
Little Field, Big Time Baseball

Tim Mathers
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Prologue--

Damn it. This guy has worn us out. All fucking year. Damn it, damn it, damn it.

Reynolds called too many damn curve balls. Wasted too many damn pitches. We knew we needed him to go the whole way. At least I knew it.

But I never said it to Reynolds. After all this time together. Everything we'd done together working on this team. Three years and I picked today to keep my mouth shut. But for God's sakes it was his own son. He had do know?

He knew. He knew better than me. The guy always knew better.

Just get a grip. We're almost there.

Earlier in the game, I came unglued when that little bastard Rooney took that curve deep. Ran down into the dugout and told Reynolds that more curves were a bad idea. Xavier was owning them with his fastball. Putting it on a dime, faster than it's ever been.

I felt totally at ease at least when were on defense. He was going to do it all on his own. I just felt it.

"That fucking kid is a gamer," I kept saying to myself every inning as he won damn near every key pitch. The hitter didn't matter.

Except the homer. On the curveball.

At least that's how it seemed. But it wasn't actually like that. But standing there watching it all go down, you do anything for it to make sense in your mind.

It's lonely and it's scary. Scary because you have really no power and you'd give anything to have just a little.

Looking back, my head was a tornado of sudden negativity coupled with these sudden spikes of excitement. I was the positive coach. That was my role. The buddy. But at that moment, everything was either pissing me off or pushing me to excited euphoria.

Blame Reynolds. Blame me. Love and admire Reynolds. We've lead them to this miracle finish. The umpires fucked Xavier. We had the perfect umps today

Back and forth. Up and down. A crazy roller coaster.

Trying to make it all fit into a comfortable box. Stuff popping into my head with no control over it coming and going.

And at the same time trying to coach

I closed my eyes for two or three second bursts. Pushed those lids down really fast. Opened them again.

Pre-teens playing baseball on a shrunken field. I am not even out there playing, but it's the most exciting damn moment of my life.

I knew it and I couldn't control a damn thing about it.

I am 40. It wasn't right to want something that much.

Garrett Holden. This is going to end badly. We only need one god damn out. But Holden had been kicking our ass the last couple games. Really all year.

He was twelve. A travel ball player. And the field was too small for him now. Seemed like it came on all the sudden. Where every time he swung you knew you were going to suffer.

"We're screwed. It's been a great run. Incredible really what this team did the last couple weeks. But we're screwed," the voice was back.

I close my eyes for way over the tenth time. Longer than a wink but no way long enough where any players or their parents could see.

Ball one.

Man he threw that hard. Really fucking hard.

"Christ just throw it over the plate like that Garrett Maybe he'll fuck up. He's just a 12 year old kid," I back focused.

Holy shit. Shit. He got under it. Lazy one to center. It's over. It's damn over. We're going to the chase the hardware. County Tournament. Three years together.

It all felt like a movie.
Chapter 1--

I hit delete on the email from Reynolds. Took me five seconds. Probably less.

I can't remember if it was because I didn't process what it said or I just wanted nothing to do with it. I was feeling pretty numb about everything.

That was my life.

Numb.

Working hard but really getting nowhere. But too stuck to see it.

What was worse I had no real way out. Six years earlier I'd come back to the place I grew up. But the night I hit delete and mentally moved on to something else, I was nearly forty and one hundred percent stuck.

The fact that I was helping out my ailing grandmother never made the reality of life any easier for me to swallow. It all felt like a business transaction. I made sure she's safe and that she gets her dozen or so pills every day and I'd fix her meals.

How I got there was probably how a lot of people hit rough spots one bad business, career and relationship move after another.

"At least I am consistent."

That was one of a rotation of jokes I'd end my story with when I'd run into someone from high school and they dared ask about how life had gone.

Yes I was back in town. The dirty Midwest. The place I used to rip on like I was somehow better.

But the tables had turned. I was too broke to get free. Even if I wanted to. And man did I want to. Anywhere but that place I kept telling myself was beneath me.

Looking back, I believed my own bullshit. That myth that was headed in the right direction and excited by the future. Really, I knew I was floating aimlessly. And the ugly truth was I was starting to casually accept it. Like I had no fight left. And I was totally OK with it. Even convincing myself I was actually fighting when I wasn't.

The truth was I was riding the fast track to becoming everything I never thought I was.

There is something about adulthood that if you aren't careful, and you let the world make your choices for you, you wake up one day miserable. But there is also something about it that that if you make all your own choices and those choices suck, you're stuck. Both outcomes aren't good.

For me the thin line between success and disaster was proving to be like dollar store dental floss.

Out of options. Basically out of money.

Being the rebel and living life on your terms only works if it actually works. And I knew it.

And for me it wasn't working.

Coaching kiddie baseball?

Hit delete on that and get back to surfing Facebook.

"I remember I played over in the city. Man it was a lot of fun. I would never have wanted to coach it though," my cousin Jared said taking a long final gulp of his beer. "Nick, what do you think about the PAC 12? Pretty much fucking ass right?"

Jared knew I liked PAC 12 Football and would do anything to get a rise out of me. And I was great with it because I wanted to change the subject.

I guess I brought up Reynolds's email to him because our conversations had gotten so stale. It was something new and different that happened to me. But that was all it was. The email never reached the level of interesting.

"Yeah I don't have time for any of that," I said, suitably buzzed for about the twentieth night in a row. "Ten year old kids playing baseball. I've heard horror stories. Kids laying in the grass. Needing their shoes tied during the game. Not knowing how to put on a glove. Screw that."

I was way past giving it any consideration. If I ever had at all.

I had my grandma. I had my side business on the computer ghost writing books. I needed to stay focused. Closing in on age forty and sitting with about four hundred bucks left in the bank was reason enough.

I couldn't afford to do anything for free. Plus it wasn't real baseball. Just kids with runny noses wearing oversized uniforms. Photo opportunities for parents to snap memories of the whole embarrassing spectacle.

I drifted off to a restless beer soaked sleep that night having moved on.

Then that night, like a lot of nights, I woke up to the horn.

My grandma's bedroom was located on the other side of her little house. And when she needed me late at night, she'd pump this loud bicycle horn. I think I got it at Walmart. Soon she was using the thing every night. Multiple times.

I'd curse under my breath each time and then try to gather my composure for the thirty- foot walk to the other end of the house. It was a nightly ritual that was turning me insane.

That night, like many of the others where I was horned, I didn't fall back to sleep. Sleep was one of my activities of salvation. When I wasn't sleeping, drinking beer, or getting laid, my mind raced constantly. There are few things worse than having a mind you can't calm down.

It was always fixated on the same theme. I couldn't shake this idea life was passing me by.

After I grumbled my way through delivering my grandma a glass of water knowing I was probably done sleeping, I flipped on the lap top.

The fun, carefree mood with my cousin a few hours earlier had given way to a grumpy, mean-spirited insomnia. The difference between drinking a few beers and that time after when you wish you hadn't.

But there was more to it. I felt even more uneasy than usual. Unable to figure out why, I stared at the screen and did nothing.

Then it came to me. Looking back, I am not sure why? Or how?

Sitting there, I couldn't deny I felt bad about deleting Reynolds's email. The one about helping him coach Little League.

I retrieved it out of the delete can.

I owed the guy an answer. I really didn't know him, know him. But I liked him well enough. But liking him or not liking him wasn't the reason.

Answering was the right thing to do. As dull and pointless as my world had gotten, I still cared if someone I'd probably never see again thought I was an asshole.

It was some kind of vanity thing with me.

The plan was: answer him, then hopefully fall back asleep for a couple hours without my conscience annoying me.

"Damn it man, it's time to get serious. Clear your plate and get serious. You're almost 40," I mumbled to myself in frustration.

Those words in some order came out of my lips pretty often in a quiet empty room. Going over the same theme and gripes.

I opened the email and began tapping out a response.
Chapter 2--

When I was driving over to the gym for that first practice, I was twenty years removed from playing actual baseball. I hadn't done anything but coed softball for a firm full of prick lawyers since high school. And that frolic was over ten years prior.

I watched games on TV. I might have watched the Little League World Series for a few minutes over the course of years.

At a point in my life, I loved the game. But I figured that point had passed.

So I peeled across town and carefully rehearsed my excuses as I maxed the heat on my grandma's rickety Lincoln Town Car.

The plan was simple.

The theme was boundaries.

The situation needed boundaries.

I would watch for a couple minutes and do what I was told. Then a half hour or so in, let Reynolds know I had to leave.

Later that night, I'd shoot him another email.

"I don't know how much help I can be there looking at it," would be the basic wording.

Then I'd list all the important things I had going in my life. Then I'd offer to come back for another practice long as I could come and go as I pleased.

That was a big thing for me. No deep commitments. Don't get a bunch of people expecting things or relying on me. I saw life as being less stressful when he did it that way

At the end it all came down to one thing: I needed to stay focused on business.

Volunteering was great for people who were settled in life. People who had made their money. They had time to just give away.

Plus I knew what I was going to see in that community center gym on a dark, frigid upper Midwest January day was going to be a pointless train wreck. Something I wouldn't find interesting.

10 to 12 year olds?

I knew I wasn't any good at that age. Plus kids generally weren't playing baseball anymore.

In plain English: it was going to be a big pile of crap.

A little running around and goofing off.

I scanned the digital clock on the dash, took one last deep breath of warm air before sticking my nose out into the winter hell.

"God I hate winters in this shitty town."

If my attitude couldn't get any worse, I nearly fell on my ass the third step out onto the snow coated concrete. Underneath the snow there what is known as black ice. A coating of extra-slippery smooth ice so thin it looked like normal ground. A shit thing common to a shit area. That's how I saw it.

Hawaii had surf ready white sand beaches. Colorado had snowcapped mountains and epic trails. We had black ice.

Somehow I stayed on my feet and avoided a concussion.

Shaking my head in disgust with everything, I trudged up the walkway, entered the lobby and leaned right for a view inside the tiny gym.

It was hard to see much. But I noticed baseball flying from one side to the other. But that was all I could see because the door to the gym had these little windows no wider than a plank of wood.

Right then, my nerves kicked in. I hated lying and I hated the idea of a going half way on a commitment. But I didn't need any of the whole scene. For the umpteenth time, I rehearsed my exit strategy in my mind and painted on a smile.

No way could I have known that the wood door to that run-down gym was actually the passage into a fantastic reality I never could have imagined.

Talking unscripted excitement, with raw emotional roller coasters that tops a blockbuster movie or TV series.

Little League in a baseball crazy American town.

The story of a lifetime.
Chapter 3--

In the year 2013, Merwin was not unlike a lot of cities in the industrial upper Midwest. Since its founding, it went through three booms driven by totally different product lines. Each boom was followed by dips then a recovery to something bigger and better.

First in the middle 1800's there was lumber.

The original city was built around the extraction, production, transport and trade of goods of the massive unspoiled forests in the northern United States. It brought the people to the area and gave them a reason to stay long-term.

Then the 1900's up to World War 2, there was the industrial revolution followed by war production.

Post World War 2, the auto industry and its component manufacturers converted the great factories back from war production to meet the transportation needs of baby boom families.

But by the time I had given a half-ass yes to be the assistant to Coach Reynolds's Ace Electric, Merwin East Little League, the high point of the town's prosperity had come and gone decades before.

In every census starting in 1980, the population had shrunk from the census ten years earlier. Families were slowly dispersing to other areas of the country following the job openings.

The collective will to work hard and basic optimism aside, in Merwin the boom times were long gone with no clear path for those brighter days returning.

Left behind was a shrinking town with shrinking opportunities.

Against this backdrop and the blistering cold dankness of yearly 4 to 5 month winters, the long-term strength and even growth of youth baseball could be deemed nothing short of miraculous.

Compared to other much larger cities in the area with 2 to 4 official Little Leagues, Merwin boasted 5. It also had two indoor facilities dedicated fully to off-season training. Travel leagues sprung up almost on a yearly basis to serve the insatiable appetite of local kids to improve pitching, hitting and defense.

While the real estate market tanked amid foreclosures with young families scattering in search of good paying jobs, the market for two and three hundred dollar bats, fifty-dollar-an hour special training lessons, and high-dollar weekend travel tournaments flourished. This even included the emergence of indoor bubble domes so kids could play live games in months that were once the province of hockey and basketball.

But attending Ace Electric's first practice, I was too out of the scene to know anything of baseball's popularity and growth locally.

None of the younger kids in my family played youth baseball and I hadn't been to more than a couple games youth games since I played as a teenager.

What I expected and what I saw couldn't have been more different.
Chapter 5--

Saying that I was shocked by what I saw inside that elementary school sized gymnasium would be an understatement.

In less than five minutes time, I came away with a shotgun spray of observations about Reynolds and his players.

All of them positive.

It was amazing considering my lousy attitude when I walked in the door.

The whole experience felt totally new and fresh.

I was a bachelor who hadn't been around kids in a structured setting since I was a kid myself. I didn't even have a clue what guys that age were supposed to look like.

First thing that jumped out. All five players that day were taller than I expected. Beyond that, they moved around fully coordinated. A couple of them moved with agility and quickness I'd see watching a high school game.

I was an average at best youth player. I could do the basics like throwing, catching and hitting and look the part of a player. And the basics was the focus of Coach Reynolds's first practice. He was asking them to catch a grounder with the right form, set and throw accurately, and swing a bat with good form using two hands.

But I knew without a doubt there was no way I did any of those things as smooth or as quick as that group.

I'd figure out later on who the good players were, but that first day my eyes were untrained. They all looked damn good.

But the whole simple practice session was a lot more than young players doing fundamental drills. To me it was exciting spectacle.

Within a couple minutes I had this internal desire to do something. Anything. I didn't really know what. But I felt like one of the players. I would have done anything Coach asked.

As it was, Reynolds had a detailed plan and the group of seven diligently carried it out. No sulking, crabbing, dogging it, or really any hint of being distracted.

The 90-minute practice was one of those rare experiences in life where you walk into an unknown with low expectations and it wallops you over the head blowing those expectations to bits

I stayed out of the way and encouraged sparingly. Mostly I said nothing, afraid I'd mess up the wonderful work I was witnessing.

The hour and half went by in what felt to me like ten or twenty minutes. Near the end, Reynolds had me throw batting practice using balls he'd made out of rolled up socks and duct tape. They flew like a real ball but were indoor safe. I laughed when he gave them to me because it was so genius.

It was the first of a countless batting practice pitches I'd throw in three years for Coach Brian Reynolds

And there wasn't one of those pitches where I didn't feel like it was the most important thing in the world. Or where I was distracted with other things happening in everyday life.

That's power.

Little League and me equaled love at first sight. And it grew steadily from there. From fun it evolved to a sort of obsession.

Like all great romances, it started with a special feeling. From there you go with it. You don't stop and think too deeply about it.

For me the whole story had a charmed beginning that day. It went on and had a fun, interesting middle. And it had an amazing ending.

And if that's all it was, I wouldn't have any great need to write any of it down.

But the reality became clear very soon after practice one, as an assistant coach, I had the easy part.

By far.

In many real ways which I found troubling but also exciting, a burdensome weight hung over Coach Reynolds and our young players.

Fighting hard and winning was the only real relief and escape from the burden.

For better or worse. Merwin East Little League, the story was more complicated than talented, bright kids playing simple games of baseball. 
Chapter 6--

Brian Reynolds never sold me on being his assistant coach. That was his players.

Brian Reynolds never sold me on showing up to every practice and game. That was also his players.

Basically Brian Reynolds wasn't in the selling business. He was a baseball coach. His ability in that area was as impressive on day 1 as it was the last I worked for him.

I knew him vaguely from high school. I remember him being a ball player. At the time I thought he was a year or two younger than me

I don't recall ever speaking to him.

But after that first practice, there was nobody I talked with more for the next thirty months and there wasn't a close second.

He'd been coaching a while. I found out later he'd worked for multiple teams and managed at least two in the very lowest age groups for his son Xavier's teams.

He'd managed nine/ten year-old All Stars. I'd come to learn that managing an All Star team was a pretty big deal in Little League.

He'd been around the game for quite a while and it showed.

Even with that deep experience, he invested more of himself into learning even more.

