there to share it. Melancholy dad.

7th Inning
A friend and fellow softball player once told me something very profound that I have never forgotten. We were talking after a softball game in which we suffered a heart breaking loss. It was a game we should have won by all rights, but due to the fact that it was too dark to see we could have rightfully protested and probably gotten the win. But as Rob and I sat there on that wooden bench we did not discuss such things. I can remember Rob turning to me, “well at least you still have your family to go home to.” Those words hit me right up the middle of my heart. Wise dad.

8th Inning
All Abner Doubleday did was to invent a game that consisted of four bases, a round object and a stick, for this, he is lauded as the father of baseball. Yet, a dad has the ability to do something of much greater importance. For instance, every time a dad takes his child fishing, to a movie, reads a book to them, takes them to a ballgame, or plays a video game with them he is creating a moment of significance in their life. By putting yourself on their level, you show genuine interest that will stand the test of time. Thoughtful dad.

9th Inning
Needless to say, the position my son plays or the fact that he plays baseball is not important at all. I am proud of Jordan because he is my son and have been since the first moment I cradled him in my arms and became his dad. Quite frankly, I’m just thrilled that he can walk and the fact that he plays any type of position is a bonus. And if you ask me now, I would gladly tell you with a big grin, “My son plays anywhere they need him.” Ecstatic dad.

“Things could be worse. Suppose your errors were counted and published every day, like those of a baseball player.” ~ Author Unknown

Simply yours, Swavel

Every Fan

This is a lark I know, but I entered a contest sponsored by Major League Baseball called “Dream Job” where the winner gets to report on baseball every single day for the entire season. Don’t laugh too hard, here it is:

Hi, my name is Swavel and welcome to Major League Baseball’s first edition of Every Fan.

Baseball is a game of redemption. I know what it’s like to lose because in my first 2 seasons of Little League my team lost every single game. Then in my third year, I caught a fly ball in right field that won the game. As I watched the All Star game that same evening, I can remember feeling like a million bucks with the game ball still in my hand. For one night, I felt like an all star too.

Baseball is a game that brings families together. My first date, with my wife, was to Baltimore to watch Cal Ripken and the Orioles play the Detroit Tigers. I, also, fondly remember my dad taking the time to play catch with me and come to my games and now, I in turn, have taken every chance to do the same with my kids. If I am to win this dream job, it would go a long way in helping my family and I bring our third daughter home through adoption. I firmly believe that everyone and I mean everyone should have a family.

Baseball is full of stories: from the past, present and future. Who can forget Lou Gehrig’s “Luckiest man Alive” speech or Carlton Fisk waving his home run fair or George Brett going ballistic over the pine tar incident or my favorite moment form the past, Cal Ripken breaking Lou Gehrig’s consecutive game mark.

Baseball is full of current stories as well. Since I work and live in the Philadelphia area, my “Plead the Fifth” segment will chronicle every pitch the 2011 Phillies rotation makes. Then, there will be a piece called “Getting it Right” that will focus on a different player every day. And of course, there will be the daily highlights and scores from around the league, called “Need to Know.”

Baseball is full of stories waiting to unfold before our eyes. Who knows what could happen this year? Will Zach Greinke be unhittable again now that he is with the Brewers? Will the Giants defend their title? Will A-Rod regain his old form? Will the Phillies play the Red Sox in the Series? Will Miguel Cabrera be able to succeed despite himself? I don’t know, but I would love to find out all this and more, together with you every single night.

So, here at Every Fan I promise you this, a season you will not soon forget.

Medium Soda Please

Charlie Brown may be synonymous with losing baseball games, but at least his plight was fictitious, mine was real. My illustrious little league baseball career began with a two year winless streak.

All I wanted was to experience the sweet taste of victory. It had grown old being known as the guy who couldn’t win a game. To make matters worse, there was a local burger place that would give out free sodas to the players after every game; a medium for the winners and a small for the losers. Needless to say, I was tired of asking for a small. Even the guy behind the counter knew it was a small soda when he saw the maroon baseball shirt coming through the door.