"Going into 2012 season Rick Phillips had offered Xavier the chance to work out with his Auto King club during his winter and early spring practices. I had gotten know Rick a little bit because if I watched a game in the majors it was usually Auto King because of the connection with my cousin Ben Adams who was his assistant coach for a long time. Besides I had seen Auto King in a couple of County Tournaments which I watched the previous couple of years.

This had a significant impact on how I ran practices keeping the tempo fast, generally light but serious enough so the kids knew it wasn't recess on playground. Xavier of course got a lot out of it being able to practice with the older kids. And I was able to steal his tape ball idea."

When he asked me to help, his son Xavier was entering the league as a ten year old. In Little League major division when you are ten, you are a rookie. The youngest major-level age group. Twelve year olds are your oldest players.

The thing that struck me in his working with the players was how little he said to get his points across. And how effective that communication style worked.

I found that the effectiveness of that approach surprising.

Having played sports and watched TV shows and movies about sports, I was trained to believe that a good coach gave long speeches and was constantly talking and, when necessary, yelling.

Reynolds wasn't like that.

He was fully engaged with a keen eye for detail. But there were no wasted steps or words. It always felt like a quiet, more low-key manager from a pro team had been inserted into the local Little League.

As out of place as it initially seemed, it didn't take me long to become a huge admirer of the approach and the man behind it.

Dark hair with dark eyes and a height and weight that could best be described as average, he was the married father of Xavier and an older daughter Hannah.

From start to finish, he was at essence a good guy who clearly loved the game of baseball. Especially things like history and the careful study of the statistics. So much so that he'd attend yearly meetings a couple hours down state where other lovers of those things would meet up and talk about baseball history and statistics in detail. A sort of club for enthusiasts way beyond the casual fan or even the normal season ticket holder type.

For him the game was clearly a very serious undertaking.

When that kind of personality and intelligence level meets the job of managing a little league team, you have to wonder how it will all work.

But it worked amazingly well. The players were spoiled compared to what they could have gotten from a lesser coach. For three years, the level of quality was exceedingly high. A fact that became more apparent the more I hung around the league and had a chance to see how other people did it.

Working for a guy like that put my love for the game on a rocket booster. It so enhanced the experience, the result was an emotional bond with the players on those three teams I would have laughed at if it had been suggested to me prior to joining the team

Still what was a pleasure cruise for me, was very often a ride on rough seas for the Manager. The pressure he felt to both win and see his son meet his potential as a player hovered over the situation all the way through our time together.

His time commitment was immense. Outsiders who aren't actively coaching can forget that Reynolds had regular job and a family counting on him to keep that job.

Coaching and competing effectively in a league like Merwin East put deep stresses on his time.

Still the job was one he coveted.

"Earlier perhaps sometime in April, Janet (league President Janet Walter) instructed me to write a letter to the board expressing my interest in managing a major team if an opening should come available. I did and was informed in late May I could take the Ace Electric team. I accepted right away. I hadn't watched many regular season games in the majors as I was busy enough between work and the minor league team. And work had become a major concern."

By the end of our time, there stood a good man who had done things at a high enough level he could have rightly collected some sort of salary. But there was also a good man who was happy to be done with the day to day issues and stresses of what really did become a second job.

It wasn't only investing time during the season. There were things to be done even when baseball was months away.

The winter prior to that first season was spent knowing he had no coaches. All the while, he learned that a succession of players he thought were on his team, actually weren't.

Someday maybe he'd look back on the whole thing as fun. 
Chapter 7--

At the conclusion of the first practice Reynolds huddled the team and I took stock of the situation.

It was the first time I had a chance to look at the players when they weren't running around doing baseball things.

We had seven on hand. Less than half the team of twelve.

It was awfully early in the year though. The first game wasn't until mid-April, three months away.

I'd studied a team breakdown he'd sent me before coming to the practice, but only once. It was very detailed with background and strengths and weaknesses of each player.

I couldn't recall the players' names so I wasn't able to place their ages.

I found out later that five of the seven were 10-year olds.

From what I saw, I thought if the missing kids were as good as the ones who did show up, we'd win every game.

They were all able to catch, throw, move well, and swing a bat the right way. During batting practice, I threw fast right out of the gate to them in batting practice. Or I thought

But when they hit me hard, I started to throw even harder.

The guys were all the more impressive considering I was thirty feet away, about a third closer than the regulation forty-six foot distance.

As the batting practice progressed and sweat started to pour out of me and through my shirt, I began to throw harder yet.

I worked out, but there was something different about competing in an actual sport. Even against kids who weren't even teenagers. My breathing labored, my arm became sore, and my legs felt wobbly.

And I was loving it. The energy I was putting in. The skill I was seeing from the guys. And the way they'd improve in the moment. But the fun they were having when they did.

It rubbed off on me.

But that day they were all one guy. It would take me weeks before I would both learn their names and start to understand the differences in their level of skill.

Reynolds had known each of them on some level for at least a year and already had a clear idea where all the pieces fit.

He knelt before the players in a semi-circle and addressed them in a general positive tone. It was that way each and every time for all three years. Game or practice.

He spoke crisp, clear, with no hesitation and a calm that gave the comparable chaos of the preceding event a smart perspective.

Besides having a natural ease with the kids, the way he led the players was the result of concerted planning.

That preparation habit started before I arrived on the scene. He'd actually had a couple practices in the previous fall. And in the majors, making a good early impression was vital.

"Going into it I knew I was aware of trying to run a good practice. I felt pressure to conduct something orderly and show the veteran players I wasn't some clown from the minors. Seems strange to be nervous about trying to impress 11-year old kids, but I definitely was. I didn't want them to think less of me than their departing coach who seemed to do everything right.

I was so worked up and excited at the end, my thoughts would be a scattered mess. I was appreciative of the amazing level of ability of the young men. It astounded as much on day one as it did at the end of season three.

Maybe in that regard, I probably made a good sidekick. He was a better speaker, more calm in the midst of rough seas, and put that day's events into a clean package tied together neatly.

The emotions would get the best of me and my mind had too many thoughts to calm down and be clear.

Telling them how impressed I was with each of them didn't seem to fit the moment. I thought it would make me seem clueless.

I tried to hide how clueless I was by being encouraging, then leaving it at that.

Besides being talented, these kids were likable and I was willing to bet right off they had great parents.

Box after box got checked in my mind. They were in two columns. Column A was what I expected. Those were negative items. Things like uncoordinated, mouthy, not willing to follow directions. Column B were the exact opposite and positive. All those column B boxes got checked in that first practice. The column A boxes were empty.

Looking at each of them gathered the view became clearer. These were little kids. No matter how well they played and how advanced the things many of them did were, they were small boys.

It was an important reminder that always stuck with me.

It became apparent over my time that most adults got it but a quite a few did not.

In the middle of those two groups of adults: the Ace Electric 12 and their average American dad at the reigns.

But that day, far from the view of parents and relatives watching a real game, everyone was all smiles.

They'd performed well despite the time off. Coach had a run a neat, well-orchestrated practice despite being held in a cramped gymnasium. And I was drenched in sweat, fully in my element. Feeling eighteen again.
Chapter 8--

That day you had the rookies. Ten year olds.

When it was all said and done, Coach Reynolds and I would have them for all three years.

When his son Xavier was ten he was kind of spec on the wall small and skinny. A fact I couldn't really fully grasp until later practices, deep into preseason practice when the team changed drastically with arrival of the older players.

Xavier was enthusiastic and a really likable kid. His demeanor sat in this uneasy middle ground between happy-go-lucky playing a kid's game and an unrealistic expectation he needed to get a hit every time up.

There was no denying that a constant undercurrent of tenseness existed during his time playing for the team. He was driven to do well and Coach had high expectations for him. The more mellow and calm demeanor that was Coach Reynolds's hallmark would evaporate instantly when Xavier's play was poor.

The relationship was never one of favoritism like the coaches' son stereotype would suggest.

Remarkably I never remember one instance of that. Not even a hint.

I could have written two interesting books dealing with Coach Reynolds's relationship with his son. One would have been a detailed how to handle a running a youth team effectively while not favoring your son. The other would have been more about how passion for your child and a game can intermix to create a volcano out of a normally placid mountain.

Seth was a skinny runt of a kid with straight black hair that poked out the side of his ball cap. He and I got along really well from the start. He'd do anything you asked and do it in a way that made him appear almost frightened of authority. His mom was a successful doctor. His dad was a blue collar type. He had two older sisters who it seemed received the bulk of the attention from his parents. In that regard, his quietness was probably born out of a home environment where he was likely on some level an afterthought. Seth's game centered on his speed. He could run really run in a straight line.

On the other end of the size spectrum was Mitch. He came from an accomplished sports family. His dad played college baseball. His dad's brother took it a step further and played in the pros. Both started their baseball lives on the same Little League fields in the same hidden corner of the city that Mitch would that fall.

But beyond playing in the same youth league, the similarities in baseball skill between Mitch and his family were non-existent. He was a nice kid with a gift of conversation that eclipsed many people twice his age.

He just didn't have that athletic edge in his personality. That thing all good players in the major sports have. Where they knew exactly the objective the game and you see it in all their competitive movements.

Mitch could swing a bat OK, and could catch OK. But it never seemed like he quite cared to be doing either all that much.

But rather he thought it was obvious he felt like he should. Probably because of his family's history. To make life even tougher around his house, his older brother was an All Star level player and his twin sister was a superior athlete who spent weekend on the elite travel soccer circuit.

Where you got the feeling Seth was an afterthought in his house, you were certain Mitch was inside his. He would have these spontaneous meltdowns after swinging and missing or butchering a pop fly. It seemed like the frustration of being the family fat kid with no athletic ability was getting to him. Despite Mitch's spotty results, he couldn't muster the push to play more or do much extra work.

The kid did the best he could when it was not unfair to conclude his dad was disappointed with him.

"I remember I was doing a backhand drill with the fielders," Coach told me. "I was setting them up where the second baseman would play and hitting it up the middle. I wanted to see some athleticism and hand-eye coordination and see if they could make the play. After I hit few easy enough to field with their shoulders squared up and feet set I responded "Ok, now I want you guys to field it on your backhand even if you are able to get in front of it. I hit a few and they seemed to get it. I remember Mitch's dad coming and going from the parking lot during practice and he was currently walking along the outside of the right-centerfield fence. Mitch was up next and I hit a dribbler up the middle. Too easy for even the sluggish Mitch. He stopped short of getting in front of the ball and waited in the backhand position as instructed. The ball glanced off his glove and trickled away. "Mitch, you gotta get in front of that ball! Move your feet!" he bellowed from beyond the fence, his face turning purple. I wasn't about to yell across the field. Kirk didn't know it was a backhand drill. Poor Mitch."

Mitch had short hair somewhere between blond and light brown. His ball hats always seemed too clean, almost like his dad set it on top of Mitch's head moments before he left the house. He was chubby and frumpy. But he was also an A student. Which unfortunately didn't seem to mean much to his dad.

I had a great bond with him right from the jump. By the time he was 12, I took him to most of the early season practices at a gym across town. Because his parents had his siblings' sports to attend to most nights.

I think in a lot of ways Mitch's journey through Little League proved to be more a cautionary tale than anything positive. Especially for the adults he counted on most. They seemingly had a way of skipping encouragement and go right to teaching. Then when they wonder why teaching fails on a kid with no confidence, they resort to negativity. And it destroys a young guy's spirit.

I tried never to be one of those adults.

Jett was the exact opposite of Mitch. He was an all-around athlete and destined to be clearly the best ball player in that ten-year old group. Despite being tall for his age and lanky, he moved the best out of the ten year olds and had a sweet level swing. I saw a huge future. And I turned out to be right. Mostly.

Jett had an interesting family, particularly his dad Ted.

Coach told me that after the draft selecting the new players to Ace Electric, the first player phone call he made was to Jett's house. "I remember talking to Ted, and I couldn't tell if he was happy or not. The fact that I had coached Jett the previous two years must not have left him with too much of a warm and fuzzy feeling. It wasn't like he sounded pissed or disappointed. But there was no "Oh good, he really likes playing for you" or "That's great we get to stay with someone he knows". Then again Ted was never easy to figure out."

When the season got rolling, I got a read on him and it was feeling that said to be on the lookout for possible trouble.

Bradford was a short squatty non-athlete. But he was definitely a baseball player. He had the prettiest slightly upper cut swing with body mechanics that looked like something out of a World Series highlight of the game winning home run. He was solid, quiet kid. But no shrinking violet.

He was a nice glue guy on a team. Someone who gets along with everyone and is dedicated to getting better. We became very close in our time together. He wanted to do things well and work for things. I was willing to give my time to him to do that.

"I had compiled some numbers on the eligible players and noticed Bradford was kid who if he didn't get a hit, usually put it in play. He had some size and he played catcher a little. Both good things," Coach remarked.

Those five rookies (and one soon to be added addition to make six) were the constant in my time working for Coach Reynolds's team. The journey of each guy to turning 12 and being done with Little League were each almost totally different.

They didn't grow closer together. That's kind of a baseball cliché. But they created a bond.

These were guys I knew I wanted to help more. There was something about them.

No one can see the future exactly. You go with a plan and finish things.

So as I blasted the heat hoping for a quick warm up in the Town Car steaming back to my grandma's house I was excited about a new thing. About being a baseball coach.

Except the whole thing wasn't really going to end up being about baseball. It was actually a life-altering ride for some good young people and an everyday normal dad moonlighting as manager. 
Chapter 9--

Practice two couldn't get there soon enough.

But first I had to go home and face the music. I'd let everyone within talking distance know I was going to make a quick exit from the "coaching stuff" and get refocused on what mattered.

I needed to make money and to keep tabs on an ailing 90-year old woman who was beginning to fail fast.

Luckily I caught the right family member on the right day.

My aunt saw how much fun I had and encouraged me to keep going.

I had a hard time hiding good feelings from the first practice.

True to form, even though it was still mid-winter, Reynolds had the second practice lined up. It was soon after the first. Looking back, starting that early should have tipped me off that it was all pretty serious business.

I showed up feeling more comfortable and knowing a couple of the guys by name. They were all really good kids. Much different than the impression I had of kids from TV and movies or the news. They were well behaved and very focused on what they were required to do. Beyond what you could ever imagine for kids of that age.

And this focus went up another level with the addition of some new faces who hadn't been to the first practice.

The composition of the Ace Electric team was at that moment five 10 year-old players, aka rookies. You had Seth, Jett, Mitch, Bradford, and Xavier the coaches' son. Evan was the eleven year old but he was a hockey guy and we knew he'd be late to start attending preseason practice.

Practice two belonged to a whole different level of player. Veterans. The guys in their last year of little league. Twelve year olds.

I had a difficult time making distinctions about who the better players were that first practice. But when two of the twelves entered the room for practice two, the talent differences hit me over the head like a thousand pound anvil.

If the younger guys I met in the first practice had me hooked, it was the veteran players who reeled me in to the boat for good.

There were two guys that day out of the class of four. And they were two of the most unforgettable and dynamic guys in their own way you could work for as a coach.

You knew they were special then and when you tried to replace them in successive seasons, the point kept getting reinforced in a graphic way.

They were quicker, more polished and more skilled than the younger guys. Plus much more focused and mature.

It was a different level of everything I was astounded actually existed.

Vance was pure athlete with a quiet sternness to his personality. I don't think he ever said a full sentence to me that season. He didn't need to. I told him great job all the time. Wasn't much more I could say. He showed up and dominated every area of a baseball game like few players at that age could.

He was from a family of athletes. His older brothers were All State caliber wrestlers. Vance was also dominating in that sport in addition to be a skilled football player.

There was nothing he couldn't do at a high level on a baseball field. But if you were looking for drama or theatrics, look elsewhere. He was quiet and serious. No flash necessary.

Baseball is nearly an impossible game to have one guy put a team on his back. There are too many variables with 9 positions including a pitcher and 9 individual guys required to hit in a lineup. Each guy is important and each guy for the most part is on his own in the moment.

But Vance literally carried us numerous times on days he pitched.

Add in that skill with the instinct and competitiveness of a total winner, and you had an unforgettable package.

Richie was Vance's buddy and the full throttle in-your-face emotion to Vance's quiet relentlessness.

Coach Reynolds told me he'd had coached Richie in the lower level leagues for guys under ten. But what he'd written on paper about his ability couldn't have possibly done him justice.

With Richie I saw will and such and obsessive competitiveness I'd never seen previously at any level of any sport I was involved with.

Playing catch before practice or taking a few warm up swings before a game. He did them like it was his last. It all made me embarrassed to look back at my time as a player and carrying around the belief I played hard.

With Richie, every ground ball or pop up was worth a dive and nothing was ever done without insane hustle. He was small, lean and wiry and each full body lay out flop to the ground would make me wince.

I was certain was something would break.

Nothing ever did.

Having two guys of their quality was like having extra coaches. As a rule you never had to worry about a SW kid going less than full out during a game. And most practices, there was no let up.

But there is another level beyond that. They blew past the bar of simply trying super hard and demanded absolute excellence.

That day they served notice of who they were and how things were going to be.

Simple fielding during batting practice became a duel of who could make more plays with a more intense desire at work. They put on a dizzying display of back and forth mastery of defense.

Gym floors are made of hard wood. Called hard for not just wood type but because flopping one's body on it is bound to cause pain.

Both guys set an unbelievable pace. There weren't plays off or definitely no time for idle chatter.

The young guys were going to have to keep up.

I loved everything I saw and I know Coach Reynolds couldn't get enough either. There is no substitute for leadership by example from your best players.

Needless to say, after the experience of seeing our young guys practice like they did the first day, then adding two guys like Vance and Richie, I was stoked. We were going to run the table and win every game. That was how I saw it.

I was convinced we had all the best players.

This was going to be as easy as it was fun. 
Chapter 10--

For me the fun grew bigger with every practice.

It would end and I'd be trudging out to the cold car excited for the next one.

In two or three weeks' time, my life had completely flipped. Finding something I really enjoyed doing, and just for the sake of doing it, changed basically everything.

I was less tense. I was more productive in my work as a writer. I was less grumpy in my interactions with my grandma.

Basically my day was about getting all the other stuff done so I could get back to thinking and talking about the team.

And there was really only one person I could talk about the team with. I'd only see Coach at practice and he was too busy pushing everything along to do much talking.

I guess everything had a place and time.

Then when it was over, we'd go our separate ways. While I appreciated the efficiency, it left me dying to talk more about every aspect of what was happening with the team.

I thought he was a brilliant baseball mind. He did a fine job managing the kids and their personalities.

I wanted to measure up and show him I was keeping up.

So I started firing off emails about what had happened at practice. He fired back even more detailed responses and it grew from there.

Coach worked third shift and like I said I was up all hours of the night frequently dealing with my grandma's problems.

It grew from there. Back and forth we went.

Over the course of that first season it probably numbered in the hundreds each.

Every detail of a player's swing. Or something we noticed about his effort. Or a conversation with a parent. Any and everything Ace Electric.

And I was eating it up. And he seemed to enjoy it too.

It wouldn't be a stretch to say that over our mutual passion for all things related to the team and the sport of Little League baseball, we bonded.

Still there was a line. An imaginary wall between us.

Not one we expressly talked about. Just an obvious difference in the level of responsibility and with that responsibility, the level of pressure we each were under.

I had freedom and I was grateful for it. I could move around freely and joke with the players. Kind of take on the role of the nice guy to his aloof taskmaster.

It worked great for me because I mean who doesn't like being liked?

I was a dedicated student of everything going within the universe of the team. I could see how much more he had to do. I was help.

Not that he treated me that way, but it was clear our roles were vastly different.

And I was glad of it. Because as the practices piled up and we moved closer to April and the opening game, I began to get the sense that winning wasn't going to be as easy as I initially thought.

And I wanted it to be easy for the players. I wanted them to taste success with no failure. I really liked them. And I liked Coach more.

And who doesn't like to be part of a winner? I had my ego all tied up how we did

As I saw the team continue to rapidly improve, Coach taught me more about the league. And about the competition the guys would face.

It wasn't going to be an easy ride.

And I knew the players on the team. I saw how emotional they could get over the slightest mistake. It was like nearly every guy was consumed by a need to be perfect.

I was in the clouds myself. I'd forgotten baseball wasn't like that. It was loaded with many moments of failure.

After one email exchange with Coach Reynolds, I started to have my first concerns about how our players would react to the downs that went with the ups.

He sent me his scouting report of all the teams in the league. Two of them looked like they had a lot of good players.

In my ignorance, I had a hard time believing their guys could be that good.

It wasn't just Vance and Richie. We'd had two really good players join us since those early practices. The two missing twelve year-olds.

Zane Wood was a pudgy first basemen with pop in his bat. No one ever really called him Zane as he was "Woody" to everyone who knew him. He played in the lower league at ten and sat the bench at eleven. It was his last year and his time had arrived. He carried himself like he was high on the pecking order. From the beginning he showed up more or less when he wanted to. And out of all the guys, he paced himself the most in practice.

But there was nothing phony about him. He didn't go out of his way to make it look like he was working hard or even physically prepared.

At one of his early practices, Coach had the team run five laps around a full sized gym. On the fifth lap, Wood labored home.

Worse than any player I'd seen run. Worse than even pudgy little Mitch.

At the end of the last lap, he waddled over to the wall I was standing by.

Between deep gasping breathes, he came out with it.

"You know I am not in very good shape right now," he announced.

There was no hint of indifference nor worry. It just was and he felt fine sharing it.

That was Woody. He just was. And very comfortable being that. He was the least celebrated of our four twelves. He never was an All Star and never played travel baseball.

But to me that just meant he appreciated the experience of being one of the top dogs on the team even more. I liked him a lot.

Kory was the remaining twelve and another really good player. He was quiet and business like. He had this lightning quick bat and a perfect technical swing. He was also a sure handed third baseman.

You put Woody and Kory in with Vance and Richie and you had a group of four veterans who were great people and great ballplayers.

The entire year I never had one problem from any of them.

I was too new to know that whatever we'd accomplish as a team would depend almost entirely on them doing better than the other 12 year-olds we'd play against on a given night.

The physical and maturity difference between someone who is ten and someone who is twelve isn't something you would understand fully unless you were around kids regularly. And I hadn't been.

But when it became apparent deep into those weeks of preseason practices how much better the older guys were than the younger guys, my new primary coaching duty was born.

As I said I was an arm for batting practice. Especially that first year. And I did it well I thought. I'd throw a couple hundred pitches during a practice and over a hundred on a game day. I was secondarily a cheerleader. I was good at using positive talk to compensate for my lack of technical knowledge.

I played the game but I didn't know all that much about teaching the game. But Coach did so I picked up stuff from him.

But one area where I did have a deep background was outfield defense. And in little league very often your rookie players play the outfield. This is because there is a minimum play rule. Every guy on your team has to hit once and play two innings minimum.

And when you have guys on your team like those twelve year-olds, there is no way they are moved out of the infield.

I was put in charge of teaching the rookies how to play outfield. At least well enough to not ruin things for the team. Just enough to make a basic play.

I dove into the role with enthusiasm. It was an area where I got to have a little control. Enough but where I was still comfortable.

The source of my nerves was clear. Being on the inside and not just showing up watching games, I knew how much a guy like Coach Reynolds put into the team and its success.

He wasn't getting paid. But adding together the time he was putting in preparing practice, dealing with league administrative stuff, and then actually coaching the team it was equal at least a part-time job.

That was always at the front of my mind and it made me take extra care in everything I did for the team.
Chapter 11--

As if circumstances with the team weren't positive enough Ace Electric pulled a mother of good luck with a new and very fortunate addition to the team.

Like I said, we needed twelve players to have a complete roster. When I first showed up Coach basically had ten in the fold.

In the spring, usually late January or early February, the league has a special tryout for players that weren't in the league the prior year.

From what Coach had told me, there were usually a couple good players and maybe one butt kicker talent.

Vance, our do everything stud, originally came into the league via the spring draft two years earlier.

The thing was each year there was no way of knowing who was going to be there. You showed up and the curtain opened. If you needed a shot in the arm on your roster, it was an important day.

To add to the intrigue, the league had an interesting way of deciding who got first crack at drafting which player. They did random hat draw of 1 through 6 with a number for each team. Whichever coach drew the 1, picked first. And so on.

That day there was a catcher. He was eleven. His name was Tanner. He came with a little bit of interesting history and even more than a little bit of baggage regarding his dad.

But Coach knew him and knew he could play. I was in the early days of my apprenticeship in Little League but I could tell in moments he was damn good.

The best thing about him was he was a catcher who liked to catch and catch only. In baseball, catcher sets your defense. But that is even more true in little league.

The other thing I was picking up fast: The difference in talent player to player are much more extreme than it is at older age levels.

So a truly great defensive catcher like Tanner, would give a team a large advantage over a team who had a good one. And an even more massive advantage over a team with just an average catcher.

Most teams have at least a guy or two who are average to good back there. But most times these players aren't dedicated fully to the position.

With Tanner, we would have had the rarest of little league commodities. On top of his mastery on defense, he was an All Star level hitter.

So with all that happening on tryout day, I made by far my biggest contribution to Coach Reynolds's first year. I reached my hand into the hat and drew number "1".

But it was off the field where the really interesting stuff happened. It was all set in motion the moment Tanner and his one-of-a kind dad came back to Merwin East Little League.
Chapter 12--

Merwin East Little League.

I was born in the very same city where the league is located. Lived there until I was in my early 20s. Then came back in my late 30's.

But prior to being invited by Coach Reynolds to check out one of Xavier's mid-major games a few months before coming on as an assistant, I didn't know really know that the league existed.

Merwin is a smaller city, but it has a bunch of different Little Leagues.

It shares the west side of the city with Northwest Little League.

I learned as far as long-term consistent success and stability, Merwin East stood on its own.

It had the most kids of any local league and was accustomed to winning at least one district championship, if not more, in post season All Star tournaments.

But maybe an even stronger measure is the amount of satisfied customers created over the years. As I spent more time down at the fields, everywhere I turned I'd meet adults at the field with a history of having played in the same league when they were kids.

The time was marked by that succession. Father to sons. And it showed no signs of slowing down.

The keystone constant was the leadership.

Mrs. Janet Walter was there from the beginning and over multiple decades she never left. Her and her late husband started the league and as a labor of love worked tirelessly to make it the league into the area gold standard.

Year round she gave thousands of hours. All of it volunteer.

When someone makes that kind of volunteer commitment, the thing they commit to owns significant real estate in her heart and soul.

So to me it stood to reason: any person who Janet had the inkling could do any sort of damage to her league, that person would be watched closely.

Any person who exhibited any behavior which could cast her league in a bad light, the relationship was bound to be icy.

She was the protector and overlord. Without her efforts, the league would never have been the kind of place I would have loved coming to like I did.

The unwritten rule was clear. If you had a run in with the lady in charge, expect a rough and tense road. No one was above the league in her view.

So it was with the tense relationship between her and Tanner's dad Lonny, our newly installed hitting coach.
Chapter 13--

Coach had encountered Lonny Parker in the past. He was a former athlete married to one of the top high school softball coaches in the area.

Lonny came off as intimidating for a variety of reasons. .

Appearance wise he was the whole package of menacing. He had a thick muscular build, dark eyes, square jaw, and goatee. To top it off, he was one of those guys rarely smiled

After we picked up Tanner, his son, in the spring draft, Lonny was a regular at practice. I knew next to nothing about hitting and Coach had his hands full orchestrating every aspect of the entire team.

My ability to do much beyond throw batting practice and maybe break off with the outfielders was pretty limited.

We needed a hitting coach and we needed someone to be bench coach. The rules and common sense required that while we hit, we have an adult on the bench while Coach and I worked the bases,

Making Lonny a coach was a logical fit.

Lonny's serious, gruff exterior didn't scare me personally. But I could tell the kids took him very seriously. And I didn't think that was a bad thing.

He could naturally do the bad cop. As much as I loved the players, they were still young kids. Having an intimidating disciplinarian would save Coach or myself from having to play the part.

And he was at all the practices anyway.

So Coach smartly put him on the staff.

Coach showed an uncanny ability to always take calculated risks that leveraged into success.

The pieces were coming together and everything felt right.

We had a full team and a full staff.

After over two months practicing either in a cramped gym or in the wet cold of late winter and early spring, the guys were chomping at the bit to play actual games.

I was convinced we couldn't be beat.
Chapter 14--

I felt like having a dedicated baseball guy like Lonny working under coach forced me to raise my game and work at getting better.

There is no doubt I was very raw on the technical aspects of the game. I probably had the patience to work with guys who needed work, but outside of helping the young players learn a little outfield defense, I didn't have a lot to give on the instruction front.

And I was good with that.

I'd show up, do my very limited thing, and leave the rest to the experts.

But when Coach had another commitment one evening that would be keeping him from being at practice, things got pretty tense for me.

He shot me an email a couple days in advance and asked me to run things. He didn't let on in the text of what he wrote that he thought it was any big deal.

I took it as a vote of confidence. But it wasn't one that was warranted. I didn't know shit. All I knew was what I picked up from him.

Luckily we'd been at it a month.

I don't think that Lonny was officially on the staff that night. Not that it mattered. He'd likely be there and he'd throw in his two cents.

The hour and a half was a combination of a blur and an out of body experience. I walked into the gym already sweating from the nerves. My breathing heavy, I addressed the team from prepared remarks and stumbled all over myself. I'd practiced them at home too.

I don't know why, but these short baseball players looking up at me while I talked made anything I'd done professionally or otherwise seem like a piece of cake.

As a lawyer I'd argued in front of judges in cases with hundreds of thousands of dollars at stake. I'd given solo presentations in front of a few dozen high-powered corporate attorneys.

And nothing brought out the fright in me like that night in the gym.

I guess I wanted to do really well in front of an audience that I cared about impressing, unlike those prior experiences.

Well I did the best I could but momentum was waning.

I'd underestimated the fine art of keeping the energy up and maintaining good flow inside those gyms. Things could grind to a halt quickly. Some of the guys, especially the ten year olds, you needed to keep engaged and interested.

After a vanilla throwing drill, we did a little base running. And even though I'd researched the gist of it and exactly how to teach it, something about the whole thing fell flat.

Probably my novice delivery.

Lonny was on hand and it didn't take long for him to jump in. Which he did for every drill after. I'd basically introduce the drill and he'd take the bull by the horns and run it. His explanations were crisp and clear. He was a little advanced for the age group. But I could see it grabbing hold of the older players like Richie and Vance.

It was far more positive than negative. Sure Lonny probably thought I was a boob, but I figured out soon after he wanted the best results for the players. I could get behind that.

And I think that's how Coach saw it too. It's a real deal when you are an adult basically lording over a bunch of kids playing a sport, to let your ego get in the way of the result.

Coach received an even rougher introduction to Lonny during a previous coaching job during Fall League.

"It was classic Lonny lol. He hopped that fence there along the first base side on the minor field and I had like 4 or 5 dads helping and we all just froze and listened. He was correcting something he saw one of the outfielders do incorrectly and felt the need to stop everything and hold court. I was hoping he would say something off base so I could figure out a way to get him off the field and move on. But I didn't find anything and couldn't, so I just let him say his piece. I never really had a mjor issue with him. It was just awkward."
Chapter 15--

It was one thing to accumulate the players. After all getting Tanner was nothing more than dumb luck. But think about how much work it took just to get to 12 players and have a legal roster. First we needed to get a good hat draw to get a quality player. If we would have drawn a 5 or 6, we would have been stuck with whatever.

Then Coach had to go pick from a group of kids other teams didn't want. That's how we picked up Tristan.

But his headaches were just beginning. A good rule of thumb about little league is sometimes the better the player the more likely they'll miss a practice. This is because he may have other commitments with travel. Or they might be good enough that they look at the league as something second-rate. Maybe not as important. The world had changed.

The parents and kids of the better player were often more interested in getting their kids against the best competition to increase the odds of their son getting good enough in the future to get college money for baseball. The other factor was the travel culture itself. The parents of kids who played in travel ball all knew each other. The pressure to outdo each other with the opportunities they were providing their kids was always there.

We'd see this and become used to it. But that didn't mean it wasn't a cause of stress. The battle among coaches of the various league teams wasn't just about seeing who could best prepare their teams, but who could keep their top players showing up not just to practice but games as well.