Thank goodness the streak ended in my third year when I finally received my first medium soda. It was July something 1978. I still remember there was one out in the final inning and I had been put in right field mid-way through the game because of my marginal skills.

We were up by a run or two when the batter lofted a ball in my general direction. I remember saying to myself, “Oh please, just let me catch it.” Then the unbelievable happened, the ball landed in my glove. I heard the fans yelling at me to throw the ball to first base to double off the runner. Another miracle occurred; I beat the startled runner back to the bag.

A feeling of elation overcame me as I ran toward the infield like I had just won the World Series. For one night I was a winner. For one night something had finally gone my way. For one night I could walk up to the counter with my head held high and say, “medium soda please.”

“Most of the important things in the world have been accomplished by people who have kept on trying when there seemed to be no hope at all.” ~ Dale Carnegie

Swavel

Let’s play catch

Have you ever seen the baseball movie, “Field of Dreams?” The whole movie revolves around the son’s attempt to get one more chance to spend time with his father. Who can forget the image of the son and his dad playing catch at the very end of the movie as the credits begin to roll? That got me to thinking.

One of my fondest memories growing up was when my dad took the time to play catch with me. When the mood would strike I would wander into the basement, where dad was often working on his car, with my baseball glove and ball and ask if he had time to play catch. He would often hesitate, then give in and say, 'okay, if you get my glove we can throw for a few minutes.' We didn’t say much, but it always made me feel better after we were done. Always.

Since I have become a dad I have done the same with my son, first when he was playing baseball and now softball. For some reason, it seems to give us both a strange sense of satisfaction as we see how far and hard we can throw to each other. Kind of like a challenge, a man’s way of passing a test, but at the same time no one is keeping record. Now, I understand a lot better why my dad took the time. There is nothing like just sharing a moment, just him and I.

Some of the best times you will ever have with your child is when you are just 'being' together. It doesn't need to be a game of catch, perhaps just something you both enjoy. "A hundred years from now it will not matter what my bank account was, the sort of house I lived in, or the kind of car I drove. But the world may be different, because I was important in the life of a 'child'." (Forest Witcraft)

Swavel

Your turn: What is your most favorite childhood memory?

Perfect Ending

To this day, there have only been twenty perfect games ever recorded in the history of major league baseball. So rare a feat, more men have orbited the moon than experienced the euphoria of a perfect game. Yet, a week ago due to one man's decision another man was deprived of his place in history.

Before Wednesday, June 2nd, 2010, few of us had ever heard of 28 year old, Detroit Tigers pitcher, Armando Galarraga. Now he is a hero of sorts. He was pitching a perfect game against the Cleveland Indians and only needed one more out when first base umpire, Jim Joyce, blew the game-ending call. A melee ensued and angry Tiger players and coaches argued to no avail. For one night it seemed as if injustice had prevailed and one man's chance for immortality had been stolen from him. So, why a week later has the fervor relinquished. The answer lies in the word character.

After viewing the replay, Joyce admitted he had missed the call, yet on the next day, June 3, 2010, he chose to meet his fate head on. He was offered the opportunity to take the day off, but declined, even though he hadn't slept and there were personal threats made against him. Like a true man he chose to umpire the game anyway. His character later would be rewarded.

Fortunately, Galarraga, who had every right to begrudge Joyce for his indiscretion refused to do so. Instead, the next day Galarraga performed a time honored tradition and took the lineup card out to the umpire, Joyce, before the game, as an act of compassion and true character. There stood Galarraga next to the man who inadvertantly robbed him of baseball immortality. The gesture brought tears to the umpire’s eyes. Then the two hit each other on the shoulders, as only men can do, and went about their business.

Say what you want about sports, but for a brief moment I learned something about character, it is more important than money or the title of being called perfect. These two men showed me this: admit when you are wrong and be gracious in defeat. Perhaps, no one personifies this better in sports than the legendary college basketball coach, John Wooden, who once said, "Be more concerned with your character than your reputation, because your character is what you really are, while your reputation is merely what others think you are."

This is a lesson I will not soon forget and perhaps, on June 3rd, 2010, we did witness something perfect after all.

Swavel