Tanner was our new addition and a truly elite catcher. He also could have qualified for the backside of a milk carton he was gone so much.

The whole thing made Coach simmer.

Then you had Tristan. Our late add from the league cut pile.

He needed more work than a few practices a week could give him.

As practices piled up, Coaches' wheels were turning. He had a lot to think about. It was dizzying. He was having less fun than me. By a mile actually. And it was obvious. But there wasn't a lot anyone could do except what he asked.

Reading coach's email the next morning gave me some insight into what his current anxiety level.

Before you got there Mitch was just a chatterbox and not paying attention to what he was doing at all. So he got off on the wrong foot with me right away and had to tell him to pay attention to what he was doing.

I think we should petition SWLL to allow us a 2nd base coach whenever Tristan gets on base! He is slower than your Grandmother, runs when he shouldn't, doesn't run when he should and watches the ball continuously when he runs. When he does arrive safely at a base he isn't satisfied and baits a superior athlete into a rundown. . I've said it twice to him already these aren't little kids he's playing with. The backyard pickle stuff isn't going to work for him. The good news is we can pinch run for him with a guy who is out of the lineup at the time. If Tristan goes in with the second unit, we can use Jett in that role. Seth has speed too but his instincts are surprisingly poor negating his good speed at this point.

If Tanner doesn't get his butt to practice Wednesday he might begin the first game on the bench. That would probably mean playing Evan / Jett at SS/2B with OF left to right of Seth, Xavier, and Bradford, but I can't let his not being here slide anymore. I would probably put Tanner in the game in the 3rd inning and leave him there for the duration but at least it would send a message. Richie and Vance missing time to play travel baseball is somewhat understandable. At least they are playing baseball. Tanner plays travel ball too but doesn't explain most of his absences. He needs to be here to get up to speed with the team.

As much as I loved what I was doing, I wouldn't have traded places with him for all the beer in St. Louis. And we hadn't even gotten to the games.

Chapter 14--

As we entered the second week of April, I was excited but nervous.

It felt great to be part the game which was my favorite growing up. And the structure and organization of Merwin East seemed pretty advanced and positive

These were serious young players with almost across the board aspirations to be as good as they could at the game. They burned to be winners.

If anything the challenge for Coach Reynolds was getting them to relax.

To give you an idea of the kind of kids and the mentality, you had a kid like Richie, with a starting spot secure as a 12 year-old, diving for balls on cold, hard April ground. To him it was the last out of the biggest game of the year.

That sort of uncommon will and intensity was who he always was. But among all the players it was much closer to the norm, than the exception.

That culture was contagious with me personally.

Being around the kids absolutely forced me to look at myself. Was I enthusiastic about what I was doing? Was I competing at my best? Did I have will to win at life?

I led an isolated existence. I spent my day online or tending to my grandmother. My results were evidence I didn't have all the answers.

Bottom line was being among the players and working for Coach was changing me and for the better.

I no longer had to rely on my family and our increasingly uneasy relationship for any sort of validation. Working for the players was my thing. It was a wholly new thing that I chose because I liked it. There was no other reason or motivation.

It was a powerful lesson. It didn't have to be about anything more than that.

My grandma was in her early nineties. She had a heart condition. She wasn't going to go on forever. The plan was to get as much money set aside as I could, build up my ghost writing business, and get free.

But being around my family was wearing me out. They always thought they knew better. Quitting being a lawyer was some unforgivable sin to them and they weren't letting me live it down.

Lost in all the judging was the fact of how I chose to sacrifice my time and some of my best years. I was there on the front lines. I made the commitment they wouldn't make. And I didn't back off from it.

When you stripped away all the bull shit everyone threw around on holidays, there were plenty of things more important to my family besides family. A big one was the sorry human need to be right in their assessment of others.

I fought a persistent bitterness toward them all the way along my time with my grandma.

But everything was better with the coaching. Kids that age took on moments with a free mind. They didn't operate with any of the worry or guilt that burdens us constantly adults.

I was learning how to be a better adult by working for young people.

Liking something that's good, healthy, and fun is a fine reason to do something

It doesn't need to be about anything more than that.
Chapter 15--

April arrived and we had our twelve set. We also had our staff set.

We just couldn't get the rain to stop. It's not just the rain when it happens in the rust belt in early to mid-April. It's rain on ground that very often isn't fully thawed from the long cold winters. So the water pools everywhere.

Then when the rain is done, it's usually colder with grey skies.

So a heavy rain will set you back at least a day. Multiple heavy rains and you'll be set back until who knows when.

So we waited. And I looked back on a heck of a fun three months.

I was in a game. Definitely my favorite one growing up. I was working for a talented coach with talented young ball players. They had terrific attitudes.

The infield would be dominated by Vance, Richie, Kory, and Woody. All twelve. And then add in Tanner as the catcher full time and Evan the other eleven.

The other six players were ten and had growing to do in all areas. But I figured they'd all have a lot of success. It was that group whom I saw first back on day one in January and the impressive ability of the veterans didn't change my feeling.

Xavier, Jett, Seth, Bradford and even puffy Mitch all could hit, throw and catch.

But then there was Tristan. The hitting needed work, like all young players.

But it was the throwing.

A sturdy, broad shouldered kid with light blond hair he was bigger than most kids his age. The strongest physically in our ten year old age group.

But that's not how he threw.

Picture a javelin competitor in the Olympics with a running start but punctuated by a limp-wristed toss that looked more like something out of a dart tournament at your local tavern than baseball.

I knew we needed twelve but it was shock to see him at the first practice throwing like that.

When I talked to Coach after in private he didn't try to play like I hadn't seen what I actually saw.

"We didn't have much left to choose from talent wise. Tristan has size and you can't coach that," he said.

It was an eye opener for me on a lot of levels have a kid on the team who was that awkward in a basic game skill.

It actually made me uneasy a little. Not about coaching or being there.

It made me uneasy because the more I was around the players and the more I learned about the league as a whole, I started to see the wider differences between the talent level of the players.

The conclusion in my mind was obvious: If a Tristan exists, and we have tens who are way behind our twelves, then there really could be players around the league who are noticeably better than our stars like Vance and Richie.

Coach had sent me a scouting report of the other teams in the league at some point after we got going. I love the strategy aspect of the game and always have been a believer in knowing your opponent and preparing accordingly.

I read it a couple times, but didn't pay it any deep mind.

But something about Tristan's arrival sometime around late February got me thinking about that report.

One evening while the cold rain pounded outside and sealed a delay to the start of the season, I pulled up the opponent report. But I did something extra. I pulled up the original report Coach had given me about our team.

Back and forth I went paying close attention to the words and descriptions of the players on each document. Coach was a very precise guy who didn't engage in hyperbole or flowery writing.

We were going to have our hands full with two teams and probably do well against the rest. I saw it clearly, but I wasn't at the point of accepting.

It was a weird time. My uncle was home from Arizona and as much as I liked his company, he always made me feel uneasy.

There was the persistent feeling I had around him where I wasn't good enough or that I had done something.

Just one of the areas I still had a long way to go with my internal talk. And I was still in the business of letting certain people make me feel small.

But being around the kids was helping that too. And that's the thing about the experience in those early days. The benefit I was getting from hanging around the team and helping out coach was so one-sided in my favor.

The thought of them losing worked on me. We need to learn how to lose, but I liked this group. And I didn't want to see them fail. I wanted Coach to win.

It was more than admirable all he had put into the guys.

So after a few views over a couple days, I put the reports away.

The weather reports were predicting a few dry days.

Opening day was upon us.
Chapter 17--

The field eventually dried out with the weather finally clearing.

Coach gave me a schedule and I went home and studied it.

I remember feeling a small sense of relief that the team wasn't drawing Auto King or Matthews Sporting Goods right away. Those were the two teams Coach had talked up in his scouting reports.

I showed up on game day ready to roll. I remember how different it felt to be outside playing an actual game. Starting way back in January, we'd been together a quarter of a year. That's over twice as long as a professional spring training.

It was exciting. Just as exciting as it was for me as a player.

I hadn't been on the grounds since I'd seen a few innings of Xavier's mid-major games a year earlier. The place was a paradise for young baseball players. There was a main building behind home plate that was two stories. It housed the concession stand and working bathrooms on the first floor and a press box upstairs.

That room was a meeting room coupled with observation area for the scorekeeper. There was a public address system and a stereo could play music throughout the field over a loudspeaker. There were underground dugouts, fenced in bullpens, a huge batting cage and perfectly manicured field with thick green grass on the infield.

To say the league was well-run and gave the best possible experience to its players, would be an understatement.

I was a township rec league kid growing up but also played a year of Junior League for 13 and 14 year-olds in the city. The differences were between the two were huge. I probably would have worked harder to be better at the game earlier if I would have known a place like Merwin East Little League existed.

One by one I waited in the cage as the guys came by to get their swings. The twelve year olds got as many swings as they wanted, everyone else was on a count.

I kept trying to think of whatever ways to make their last year perfect.

Real games. Real baseball. With very talented players. I was more excited than when I played. 
Chapter 18--

One of the things which I discovered made Merwin East unique is the number of quality long-term coaches.

Normally I would have thought managers in Little League would move on at the end of his child's time.

But at Merwin East you had three holdovers out of the six teams. Guys who ran teams over the span of many years. Two of them had been at it for over two decades.

The benefits to the players are obvious. There would be far less concern about one player being favored over another. The most favored player in the classic youth baseball mythology being the coach's son.

Also a guy who sticks around long term would build up experience just managing games and coaching teams in practice. Presumably he'd have a deeper grasp of some of the unique Little League rules and pick up more effective teaching methods.

These are all luxuries for youth players but they can make a massive difference in a player's improvement and therefore his love for the game.

One of the long time managers down there was the head man of our first opponent. Russell Finkbeiner had won and won big over a couple decade run. He was a big bear of a guy with a warm smile that interchanged with a somewhat intimidating glare.

The more you knew him, the more you knew the glare was entirely unintentional.

The real intimidation came less from his massive size but the track record of success. We had two managers who had dominated the league, taken teams to County championships, and coaching All Star teams deep into the State Tournament.

Russell was one of them.

He'd won just about everything there was to win locally. He wasn't that many years removed from taking a team to the county championship in the top tier.

To do that, a team not only had to survive and win the brutal Merwin East Little League, it then had to beat the champions of other great leagues in the area in a double elimination tournament played at one of the league sites. It was a really great event and without question the holy grail for a league team.

Most conversations with the managers and coaches around the league focused on who went to counties. Rarely would the conversation be framed around who won our league.

In Counties there was an "A" bracket and a "B" bracket. A bracket were the first place teams of the various leagues. B bracket was made up of the second place teams

Luckily with that first team, I didn't know a damn thing about the County Tournament and don't recall Coach mentioning it until right near the end of the season.

I say luckily because it would have been a point of fixation for me. I believed from the start the team could do great things. If that tournament was what measured the success of a team, I would have probably obsessed over it.

As it was, we drew an opener against a legend.

I knew about Finkbeiner and his status because Coach had mentioned it a day or two before the game. It wasn't his style to talk about himself or spend any time verbalizing any personal feelings he had about his own status.

But I knew it was important to him that we measure up. And that he manage an error free game. That was why he prepared like he did.

When the team took the field against Union Party Store, I wanted to see Coach stake his claim as the talented leader I'd seen. Beating a legend right off the jump was a good message to send.
Chapter 17

The opener had what April baseball always has in the upper Midwest in unavoidable overload: raw, damp temperatures.

The wind blew northeast which meant it was going to be blowing straight out to left at our field.

But like what often happened at Merwin East, the cold stymied the hitters and gave the pitchers an edge.

I was too excited to worry about the temperature. The players didn't seem to mind the weather and there was a general excitement. Being in the uniform, doing it for real. And finally seeing some different competition besides the same guys facing the same guys on our team.

I felt like I'd had a positive impact on the ten year olds with their outfield play. The game would tell. They looked good in drills. Or at least good enough. And truthfully I had a lot of baseball ability to work with. Before I met them, they had been well coached on the basics of how to catch a ball the right way.

That is the hardest part of teaching any fielder to do anything. Especially outfield. A young player who has a bad habit in how he positions his glove to the ball will take considerable man hours to retrain.

And it's worth stating again and again, Coach was in charge of a league team. He could only practice so much in a week before it would be too much. More importantly, you had to assume the time your players were at your practice, was the only time they'd be working on their game.

There were a few kids who played more. Maybe it was travel ball, or maybe a neighborhood game. Some would seek out extra work after practice or on off days.

But the great rub of it all was the kids who did play extra needed less oversight and energy input during a practice.

Besides being well coached in the lower levels, I was also gifted with athletes. Seth could really run. Jett was an all-around athlete. Xavier was baseball fast.

The worry rested with other three rookies Tristan, Mitch, and Bradford. They were all slow and not athletic. Tristan and Mitch particularly looked at their outfield assignment like a lot of kids do. They saw it as a demotion. The place where kids are hidden. The place where they'd never see any real action.

They were definitely wrong on that last point, which was the major worry we had to deal with as coaches. Coach was in it to win games. And when I saw an inning of an actual game, I started to get a little nervous. Hitters were pumping that ball to the outfield or swung like they would hit one there at any moment.

I didn't know how our guys would hold up out there.

I held my breath that whole first season hoping for strikeouts, ground balls and fly balls directly at our best players.

Not only did I want to do a good job to support Coach Reynolds, but I didn't want to see the season for our twelves go sideways.

Guys like Richie and Vance were perfectionists with high expectations. I didn't want them thinking I was some hack who couldn't get guys to do something as simple as catch a fly.

It's a funny thing, and I heard Coach talk about it a couple times: We were adults wanting to measure up to the standards of the kids.

It's one of the aspect that made the league great.

Everybody was sharpening everybody.

The opener versus Coach Finkbeiner's Union Party Store team was a perfect example of that.
Chapter 19--

As into the process of working with the players and practice generally as I was, it was easy to see how I found games so outright addicting.

Standing on the field as a coach on the bases, there is 6th sense at work and it's the most overwhelming of all of them. It's the sense of excitement energy. The kind where, where when the players are really into what they're doing, you feel like you are involved in an event that is much, much larger scale than a little league game.

If you've seen the Little League World Series on television one thing that stands out is the way the players yell for each other throughout a game. But it's not mere yelling.

We're talking choreographed chants like a kind of rag tag boy choir.

For much of the games on TV it doesn't let up.

It's the very same kind of atmosphere for large portions of a local game. When your team is up, teammates will chant encouragement in unison and use the player's number or name.

It's a uniqueness that adds a life and edge to a little league game you'll have a hard time finding anywhere else.

I've ventured across town to the Junior League games. That level is the next step for kids in their thirteen and fourteen year old seasons and combines the five local leagues. The benches are largely quiet. It's much more like you'd see in baseball in high school, college, and the pros.

They leave little league and a lot of the little boy stays behind.

Right away I loved the excitement of having the players excited. I wish I would have enjoyed it more that first year. I started to at the end.

But for a lot of the time I had two big considerations that superseded simple enjoyment. The first was seeing the guys win. The second was learning how to actually coach well.

I knew it mattered to me enough to care about improving. If nothing else, to take some pressure off coach.

Our first game was a nail biter. It was done in slightly over an hour but felt like it lasted about two minutes. The guys beat Union Party Store 2 to 1. The kid who pitched for Union was only ten. A fact I found out about later.

I didn't know how remarkable that was. It's a huge adjustment for all young players to come to majors and suddenly play against bigger, very talented twelve year olds. Ten year olds would pitch and find success at times. Usually improving as they went. You'd see a big difference in their level of play in the second half after they'd adjusted to the speed.

But you didn't often see them pitch on Opening Day. This Roberts kid had an amazing curve ball though and he didn't act ten.

We'd be seeing a lot more of him as time wore on.

But we had a thick group of proven veteran talent. Again and again, the theme would the repeated. Older is better in little league. Older with more talent is largely unbeatable.

Vance got the ball rolling with some strong innings and an impressive grit in getting out of a bases loaded, one out jam. Tanner had a line drive homer that never got more than 10 or 12 feet off the ground but managed to clear the fence. Great relief pitching work by veterans Kory and Richie.

Veterans, veterans, veterans.

A theme that was repeated time and again that first year.

I walked away happy and thinking we'd keep winning. These were serious games. There were a couple double plays. There was a play where Vance went into the hole between third and short, Richie was alert and smart enough not to chase the ball and instead covered the his base to get a key out. There was clutch hitting against great pitching.

That was another thing that struck me. Everything is condensed as far as size goes in little league. Forty six feet from mound to home. It's not very far and some of these kids get big and can throw that ball hard by the time they are twelve.

When you have quality players on both teams the speed and the way many of them seem almost too big for the field is not unlike watching a pro game on TV.

The skill level of your top hitters leaves you in wonder. The ball gets on them so quick from the short distance, but they see it so well that it evens out.

Little league is baseball but it's also its own sport. It has slightly different rules and unique characteristics. It's hard to find more people who come to a game at the 10 to 12 age group/major level who don't come away wanting to see more.

The win turned out to be the apex of my week and it was all downhill from there.

The grounded realist inside me should have told me to not get greedy. I should have just gone home.

But I had a regular appointment I felt I needed to hit. But I didn't actually have a great need to hit.

Things were changing with me and the way I dealt with important people was changing even faster.

Chapter 20--

While my personal life was unconventional for a guy my age, I never considered it complicated.

I liked to call it simple by design.

But what seems simple to me, might seem complicated to other people.

One thing about working for the team that first year was everything else in my world came into greater focus. That was a good thing.

When you are having fun for fun's sake and you also are doing something beneficial in the process, you might find out you have less tolerance for the usual crap from people you thought you had to tolerate.

Melanie was a woman I knew back in college and then in post-graduate. She petite with dirty blonde hair and she had a bubbly positive energy that made her a lot of fun to be around.

I'd worked with her for a couple years at job in the university hotel on campus. She was one of those people you meet who you effortlessly click with.

The foundation of our ability to relate was an undercurrent of sexual tension. That and she liked dirty jokes and I loved to tell them.

Usually with attractive women, there is this barrier where you might feel like you need to tip toe around. I never felt that with her and it was refreshing.

We weren't close in the hanging out sense.

Back in school, I never cared to waste time hanging out with women as friends. Whatever little spare time I had was spent with buddies.

And she had a guy back home.

I was bouncing around doing non-serious target practice.

Through the means of social media we reconnected during my second year back home at my Grandma's. She'd changed. Put on some weight which she had room to do. But I'll admit I was past my prime as well.

But if the filter of discussion was full of large holes back in school, it was non-existent after the passage of years.

Plus I figured out quick she only lived twenty five or so minutes away.

After about a week, we got together for drinks and dinner.

It ended up a lot of drinks with zero food.

By mutual agreement we never made it back to our homes.

I found my way home the next morning and walked into my Aunt Elaine sleeping on the couch.

"I should have called," I said, feeling like I was going to throw up from the nerves of trying to explain myself. "I just forgot."

"It's alright," she said. "You're entitled. If anyone is entitled, you are. I never realized mom is such a pain in the ass. You are a saint."

I slept off the hangover throughout the day, not giving much of a though to much of anything.

I had a fatalist outlook about all relationships but especially romantic ones.

When I went back online the following morning, there were three emails waiting for me from my drunken hook-up the previous night.

From there it became a regular thing. Every week or two.

Staying overnight anywhere requiring money that regularly was out of the question for me. Melanie had a decent job and money to spend. So she spent it on the accommodations.

That was great. But what I liked most was no demands for anything more than how it was going.

I'd had my fill of that kind of pressure back in my younger, professional days. All that formality wasn't for me and time hadn't changed my attitude one bit.

Still, I knew something in the Melanie set-up had to give. The whole thing was too easy and too easy isn't normal with women.

After a few months of what was a near-perfect situation for a committed bachelor, the truth came out. We were checking out from our favorite mid-point spot, and I saw that look. It was the first time and I was ready to nip it in the bud.

I tensed up and said nothing. I wanted to get the words exactly right.

But she beat me to the punch.

"I don't know what to tell you, but I lied before," she confessed as we made our way to the back of the parking lot.

Since I admittedly didn't pay close attention to a lot of what she said and since we didn't share a lot of deep conversations, I was lost on what she meant.

But the build-up was getting on my nerves.

"What?"

She preceded to tell me that I had been canoodling with a married woman.

I said my good bye and with an academy award level performance, kept zero expression when I did it.

It was easy because I wasn't disappointed. And because I took satisfaction in being right: It was all too easy and smooth and there had to be a catch.

Which brought me to the opener against Union Party Store. Four years later.

There is big a chunk of time missing in the story.

That's because nothing changed. We kept meeting up like always.

Somehow I got it in my head it was OK, when I have no doubt it wasn't.

Like a lot of things in my world, the coaching had caused me to see things differently.

Discussions about her other life made me uncomfortable. I tried to avoid the topic but her always active mouthy ways wouldn't allow her to think before she talked.

The get togethers became more tedious and less warm.

Near the end, when we'd get done it got more uncomfortable. She started to have that look again. The one that told me well enough couldn't be left alone. That she was looking for more.

But all that wasn't for me. I enjoyed her and it was a good set-up and diversion. But if she was wanting something more serious and more personal, that was a no. I wasn't going to pick a married woman to have it with. I had serious issues with the whole thing to begin with. But like a dummy I kept at it.

But over time, life had changed. I had other things on my mind. Like Game 2.

"I think it's neat what you're doing," she said.

I eyed up my omelet more than I looked up and when I was sure she was talking about baseball, I quickly grabbed for the salt.

Anything to look like I was totally into the plate.

"Thanks," I responded. "It's fun. I enjoy it. Enjoy the guys. Good young guys."

"Hey maybe I could come see a game," she stated rather than asked. "I am a big sports girl. As you know."

"Yeah maybe," I said, looking up and faking a smile between pursed lips. "Sounds good."

I couldn't have been more full of crap. It sounded awful and I wasn't going to let it happen. Things were getting a little too personal and the baseball deal was in a protected zone.

If the married woman I am screwing around with started coming down to games and being seen, only a whole list of bad things were going to happen.

"Mel, I don't know what this is all about?" I asked.

I was playing stupid. I didn't want to admit what I knew it was about.

She was interested in more. I was interested how Coach Reynolds was going to line up that week's pitching.

Changes were happening all over my world. And this was one that was coming at me fast. And I was welcoming it. Deep down the relationship wasn't lining up with way I wanted life to be.

"About?" She snorted.

"You have your thing and I have mine. I don't know, I thought we had a good thing going here," I said.

I couldn't disguise the fatigue in my voice.

"I am not happy. Scott knows. He's known for a long time. You know that right?"

I almost gagged on my grape jellied slathered wheat toast.

"Um. How did that happen?"

"Well I told him of course," she said. "There is a lot you don't know about Scott and me. And how that operates."

"I know and I liked it like that," I shot back. "It's better that it's like that."

There was a long silence. Maybe a couple minutes. I pretended to eat.

"Jesus Christ, this is all fucking wrong,"

I was loud and it was dinner hour on a Saturday at Denny's. People nearby glanced over our way

"I figured you just knew," she said.

"How would I figure that since you always made such a big deal about sneaking around?"

"Well I didn't want to embarrass him or me. That's why."

I felt like my head wanted to split in two from the sudden onset of a mega dose of stress. For all the obvious problems with what I'd been doing for those years, it was a wonder how I could possibly be surprised how it was suddenly going bad.

But surprised I was. And in a sick-to-my stomach kind of way.

The conversation quickly ground to a halt. I got up and made my way to the bathroom.

I came back less than two minutes later.

There was money to cover dinner and a note.

"We'll talk soon!"

There was a smiley face underneath.

I was relieved I was there alone. Typical Melanie. And typical me.

Act like nothing big happened and end it with a smile. Even if it was a fake one.

I was happy we had another game coming up quick.

The requirement that I become an adult had come home to roost. It was obvious I had a ton of work to be even average at it.
Chapter 20

I came into Game 2 thinking we had an easier draw not having to play either of the two super teams from Coach Reynolds's scouting report.

But I found out really quick that things were not going to be easy.

Coney Plus was a team named after a local hot dog joint who was coached by Steve Larkin. He was a guy who Coach considered a rival from their days butting head in the minors. Coney had a couple twelve year old studs too. And one of them was super human.

Brennan was tall and strong and unbelievably fast. Beyond that he was fully baseball talented. He could field flawlessly and had a powerful, whipping inside out type swing.

Coach had mentioned him in a sort of awe throughout the preseason. And like everyone else, he mentioned whom I hadn't seen, it didn't register.

But man could he pop a wallop. He'd extend these abnormally long, abnormally powerful arms on a pitch in the middle, to as much as two feet outside and do way more than hit it over the fence. He'd hit it over the seventy five year old trees that sat high above the right field fence. The ball would plain disappear.

I'd seen a couple homers to that point. Tanner homered in game 1 for us and I saw another kid go deep in another opener earlier that week.

The ritual was the ball would clear the fence and little kids watching the game would sprint back there and retrieve the ball for the player's family. Like as a souvenir.

Well Brennan wasn't likely to be extended those same courtesies. His home runs would travel so far, no one would make a move to try to retrieve them. Since he hit the majority of them from straight away to the right field pole, the ball would disappear deep into the woods lining the backside of the field.

The standard Little League fence distances were way too small for a kid who was that advanced physically. But it wasn't just the fences. He'd get from base to base and the sixty foot distances in about five or six strides. Literally.

At shortstop, he'd cover nearly bag to bag and not while starting from the edge of the outfield grass. He'd play medium depth and just eat everything up that wasn't ripped hard.

If Vance was capable of winning games on his own, Brennan was capable outright destroying other teams.

The game was unforgettable on a lot of levels. It was high scoring without being sloppy. The best hitters for both teams got up four times.

Since Brennan couldn't pitch and neither could Vance, you had line ups facing non-aces.

The other factor was Coach was no chicken about Brennan. He went in with a game plan. Low and away, preferably a little outside. Or preferably a lot outside. Then hope he doesn't get all of it. But he wasn't going to walk him intentionally.

The strategy worked. We ended up prevailing 10 to 8 in extra innings.

Brennan had two homers and a double. But like the other "gorilla hitters" as I called them, you used a different stat to measure your success. Brennan got up four times and hit rockets each time. But only two went out of the park.

That's a successful day.

One thing Coach wasn't about to do was take the bat completely out of a player's hands. As serious as we could be in trying to get wins, there were boundaries. It was Little League and they were young boys still. Even a superman like Brennan was a kid playing a game. He still had a ton to learn.

There was another wrinkle to that day which made managing a tight game even more complicated. Richie took the mound to relieve Evan, who had previously relieved Kory. Coach needed to save Kory to relieve Vance in a big game coming in Game 3.

Richie pitching meant taking the fact of his rabid intensity and super charging it. Basically pouring a can of gasoline on the already raging fire. Then there was the fact of it being a tight game and it being late innings. Then throw in that Brennan is his cousin and you had a beyond excited competitor on that mound.

Of course the situation would come down to Richie trying to close the game up a run in the sixth (the last regulation inning in Little League) and his cousin Brennan at the plate. It was a warmer day for that time of year. You couldn't see player's breath like you often could in April games. But I swore I could see smoke coming out Richie's ears as Coach walked away from the mound.

The instructions were a reaffirmation of the game plan going in.

But Richie wasn't hitting his spots that day. And he laid one up and on the outside part of the plate. Easy candy for Brennan.

The ball went so high and deep to right it could have nicked a low flying airplane.

The inning ended soon after and Richie left the field in tears. I saw it time and again that year. Even on the most mature teams with mature kids like Vance and Richie. The emotions of the moment would overwhelm them.

"People asked me after the game why I allowed Richie to pitch to Brennan. What was I supposed to do, have him roll it on the ground up there?"

Bottom line was there were no good pitches to that guy. If he could reach it, he was likely to destroy it. You just had to let it go at the target and hope. It wasn't exactly how Coach drew it up but the boys from Ace Electric pulled it out in extra innings anyway.

But 2-0 we were. And coach got some measure of revenge on another rival coach.

We were off to just the start we needed winning two tight games. But Matthews Sporting Goods loomed.

We found out quick they were a whole different level of scary.
Chapter 20--

Coach had made a point about how tough Coach Tim Thomas' Matthews Sporting Goods team was going to be, but I had to see it up close to understand it fully.

We had decent sized kids, but the more I was watching games and other teams, I saw there were bigger. Matthews had about 4 of them. Quite a bit bigger actually. Plus three of these monsters were really good players. All Stars. Butt-kickers. Big hitters with power arms.

In terms of power and the likelihood any swing would result in a home run, no team had that many sure things. They also had a couple really hot shot ten year olds who would have started for us right off the jump.

As menacing as the ability to hit home runs is for a manager, from the point of view of the kids, it was the ability to throw insanely hard that scared them.

In that game we faced likely the weakest of the big 3 and got mostly manhandled. Plus they pumped a few over the fence. We got blown out.

There was a frustration I felt that was different. It wasn't the beneficial type frustration where you knew if you kept at it, you'd improve and eventually it would get easier.

This frustration was one I wasn't sure could be improved. They were bigger, threw harder, and were talented in all areas of the game. I didn't feel like we matched up or ever would.

And it made me somewhat disheartened.

I knew we had good players. Guys like Vance, Richie, Kory and then Tanner who was a year behind them.

The guys seemed mad after the beating, but at least they didn't seem scared. Those older guys on our team had played a lot of ball against all the good players in the area. They'd lost their share over time. They'd probably won way more.

And since I couldn't swing a bat, I had to leave it up to them to figure it out. At least that's how I rationalized it.

But I didn't see it changing all that much.

They seemed too good.

Coach had been spot on in his assessment.

After the loss, I was worked up and we had our usual back and forth by email over the hours leading up to the next game. That was the positive of the whole thing. There wasn't much time to sit and think about things. Another game was coming fast.

Baseball is a summer sport by reputation, but league play in little league is played all in spring. By the time summer hits officially, league play is done and All Star preparations are underway. With 24 scheduled games and some early rain outs we still had to make up, there were very few days off.

But some things stood out about the Matthews Sporting Goods game and I fixated on a couple observations.

The kid who threw against us, threw hard. His name was Jason Gregg. A big, husky twelve-year old. But Coach told me he was small potatoes as far throwing ability off the mound compared to another guy. A big thick eleven-year old named Kaden was the guy everyone feared the most.

How one team ended up with so many big studs was the thing I kept wondering.

The answer was simple. First, there was how the league went about dividing up the talent. It was no different than how a pro league such as the NFL would do it. When a team has a couple bad to really bad years in a row, they get the premium picks in the draft.

Tim's team had a season where they won no games.

A team also had the option of building by getting a higher draft pick bringing in the player's dad as an assistant coach. The set up was known as a "protection". Basically your team could jump ahead of another team which had a higher pick using this method.

That whole protection concept was murky to me at first. But it was pretty obvious a team could get a lot of the best players at once if they did the coach protection and also stunk it up for a year or two.

But the other topic of fascination was Tim's coaches. Particularly this tall guy with a big gut and these sort of nerdy round glasses. Kaden's dad was hard to forget once you saw him in action.

Jerry Jankowski was abrupt and to the point with the Matthews players throughout the game. He didn't have a filter to sugar coat anything to protect a player from being embarrassed. Although he seemed knowledgeable (especially compared to someone like me) he also came across as extremely arrogant. There was something about him that if he were a poker player, you'd be sure to keep an eye on him because he'd try to deal from the bottom of the deck.

Turns out I wasn't wrong.

Coach knew him well from his past coaching in mid-majors. Where Reynolds always had a mostly light-hearted attitude about the odd ball nature of all the adults down there, he got a lot more serious when discussing Jerry.

Still simmering over the loss and put out by Coach Jerry's perceived snooty arrogance I was a willing audience as Coach was in a sharing mood.

SUBJECT: Dirty J

That guy jerry rigged the minor draft one year and stacked the draft so badly in his favor that his team went undefeated. He had a really good team the next year too and we finally beat him. Once. He was so sour after the game he accused our dugout of cheering too loudly when his son was tagged out, and briefly shaken up on the base paths. I told him "Jerry, of course they cheered. We haven't got Kaden out once in two years. They were cheering the fact that we finally got him out. No one noticed he was hurt there".

We didn't win tonight, but when we do finally beat these guys, you'll see what I mean.

It was a topic that never got old. The life and times of "Dirty J".

Chapter 22--

We pushed out to a 6-2 start and that was reason for optimism. Man for man we were probably better than over half the teams in the league.

The quality across the board on these teams was impressive. No game felt easy, but the guys, particularly the veterans had been there before. And they did what they did. But we'd lost to the two best teams.

At least in the rematch we'd come back and beat Auto King in a thriller decided in the last at bat.

But it was a struggle. They had hitters all over the place and it taxed your pitchers like crazy. There weren't any easy outs or easy nights against them.

They had another long-time coach who was a mega-legend by comparison to anyone else. Maybe even compared to a two-decade guy like Finkbeiner.

Rick Phillips was like a shorter version of Russell Finkbeiner in appearance, but that was where the similarities ended. During a game you'd rarely hear a word out of Russ while he'd seemingly idle away his time sitting on a bucket in the corner of the high area above the dugout. Russ wouldn't say much and obvious back and leg problems brought on by carrying around his large girth, left him often sending someone else out to coach third.

Rick was a little younger than Russell, but had to carry more weight around in his short frame than he probably wanted. But it didn't affect him and his energy for what he was doing. He'd won State Championships coaching All Star teams, won the league too many times to count, and developed some of the league's great talents into highly polished destroyers. Even more impressive was the way he'd get quality out of guys who seemed pretty average at first.

His specialty was hitting. As time went on and I took to trying to emulate what he was doing to help our team.

There wasn't an easy out on his team that first year. That's pretty rare for a Little League team in league play.

And to top it off he was a serious competitor. He knew every rule by heart and had maneuvered his way through the substitution rules and pitch count limits hundreds of time.

He was a walking advantage every game he showed up. I could tell it was a big deal for Coach to work against him.

In the end though, you have to have talent. We almost measured up but were just a little short. Our twelves were as good and that's where it begins. But then Rick had high quality elevens, three of whom played liked good twelves. And then also a set of enviable tens. One hit so well he could have made a play for being an All Star on the twelve year old team in a weaker league.

So there was star power and there was depth across all classes on his team. They could all hit and they could all catch. That last part meant you had to hit the ball with authority and work counts to beat them. Their team wide ability demanded you play at a high level to win.

And when you are talking ten to twelve-year old boys, that kind of consistency can be elusive.

Our team had a weird layout too. We only had the two eleven year-olds and then six tens. So half our team was rookies.

In the bigger games against the serious teams the rookies needed to play up and win battles normally reserved for a more seasoned eleven year old. And the difference between those two ages in experience and confidence in a league like Merwin East was vast.

Our best tens often struggled as much as our worst. Xavier and Jett were a cut above talent wise. Their defense was fine. They'd make plays. But offensively the bigger kids throwing super hard were giving them fits. Worse was they seemed to unravel just a little more with each failure.

The guys with the least ability like Seth and Tristan the late roster add who in the beginning threw like a girl, were the least likely to get emotional. They'd strike out and return to the bench with a poker face.

But Jett was about to crack and Xavier had cried at least twice by game eight. Even when he'd put together a good at bat but not get the result, he'd march back to the dugout in a huff.

He was ten and his dad was the manager. He wanted to do well. But like a lot of guys he didn't have a clue about baseball reality. Even the best players make outs. And they make outs during times when they do everything right.

When you're ten in a league like Merwin East, the guys throwing to you probably seemed like impenetrable walls a million feet high. And growing higher the more you struggle.

It's mental and it's also physical.

The strength and agility difference between kids at that level separated by a couple dozen months in age is vast.

And like I always told the rookies: it's one of the few times in your sporting life, you are being expected to compete and have success against guys two years older. It rarely happens in high school. And by the time you are out of high school and you play local rec leagues, two years difference means nothing.

I stayed consistent in what coach asked me to do with the younger players. I had them focus on the simple task of catching a fly ball when it's hit to them. And keep it in front of when it's not.

Over and over again we'd work on flies and base hits to them.

The older guys would be doing the infield and working on pitching.

The expectation was simple. Young guys, no screwing up the twelve-year old year for the old guys.

Through the first eight games I thought I'd done the job. The guys were catching the ball and weren't letting the fact that none of them were hitting get in the way of making the plays on defense.

At 6-2 we looked like a contender. In fact, we were a game behind Matthews and tied with Auto King. Still something didn't feel right about it.

We hadn't played all that well since those first couple games. Especially with the bats. The late April and early May weather was on the chilly side and I hoped things would turn as things warmed up.

But we had soft spots in the order.

The tens had done nothing but draw an occasional walk or get on because of error.

Evan was coaches' choice to hit lead off. He could run and was a great athlete, but he'd yet to heat up. The biggest disappointment at the plate was Woody. He was the unknown of the twelves. He wasn't a travel player and didn't have deep experience even in league. He didn't make the majors when he was ten and sat a lot when he was eleven.

He seemed a bit behind and uncomfortable against faster pitching. He dressed in thick clothes in the cold and I kept thinking he was struggling to find it because he had fewer preseason reps than Vance, Richie, and Kory.

Whatever the cause, we were riding him at first base no questions asked. And his fielding was always solid.

He was a good guy and compared to how little he was used the season before, playing for Reynolds was paradise.

Having pushed a third of the way through the season, we had our issues, but we were on pace for eighteen wins.

That sounded good until game nine and another showdown with Matthews Sporting Goods.

There was going to be no more hiding out for Ace Electric.

A win meant a share of first place with only three games to play in the half.
Chapter 23--

I liked our guys. In fact I loved them. The vets were terrific kids and could do things on a baseball field I couldn't have dreamed of doing at their age.

In that regard, I was in awe.

The more awe inspiring thing was there were other teams with guys as good or better

Some of the pitching and the infield play which I saw up close a few nights a week felt like high school or college level.

I figured if you took the best twelve year old players from each of the six Merwin East teams plus Kaden from Matthews Sporting Goods (who might have been the best of them all, you would have a team that would go all the way to the Little League World Series and win it easily.

I was a baseball fan growing up and that fan driven admiration transferred to the coaching. I watched the players on all the teams like I would sitting at home and watching the Chicago Cubs or Detroit Tigers for instance.

Star players down at the diamond had a presence and aura with me that was real.

Having high-level talent around there, made the entire presentation of the league even better.

In my view the whole thing was better than watching professionals. These guys played harder and with more emotion.

And because there was just enough variety of skill level on each team, you had enough misplays and mistakes to create additional excitement any night. So there was a maddening unpredictability to each game.

I learned that first hand along with a reminder of how random baseball could be. Baseball always has a way of grounding anyone who thinks they have all the answers or have it all figured out.

In basketball when that night's game is going like crap, throw it into the biggest most talented guy on the team and he'll bail your team out.

In football, if you are bigger and stronger across the board than your opponent, that fact normally takes hold at some point to insure victory.

Baseball, you can control things with a great pitcher. But in the world of Little League there are couple snags in relying on that strategy on a nightly basis. The rules dictate strict limits on pitch counts to protect young arms.

The rules laid out that the only way a kid could pitch two days in a row is if he throws less than twenty pitches on the first day. For even the best pitchers, you're lucky to get two innings from that. One is more feasible. So you need more arms to get through the other five innings.

The further down the list you get of your pitching options, the less control you have over the outcomes. The guys would get slower or less accurate or both. More balls get put in play by the weaker hitters and put over the fence by the stronger ones.

Plus even if you have your best going against the other team's best, balls still get put in play. No one knows where the ball will be hit, how hard, or what kind of bounce it will take.

The randomness of baseball makes the game different.

Plus in baseball you have to actively finish a game to win it. A clock won't do it for you like other sports.

All the randomness is fun and exciting when it's going your way. Less so when it isn't.

Unfortunately, the Matthews game had a feel like the clock was striking midnight for us.

Especially for the youngest players on the team and the success they'd enjoyed making plays in the outfield.

Xavier and Jett were talented and had enough natural feel for the outfield that what I taught wasn't going to change their results much. Hit them a few flies in early spring to get used to ball going higher than a gym roof and we were golden.

It was the other four: Bradford, Seth, Tristan, and Mitch who gave me the recurring feeling that in those early games we'd crawled through mine fields and somehow not triggered an explosion. Three of the four guys had caught flies in the outfield by that point and maybe just a ball or two had scooted by them into the gap.

With that record of success in the books, I had my chest puffed out and I walked with a strut. My coaching had created gold glove lock down outfielders out of ten year olds who had no prior meaningful experience.

But I was a fool. And the game has a way of exposing that. Every time I couldn't resist giving myself credit for things that had nothing to do with my coaching, the game bit back and told me the truth.

That game against Matthews Sporting Goods, my personal mythology came crashing down. Balls that were previously hit lazily as shallow pop-ups in front of cement footed guys like Mitch and Tristan, that night were hit on a line. The holes in their game came flooding out like a burst damn. That combined with their lack of athletic ability to send me searching for a place to hide in the cramped dugouts as ball after ball sent them running to the fence while runners circled the bases.

Their lineup was hitting bullets but the least prepared among the young outfielders were helping pile up extra bases for them.

My inner chest wall had these quick moments of seizure with each contact. At one point Mitch, who had been indifferent at best to the idea of even playing any outfield, simply watched a ball hit well but not on a line. Even though it was in his field, basically right at him, he didn't move. Like the game was suddenly drowning him with its speed.

Then when he left to chase the ball into the right field corner, he looked like he was running in quicksand.

In one instance during the carnage, Coach erupted in a loud "Come on!".

It was his go to exclamation when he saw something unravel in the field. Usually it was an error that was compounded by a perceived lack of paying attention or hustle.

That year or any of the other two years I don't remember him yelling at a pitcher or hitter who wasn't named Xavier. But he couldn't tolerate sloppiness and laziness in the field.

And it was always the outfielders who got the brunt of it that first year. They'd fall asleep sure. There were less plays. And as coaches you are always fighting the fact that in youth baseball a kid looks at outfield as a form Siberian exile.

Worse, I was sure in the case of Mitch, Seth, and Tristan, they were hearing negative messages about outfield from their parents. When a parent signs off on a player's complaints about playing time or position, it all creates a hot bed for the growth of the toxic pity parties.

So the collective unraveling that night was no accident.

In the last practice right before the Matthews game, Coach sent me out to the outfield to work with the guys. And Mitch had clearly regressed. He was slower than usual and had no desire to hustle for a fly. It was cold, damp, windy and uncomfortable and I took that into account.

But even balls he'd get to, he'd flop his glove lazily at it. Balls he normally caught were being turned into comedy.

I ran out to talk to him among the group of fielders. Try to figure out what was going on. His head was down and he wouldn't look me in the eye. After I encouraged him but with no forward progress, I glanced up beyond the fence line to the back edge of the parking lot.

His dad had a made a rare appearance. Usually you'd see Kirk to swoop into the lot, pick him up and bolt. It was probably because Mitch's sister had a big soccer game or his big brother was about to do something fabulous which couldn't be missed.

Having Kirk there finally watching was causing a very emotional kid who struggled with confidence to come apart.

I couldn't think of exactly what to say.

When I finally reminded him we have to always get on to the next moment, he at least perked up.

But after our talk, he was still terrible in the drills.

I am sure he heard nothing but negatives after practice too.

That day was a huge influence on me going forward. From then on, I was extra careful about how I addressed each player.

He had a good dad and a good mom. They worked hard and provided well. When you met them you couldn't help but like them. They loved their son. I had no doubt of it.

But with kids, especially kids that age, there was a lot to be said regarding when and how you show them that love.

They are all different and I know after my experience with Ace Electric and kids like Mitch, that the first thing they really want is for you to see their uniqueness and give them a sense of importance.

Something may not be going well at home. Even from otherwise good and well-meaning parents. I always assume that's the case and then try to make sure the couple hours playing ball is a positive counter balance. 
Chapter 24

Everything Coach did regarding the team was always carefully considered. That was always going to be the case with or without me there.

But one thing I brought to the party was an endless reservoir of energy to discuss every aspect of what was going on. Each player. What they did at practice. Where they might fit into the larger team better than we were currently using them. Their personalities. You name it, I liked to chatter about it.

For me it was a hobby that pushed all the buttons an outlet to use spare time could possibly push. I didn't think our growing obsession played out over nightly back and forth email sessions was anything but totally healthy.

Coach loved talking baseball and I don't doubt he looked closely at things I was suggesting and gave the ideas due attention. In the end I was talking and writing about it because I loved everything about it. Whether anything I came up with got implemented never mattered.

He and I developed a mental kinship about the whole thing.

And I was glad for the team's sake he was there as the gatekeeper. My ideas were buried between mountains of my excited ramblings in those emails.

I had a thing for crazy practice ideas and tweaking what he'd already done. I give him credit for being a good sport.

Me: I liked when you had them trying to do 20 straight. Some of the guys were running out of steam. I like those accountability drills where you are also working on important skills.

I have been thinking about suggesting that you promote more aggressiveness by having rotating captains and dividing up batting practice into two teams. The team that lets the most catchable balls get to the wall or most errors has some laps to run. To keep the non-fielding team into it by rotating hitters more frequently. They end up getting likely more swings because the fielding team will be more on their toes.

My thinking is getting guys used to watching the hitter hit with full attention will help them as fielders. You make more meat and potatoes out of the fielding during BP as opposed to standing and socializing.

Also if you divided the teams up strategically, you could get like a Richie in there with Seth showing him some pointers for example.

A: I'm definitely open to some new drills. Don't hesitate to suggest them. I'm pretty flexible.... Especially at this point I think we need to mix up the indoor drills.

One thing I'd like to repeat from yesterday was the throwing drill where they run to the opposite side of gym. That was rough.

I don't think we need to do anymore ground balls for a while.

Coach was a good and patient reader. He had some down time working third shift and I was an insomniac.

No aspect of the team was too small or unimportant. I think I got that passion from the kids. That's how many of them play the game. There were no small things. It was all a big deal.

If I never worked with players again, I wasn't going to return to a life of doing things or being around people who didn't cause me to care as much as I cared about the coaching. It was a life change.

Out of many personal benefits that might have been the biggest. My standard was higher for where I would spend time on.

Not that it was all smooth. Even that awesome first year. There were big changes were coming and my new attitude was going to be put to a severe test.
Chapter 25

The season crossed the halfway point. Twelve games down and we weren't the same team that started out the season setting a scalding hot pace.

The two teams coach predicted would give us problems jumped ahead and battled for first. We dropped a game or two we shouldn't have and faded slightly into a solid third place. No threat to be a losing team but after a loss to Matthews in game nine, no threat to win the first half.

On the home front things were also looking down rather than up.

My Uncle Ed was in town from Arizona and my level of discomfort rose like always. Pretty good guy but couldn't resist picking at my life choices. My choice to devote increasing amounts of my time to volunteer coaching was causing him to ramp up the commentary.

The irony about the coaching was it pulled me away from the house and provided an excuse to have less contact with my family.

For years I used to look on with envy at people who had good and loving relationships with their family. I would expend pointless mental energy wondering why I wasn't experiencing the same.

Then one day it hit me that the people I was wishing I had a better relationship with, weren't expending the same level giving a damn on their end.

So I gave up and faked my way through the interactions. Always wishing I was somewhere else doing something else that I liked. I was playing the game by my own rules.

Coaching gave me that opportunity. The list of benefits to the coaching was growing by the day.

After a game in the early second half, I got home to a sight I hadn't seen in years. The place was empty. I knew something was up and it was related directly to my grandma's declining health.

I had left her in my uncle's hands and her care had gotten more complicated. He wasn't a guy who paid attention to the details.

I grabbed a seat at the kitchen table and let my mind wander to a brief feeling of solace. It was nice to have the house to myself and not have my grandma there. It had been forever since it had been like that.

I went for a cold beer in the garage fridge and no sooner did I get a hold of the door handle, I saw my Aunt Elaine come up the driveway.

"Mom's in the hospital. She had a fall."

"What? What the heck happened?"

I actually wasn't surprised. I was just waiting a few minutes before I faced it.

"Ed was taking her to the bathroom and when she got up she fell."

"How in the hell? Jeez that can't happen," I shot back.

I was livid. All you had to do was keep your hands on her when she got up and make sure the gait belt was secure. Nothing like a fall could happen. It wasn't possible. She had a walker.

"Now Nick, she's over ninety. There was nothing anyone could do," she said.

Everyone was in full excuse mode. The hypocrisy overwhelmed me. So much that asking for more information about my grandma's condition took a temporary back seat.

"So you were there?"

I was leaning against the fridge door and had a queasiness to my stomach. I leave for a couple hours and everything goes to hell.

I knew without getting any details it was a broken hip. And I knew there was no coming back from that. Not at her age. And it enraged me. Because she was definitely in a lot of pain. And because, out of all the people in my family, she was the one I knew legitimately cared about me. She wasn't the judgmental type.

When she was gone the familial went with her. And suddenly I would have to figure out what I was going to do next.

I didn't want to see her suffer. My knucklehead uncle who everyone was sure to defend over this, was the one who caused it.

It was going to be nothing but pain for whatever time she had left. That's what a broken hip was.

"Is it broken?"

I gathered myself from my inner rage and got serious. I had enough of the bull shit and foolishness.

"The tests aren't back yet. But from what Ed told me she hit the ground hard."

All I could do was shake my head.

My mind was racing. I knew there was nothing I could do for her. In the matter of moments I went from having all the power to keep her safe to having none.

My usefulness within the family was gone.

I went to the hospital immediately and got the news. It was a broken hip but it would take more thorough tests to see how severe.

The doctor hinted at the possibility that surgery was an option. The issue would be having someone who could barely walk trying to do the very rigorous therapy.

That was if the surgery was even possible.

I got into her hospital room and couldn't look my uncle in the eye. True to form, he was trying to solidify his story and deflect blame.

I just ignored him and muttered "I understand. It's all good."

I looked at her and I knew. Her eyes met mine. She wasn't going to get any better. And the time was probably short.

Life was about to change. I'd finally have my freedom. The thing I'd given up when I committed to help my grandparents stay independent.

I could get out of the area and get to some better weather. It kept entering my mind. But something else was entering my mind. Our next game and making a run in the second half. 
Chapter 26

My Uncle Ed left town because like always he had his life in a far off place to get back to.

I would never deny a person the right to live by his or her free will. And I know people are busy and have obligations.

But I'd put off my obligations and personal whims for years. In the end I craved more respect for that than what I got from everyone.

But searching for external validation is like searching the desert in a one-hundred year drought for water to drink. Pointless.

As it was, he wasn't gone a couple days, when the doctors came back with the news. There was nothing they could do. Any sort of hip replacement procedure and her heart wouldn't have held up. She would have died on the table.

I was content for one thing: we had the brief moment when I first got to the hospital room. We said our good bye there without any words needed.

In a lot of ways, that few years was a great time. I was able to keep her in the home she loved. She protected me while I tried to figure out what the hell I was supposed to be doing in life.

It was a business transaction but that's the way most things are. Relationships are as much about what value you can bring to the other party as they are anything else. It's just more special when there is real heart and caring behind it. That was the bond we shared.

There was no such bond between me and the others. Suddenly, my protective shield was gone. 
Chapter 27

As the second half moved forward we were in a familiar place. Like the first half, right on the edge of either being a team that would play for something or fade off a bit into a solid third like the first half.

A critical game loomed against Coney Plus and Big Brennan. We'd lucked out throughout the year. We hadn't seen him in full force. Not even close.

Coney's manager had an odd pitching rotation policy which was overly strict. Brennan would take his turn as the starter and exhaust his pitches or finish the game, whichever happened first.

Well the schedule kept working out in our favor. We never faced him once in the first four games. After the first game, game two in the season way back in mid-April, we won the next two against them handily. One game Vance was a lazy bloop over second base from a no hitter. In the other game Coach had picked up their pitching pattern and relayed them to our hitters, achieving excellent results.

We'd had our way with them after the extra inning close call in Game 2.

Still they were a team that worried me. Coach had them down as a likely contender in his pre-season breakdown. And Brennan was capable of dominating a game even when he didn't pitch.

There were only four games left to play. Win and we were within a game of the top two teams with each of them left on our schedule.

We were not the team we were earlier in the year in a lot of ways. The big hitting twelve year olds were hitting well, but not great. The tens were taking a long time to figure it out and were still easy outs most at bats.

I didn't feel confident about us like I did earlier in the year.

The game itself was at 10 am on a Saturday. The first game of a long string of games for the league each weekend. Everybody would play twice. Once on Saturday and once on Sunday. If you played a couple times or more during the work week and you weren't able to save some pitching, the weekend could be a blood bath.

Coach did his usual sharp job lining everything up the best he could so we'd have arms to fight through the weekend.

But the reality was you had to hit. Because it was later in the year and the hitters had more than caught up. The weather turned warm to hot and hitters had been sharpening their game hitting in the cage more and as well as getting lots of game reps.

We had a good offense but it wasn't really a clear advantage over other teams. We had good pitching, but it wasn't necessarily deep. So no decided advantage there. If we played really well on a given night, we could be beat anyone. That's a whole lot different than knowing we "would" beat anyone.

Still we had the boxing cliché of a puncher's chance to win the half. But our thinned-out pitching took away a clear advantage over a team with good talent like Coney Plus.
Chapter 28

I wanted nothing to do with a funeral. I honestly never understood the point of one.

Before she passed, we were able to get Grandma home so she could go look out the big windows in the front room. Her favorite spot. Only instead of her electric reclining chair, she was in a roll away hospital bed.

I pushed hard for her to be home.

In the usual of what I'd come to expect, my aunts who lived in the nearby area, expressed vocal concern about having to put themselves out to come provide home care for her.

I told them I'd see to it.

Went to prove what I always found to be the case: people can blather on about the importance of family all they want, but it's little more than keeping up appearances for outsiders until you see how people treat family in tough circumstances. When you are out nothing, you can talk a great game.

My aunts were both retired and I was lost as to what they had to do but come and contribute. It was made even more sadly apparent where values were when there was openly discussed concern about the situation lasting.

Love has no bounds. As long as it's capped at five days maximum.

Well lucky for their social schedules, my Grandma barely made it an afternoon.

I remember when she took that last breath and there was family in the room, I felt like I was suddenly surrounded by strangers.

So it made sense I wanted to be where I felt totally the opposite. I couldn't wait to get down to the early morning pre-game before the funeral.

Funerals creep me out. I am sure my disappearance throughout large chunks of that day furthered the divide with my family members.

When the last note played and the church began to let out, I was out the door. I wanted to get to whatever was left of our game.

There was so much about the spectacle I didn't believe in and so much about what took place 24 times in 8 weeks for Ace Electric which I did.

I arrived to excitement followed by despair. We were locked in another wild one, not unlike the second game of the year.

There had been a bunch of runs for both teams. Guys on the bases. That we couldn't stuff an average team into the garbage head first confirmed everything I thought I knew about the team and our fate. We were good, but that was as far as it would go. If we couldn't put away a team that finished a good bit behind us in the first half, at a point where we really needed to, we weren't going to make a run at the big two.

And the reality might have been setting in with the guys who mattered most on the team too. The twelves had become a closer bunch. It was obvious and it was probably due to the unspoken reality that their time was running out. The emotions ran higher for a couple of them who were normally more reserved.

For his part, Woody was killing the ball and justifying Coach making him an All Star nominee. I delivered the news right after the half and it seemed to have some impact based on his excited reaction.

But the guy was always talented and super smart. He was adjusting and with the warmer weather he was starting to lock in.

Kory was the steady quiet one with the perfect swing. He seemed almost impossible to get much reaction from.

That day we had at least three hits to the left side that were robbed just in my thirty minutes there. Big Brennan was too good. He snagged each one and turned hits into outs. Each hit would have pushed us through to the win.

Then Kory did something I hadn't seen him do the entire year. With bases loaded against a pitcher he would own any other time, he couldn't square one up. It had the feel of one of those days.

Then he took a called third strike. He barely made it to the dugout before he burst into tears.

It had been a great run but it was done. Our team's post-season chances were at best remote.

I gave him a hug. The guys fought hard all the way along, but the rest of the schedule was going to be about finishing well. Not finishing well for a greater reward.

And that was OK.

It was great to be there and nothing more was necessary. It was the first time I felt that way about the whole thing. And it was liberating.

Enjoying being there. Win or lose.
Chapter 29

The reality is no matter what level you coach, you aren't going to have your players around forever. In about ten days Vance, Richie, Kory, and Woody were heading off to the next level. They get one twelve year old year and as a team you get one twelve year old group.

I was aware how important they were. But it was a lesson that was going to be reinforced more emphatically in the future.

I was still of the belief without basis, that I was a pretty good coach. I had some level of belief that without me working with the players we would have been much worse off.

It wasn't runaway ego. It was more ignorance.

But the truth was a good team needed a yearly group like we had with our big four.

I thought we'd be fine the next year but we needed help with the fresh crop of new players.

On Coach Reynolds's urging I started watching the kids in the mid-majors more closely. After our game or on my days off, I'd take in a game. Maybe two. It was easy for me and I got where I really liked it.

I could sit there casually and just soak in baseball.

There were a few younger guys I liked, but we were only going to get one guy a round. We'd pick, then wait a few picks while other teams picked, then we'd pick again. Like the NFL draft.

The hours soon began to pile up watching mid-major games. I hoped it would make a difference. More information is better than less.

I don't know why, but I still believed the guys we picked up in the draft could have a significant impact on next year's team. I had the experience of our current rookies struggling through a hard first season and not being a lot more than place holders supporting the veterans.

What couldn't be denied was there actually was a real for sure difference maker in that upcoming rookie class. And there was no way we were going to get him through the regular draft process.

We were likely picking no better than 4th out of 6 teams and Aaron was the best. Arguably he was the best prospect in years.

Big, tall, strong, athletic, skilled, with a power arm and bat and a zest for competing hard and working even harder.

It was eye popping and mind blowing how advanced he was for nine. There were good players in his class but he was Godzilla. The kid who was not only bigger than everyone else, but everything above everyone else. And no one denied it.

The kids he knew well from playing in the neighborhood all were scared of him.

Getting him, I thought could maybe transform us the next year and put us right in the hunt.

But I had no clue how we'd make that happen.

He'd be long gone by the time we'd pick.

But Coach had a card to play though and he kept telling me how he was planning to use it. Being still pretty new to the league and its many rules, it took a while for it to sink in.

Bottom line was we could have priority to actually have this total stud on our team if we could get Aaron's dad to serve as an assistant coach. It was called a player protection and every team had only one.

The previous coach had used a protection on a kid who ended up quitting after a year to pursue hockey full-time. His eligibility was up after the year and Ace Electric would have a protection to use if they wanted.

Aaron was the guy to spend it on.

Coach and I went back and forth on the topic and how to make it happen. We didn't know Aaron's dad well. And we didn't have a great feel for whether we needed to make a big deal about it or be lower key. At one point we thought about putting together an informational paper to give his dad in an attempting to sell them on joining us.

It definitely had a college football recruiting feel to it. Probably too much so. That idea was scrapped.

Instead, Coach went the direct route and kept persistent without being creepy.

I saw Jack down at SWLL. He is the father of the 9 year-old prodigy Aaron I told you about. I offered Aaron our exemption for next year. While I didn't get shot down I didn't get the verbal commitment I was hoping for. The conversation was friendly and he said he'd keep it in mind.

I know where he lives. You might have to make a few home visits and show him our practice facilities. Just kidding...don't' do that.

Actually I felt like a dirty college football coach afterward. You know the kind that offer 8th graders football scholarships. Oh well, it was worth a shot. He'll probably get recruited by other coaches, I just wanted him to know that I would be willing to have him on the team next year. I'll play it cool and maybe bring it up again in the fall.

Still even with that, we got a huge piece of luck which made the difference.
Chapter 30

A lot of times on the weekends, the fact of three games in a row packed tightly together in starting time meant a back log. Game one might run over and the chain reaction would delay everything for the following games

Although the umpires kept a close eye on pace of play, especially warm up time between innings, it was little league. Young kids playing baseball could miss the plate a lot or boot it around. Or a game could go to extra innings.

Despite the Coney Plus loss, most guys were playing good. Some very good. Woody particularly was hitting every bit as good as the three other twelves, scalding the ball and off good pitching.

That was great to see and for me added an element of definite drama to the end of the season. He was different than other potential All Stars in a lot of ways. He wasn't a travel player and he wasn't an All Star previously. So he wasn't a big name. The other was there was no male presence at the games.

I never saw his dad down there.

That's an important factor in helping a kid who needs the help to get more recognition. Many times a dad would coach, or help out at events. Or if nothing else be at the games and have a running dialogue with coaches.

As long as the guy wasn't a negative, I always believed it helped a borderline kid in trying to make an All Star team.

But he was earning it on the field and I crossed my fingers hoping he'd keep it up and get a spot on that team.

He'd had a very average, even slightly below average first half. But he'd flipped the story completely in half two and it was a fun watch.

I was determined to enjoy the few remaining games with the guys.

My mind was clear and so was my schedule. I'd always planned to live in California. The time was right. I had nothing holding me there and I was making a decent enough income online to hold my own.

For six years all I'd wanted was my freedom.

But then the baseball stuff happened. It looked like we had a bright future. I loved helping out.

I weighed the decision and kept mulling over it in my mind. We'd finished batting practice and all the warm-ups. The team grouped up near the bleachers anxious to get at it. Coney Plus and Russell's Union Party Store team were playing. Two bottom of the standing teams. So my mind wandered some more.

But the crowd was really into it. And I came back to the present and started taking notice. First a twelve year old from Coney Plus made a play that was better than any of the three amazing plays Brennan had made in our game.

The Union kid hit the ball as hard as any I'd seen a ball hit and the second baseman from Coney Plus sprawled in a full body dive to his glove side and pulled it out of the air. I still don't know how he saw it because I was another fifty feet up the right field line and I didn't see it when it was hit. It was moving that fast.

The crowd became more energized. One thing that made the set up down there extra addictive was the amphitheater feel of it. Behind the plate was a concrete and steel building and bleachers flanked both sides of the building. Then from the bleachers there were the dugouts. So for a youth league baseball field, it held sound very well.

Well the game pushed into extra innings. Like many times throughout the season it looked like Union Party Store was going to break through and get a win. They'd been close a few times.

They had talent. Every team in the league did. Coach and I both thought they'd win more. Russ was checking out and the players did likewise. On at least one occasion, he skipped a game to play in his golf league instead.

But that day his guys were putting up a heck of a fight.

On into extra innings the game went. And sure enough Brennan came up with winning runs on the bases. It was as close to money in the bank as you'll see. The pitcher's ability was secondary.

Russ didn't hesitate. He put him on with an intentional walk. The move drew groans and then angry yelling from the Coney Plus fans.

Unlike earlier in the year when Coach had Richie pitch to Brennan with the instruction to be careful about the location, Russ took the bat out of his hands altogether.

It was an extreme move for little league. One that probably had greater justification in the fact they hadn't won a game. His kids were hurting and from that POV I could see it.

Ultimately Coney Plus scored anyway and went on to win.

Coney's coach refused to shake Russell's hand after the game and a couple of Coney Plus parents came after Russell. One approaching the dugout and yelling "This is Little League for Christ sake. That's terrible to do that to a kid!"

Then the guy quickly retreated.

Russ had surely seen it all and it didn't bother him.

"Go coach T-Ball!" he shot back and continued to gather up his equipment.

It would have been nothing more than something interesting to chat about later on except for one massive side bar to the story.

Union Party Store was sitting on that number one pick with by far the worst record in the league. As mentioned previously, Aaron was the clear number one.

To that point, the returns from Aaron's dad about being our coach and bringing their son to Ace Electric were inconclusive.

But since his big brother had just been denied the chance to hit by Union Party Store head coach, the stars aligned.

I wasn't sure, and I didn't want to jinx it by talking to coach, but I went home that night feeling great about our chances to land the star of rookie stars for next year's team.

Things became even more attractive for next season. I had some big decisions to make about my future.
Chapter 31--

In the end, I didn't think it through very deeply. I liked what I was doing. Coach was a good guy. We made a pretty good team too. Our personalities were different enough to give the players a fair dose of coaching, encouragement, and expectations.

I thought I knew the game well, but time eventually taught me otherwise. Still I figured with the continuity the kids would get the best. To me that was a big deal.

Moving could wait. I had the ability to stay on at my Grandma's house while the estate went through probate. The expenses would all be my responsibility though. So I'd need to pull a few more dollars to keep everything going.

But larger worry is one I should have anticipated and planned for.

I would now be staying in my family's house. It no longer belonged to my grandma.

So it meant more not less contact and business dealings with them.

And they held the greater economic status so they held the power.

One of my grandma's nurses showed up to her viewing at the funeral home. Nice lady. I'd gotten to know her fairly well during her many visits out to the house.

When she heard of my plan to perhaps stick around so I could keep coaching, she immediately voiced her misgivings.

"You told me right away about your desire to leave. I mean within a few minutes of the first meeting," she said with obvious concern. "And I know your family and you have a tenseness. I mean it was obvious. Now you're going to be right there under their thumb. Basically acting as your landlord. I think you need to rethink this. It might be time for you to go."

Her words might have made a lot of sense. But she didn't know what I knew about coaching.

I was determined not to throw away a good situation, just assuming something like that would come back around again.

When I told Coach while watching a mid-major game, he seemed genuinely pleased.

It had become home to me in a lot of ways.

We had Aaron on board. So we had a star. Tanner and Evan were also All Stars and they'd be back as twelve year-olds next year. The future seemed bright.

In my mind, we'd be tough the next year. Then year three when all the young rookies were twelve: look out.

Chapter 32--

The Coney Plus game finished us in my mind.

Coach and I talked about it over and over. We knew that losing that one wasn't optional. The back part of the schedule was loaded with three games against the two best teams from half one.

As expected they were the two best teams from half two.

We had beaten Auto King once in a thriller back in April. But it seemed with each game against them, our deficiencies crept forward to bite us. Vance pitched one game that looked like a win. It would have been a big win too.

Then a kid showed up from a soccer game late, grabbed a bat and pounded a three run homer to give them the win.

Vance was usually quietly intense and unemotional. Thirteen going on thirty type behavior. But the end of the game, brought him not only to tears but to a level of distraught that shocked me.

We lined up for the traditional post-game handshake line with the Auto King guys and Vance was a combination of rage and sadness. He was crying so hard his body froze and he turned to move out of the line and go back to the dugout before we met the opposing players at mid-field.

I grabbed him a twirled him around to face across the field and tried pushing him by the small of his back toward the line. Luckily he was in the middle of the line so he cloaked from the other team and I hoped from the parents in the stands behind us.

Tears ran down his face like he was three and he'd been denied a candy bar at a supermarket checkout line by his mom. He was even heaving a little as he tried to fight it back.

"Come on. It's OK."

He finished the handshakes.

It was all new for me to see him like that. He was definition of a solid leader who was mostly expressionless. Kind of a pre-teen Dirty Harry Callahan.

Sometimes these games could be brutal to kids.

And those narrow losses were stacking up.

You had to beat the big boys to have any chance. And we were getting worse not better at it. And there was a reason. Those teams had better players one through twelve.

So with the pressure off we took the field against Auto King one last time. They literally had twelve guys who could hit, plus three or four quality arms. But it was that hitting. They'd tax you so much with the lineup.

In most cases a league team will have at least three or four soft outs. Sometimes more. It let your pitcher relax and pitch at ease knowing if he threw a strike he'd likely get a strikeout or a weak hit to an infielder.

But with them, every pitch was war. Half the team could find the fence and the rest could hit it hard. Rick was a super hitting coach. So good, he could go into business giving lessons on the side or maybe work as a batting coach for a college team.

Beyond that, they were very well coached defensively and they played with an urgency at all times. He was tough but fair with his guys but his expectations were high. So catching them on a mental holiday like you'd see from a lot of teams was rare.

We were deflated and it was clear everyone on the team knew we were finishing out the string.

But the little league version of the game never ceases to surprise you. They booted it around a few times and we ran the bases with fire. Basically capitalized on every mistake.

They put a lanky twelve year old who we had struggled mightily against figuring it would flip the momentum. But instead, we pounded him. Woody, who had been applying a beating to every arm he saw in the second half hit a home run and drove in a bunch of runs. He was on fire.

It was perfect. He was doing it against a coach with probably the most pull in that All Star voting room too. He wasn't under the radar any more. He was hitting better than any other first baseman and playing flawless defense.

And he was doing it against the best.

Which is as good a test as you can come up with, absent a tryout.

I immediately started talking him up to anyone who would listen.

But when the chatter came around to the clubhouse and Janet after the game, I got a wakeup call about the All Star selection process

She laughed at the idea he had any chance and basically told me to forget about it. It was furious. I'd been watching the games and what he'd done and hadn't seen but one or two of the elite guys out there match what he was doing. He was hitting as well as the other studs on our team.

The numbers justified it and he clearly passed the eye test.

Janet's comments pissed me off. I had a hard time letting it go the rest of the season. With the team sort of treading water, his at bats and overall play became a side obsession for me.

I knew how much it would mean to him as a late bloomer to have the chance make that team.
Chapter 32--

My first brush with the All Star scene was 100 percent negative. It chafed my backside listening to the person in charge of everything tell me our team's hottest hitter had no chance to make it. After that introduction to the process, I couldn't shake the thought that it was rigged and unfair.

The other thing was I liked coaching the guys who were not as talented. Maybe because it seemed like I had more I could teach them.

A guy like Vance or Richie, I was a bit on the defensive. They'd played hundreds if not thousands of hours of organized baseball against better competition. And had many quality coaches.

They were great guys and treated me with more respect than I deserved, but my connection was less forced with the average to below average players.

I was a below average player when I played. So that might have been why.

Bottom line was that the All Star concept bugged me and I couldn't get past it. Then having the insult of Woody being considered a long shot despite his torrid hitting. It was all poisoned from the beginning with me.

We had another game coming up with Matthews Sporting Goods and credit to Coach and the players we had a lot of life to us still. We'd beaten Auto King and gotten the stench of the Coney Plus heartbreaker washed clean off.

I was feeling the energy and was spending ever increasing time down the fields.

The calendar was heading into June and the weather was spectacular.

The positive to our position was the pressure was off because Coach and I had accepted we were toast as far as winning the half.

It was the place for me to be. And if all the positives weren't enough, my family was in town in force. A perfect motivation to spend lots of time away from the house.

Anything I could do to avoid having to deal with them for chunks of time, I would do. The team and all the activity down at the field was a great outlet.

Before our final game with Matthews, we had what looked like an easy ride against a team that was just sort of there. We'd beaten Bilco Food Service like a drum all year and it was odd because they had players. All Stars in each class.

They always seemed so uninspired and a step slow. Their Coach was named Ron. He was a nice man. But I could tell we had the top shelf brand with our Manager and he was low rack. Their players weren't interested and it was obvious.

I'd talked to him maybe a couple times through the season at the handshake line. His boy was a husky first baseman who would run into a double now and again. A twelve year old.

Before that last game, I was in the dugout minding my business as our guys warmed up in the field when Ron waltzed over and got my ear.

"Hey Nick. I have an opening assisting the 12 year old All Stars if you're interested?"

I immediately said yes. I thought it would be fun and Coach hadn't mentioned he was doing anything for All Stars. I really had no idea how any of that worked.

But it was exciting because someone thought I'd done a good enough job to deserve it.

But something was odd about it. The timing.

I stowed it in my mental back pocket and figured I would wait to hear from Ron again. If I didn't, it was cool. I had plenty of other things I could have been doing when the season ended in a little over a week.

I'd been at it with the team for about five months. I had my grandma's house to clean out and get a plan together for whether I was going to live there.

That night, Woody did his usual one man wrecking crew routine on Bilco and we cruised. The guy was hitting it as well as anyone in the league.

After, my thoughts turned back to the brief meeting with Ron in pregame. I had a lot of questions about the whole All Star deal and how it came around I might be a coach. There were coaches from the league who were shoe-ins to coach post season. Their kids were surely going to be on the team and they weren't the kind who would sit by idle when they could get in there and exert their influence.

And it was hard to blame them. It was their kids and they were only going to be twelve once.

So I couldn't figure out what Ron was up to. But the answer became clear soon enough.

Adults behaving as children. The recurring youth sports theme. 
Chapter 33--

Suddenly things were lining up in our team's favor. Since we'd given up worrying about winning the half, we started to actually approach winning the half.

It's a theme we saw repeated time and again working with players in the age group. There is a sweet spot where just the right amount of pressure and expectations is positive. Exceed those levels and they become too tight. Too little and maybe they don't execute as well.

The thing about players in that league as a rule was the challenge was always to get them to calm down and be less hard on themselves. Rarely was it to get them to try harder.

Fact is most kids aren't wired like Richie or Vance. Those two guys the more external pressure, the more they wanted.

Coach was learning the age group and how to push the right emotional buttons. He'd coached a lot of the kids before in the lower levels. But even guys like Jett were fast becoming different people.

Coach had a real quiet calm about him amid the tenseness of dealing with certain aspects of the job. Whatever constant pressure he was feeling to turn our good team into a great one who could play postseason, it never was never outwardly apparent. I can't stress how important that is from a leader of young people.

If it was natural in how he was or planned, there was a genius to how he was operating. I think he knew intuitively that the players needed room to breathe.

And it was working.

But Matthews would be the test. They had the three big hitters who also were probably three of the best arms in the league. With that alone, they could dominate you. When they put a couple over the fence and struck out the side the first inning or two, the challenge was not letting it get you too down and destroy your chances to make a late run.

Their manager had peculiar habits with his pitching. He'd try to use the same guys every game. With the strict pitch count rules in little league, that meant they'd often be limited to 20, maybe 35 pitches. There are good and bad parts to that strategy. If it works, you never run out of dominant pitching. The reason it might not work is the same reason managing to win in a competitive league like Merwin East was turning Coach's hair a little grey.

By asking guys to be great for short stints every night, you were asking young kids to be something that was harder for them than being great. You were asking them to be consistent. If they weren't on and accurate from the mound the manager wouldn't be able to have them out there long. It could make it tough to find their rhythm.

It was against that backdrop we took the field against them for the last time with less than a week to go on the schedule. It was a plain fantastic June evening.

We had the late game in the series of two played back to back on a week night. It was clear, not too hot not too cool. Comfortable perfection. Even though there was well over a solid two hours before dark, you could see the moon already making its way up the Northeast horizon.

Guys were just ready to play and have some fan. You could feel and see it.

It had a little more spice for me because for some reason it attracted a bunch of my family who had been in my business while working on settling my grandma's business.

We fell down a little early which was pretty common for anyone playing Matthews. As Tim, Matthews' manager started shuffling pitchers, we picked up momentum. A couple of our rookies were playing like eleven year olds. Meaning they were giving good at bats. They were no longer intimidated. Still physically at a disadvantage, but they were starting to compete mentally. And we had enough high caliber older players that all the sudden we were legitimately eight or nine deep.

We chipped away at their lead a little each inning. Kept the pressure on. We weren't reacting with the standard fear I might have witnessed weeks earlier against them. They were still better, but the gap had closed. Standing down in the first base coaches box watching the guys battle I was left with some sadness that we were less than a week away from ending. In the half we'd already pulled a win over Matthews and one over Auto King who seemingly was running away with the half just days earlier.

To have that damn Coney game back.

Finally Tim apparently had seen enough and brought in the big gun. Even though he was only eleven, Kaden was the man. He was the most polished pitcher along with being one of the two fastest. He or Brennan from Coney.

He could put a superior fastball anywhere he wanted on any pitch, then also drop a curve with frightening consistency in almost any location with any count.

The better hitters had more of a chance, but not that much more. He was the total package.

I looked across the diamond and swore I saw that annoying confidence smirk from Dirty J. Like he knew whatever life we were showing would die instantly as we buckled against his terminator of a son.

But it didn't happen. We were growing past all that. Kory crushed a downright dangerous line drive to the gap in left center. The lead was ours and I went bananas.

Like we'd been chipping away at that big old tree for 90 tense, hard minutes, and it came crashing down.

We'd hit a whole new level. Another shot at either of the top teams and we would have done it. I knew it. The guys knew it. But the schedule was basically done.

We'd seen everything both Auto King and Matthews had thrown at us and we'd come out the other side on top.

Vance was dominating all over the place. Richie making every big play at short. Some that I'd never seen anybody down there make. Kory steady and calm hitting all the big pitchers. Woody matching him at bat for at bat.

Those guys were going leave us in a matter of a couple days. They'd be on to All Stars and then whatever else. But they were making memories you could see also meant a lot to them.

We sat in right field in a victorious group sprawled randomly in a semi-circle as a clearly pleased Coach gave us his thoughts. He'd steered the team to its best work at the very end.

The pressures and time and aggravation brought by certain adults, probably felt like it was worth it. At least for that short time while sun went down over the horizon and that winning feeling hung everywhere. Behind us the Matthews kids were running laps around the edge of the warning track on the orders of an irate Dirty J.

It all had a good defeating evil feel vibe to it. The little team that could.

And it wasn't done. Suddenly we had an even bigger reason to play the upcoming season finale against Bilco. Everything was working for us to keep going into postseason. 
Chapter 34

We had one more game to go. Against logic we'd come alive and come together over the final week of the season to sit at one game out for the half. Auto King was leading and we actually were ahead of Matthews Sporting Goods, the first half champion. They'd dropped a couple you wouldn't have anticipated including one to Union Party Store. Their only win for the year.

It was indicative of how good we played at the end to be able to finish ahead of such a powerful team. They had the best arms in the league and three of the top power hitters. They had strong ten year olds too.

But we were playing better than anybody.

The older players were good leaders and all business. And they were playing at a very high level and clearly enjoying themselves. As they went, so went the rest of the team. You could see some of the younger guys coming on doing their parts. You need them to catch the ball when it's hit to them and give you tough at bats.

It was easier to accept the normal younger player issues when the end of the game had us with more runs than the other team. Like always when we won, I'd take a deep breath grateful that my primary focus of coaching, the young outfielders, didn't sink the ship that night.

We even had Xavier and Jett pitch a little and they both showed bright futures. With them and Evan and Tanner back, plus Aaron as the superstar of all superstar rookies for the following year, I thought we were looking pretty good. It was great time all around.

There was no way of knowing it would take quite a while before it would be that good again.

As we settled in for the last game against Bilco, I knew it would be a beating. We were flowing too well to lose. Normally I would have been edgy because they did have talented guys dotted throughout that roster. But we were having fun, playing free. Not the least bit tired. Like we could have went another month.

The even more enticing aspect to it was we had definitely things we were still playing for. Big, interesting things. Like a shot at getting into a playoff for the second half. We only had to take care beat Bilco, then settle in to watch the game immediately after. Because we'd needed some help.

Auto King was one up on the loss side and they played Union Party Store right after our game.

We left no doubt we'd hold up our end, jumping on a lifeless Bilco team early and often. When we did the handshake, Coach Ron, who the week before had asked me to work with his twelve year old All Stars, didn't make much eye contact with me.

I sensed he was having buyer's remorse.

I was pretty busy and could have used a break. But it's always preferable not to get jerked around and have people be straight with you.

I let the awkwardness go and joined Lonny and Coach Reynolds along the first base fence hoping for Union Party Store to play the game of their lives.

There was reason to be hopeful. They had recently won a game and against a good team.

And the way things had been going the previous week, I felt like things would somehow swing our way.

My mind wandered to the post game huddle across the parking lot from the field a few minutes prior. I had no adequate words for those twelve year olds. There wasn't one moment where they didn't give a thousand percent, treat me with more respect then I deserved for my knowledge level, and performed to their best against an extremely talented league.

It was a top shelf experience and I loved every second of it. That was due in equally great measures to the boss and those four twelve year-olds.

Time would prove how exceptional they were and how much I had to learn about new favorite hobby.
Chapter 35

The story of that last game between Auto King and Union Party Store and the strategy employed is murky. But ultimately left me feeling great personal disappointment.

It's a good case study in how otherwise good and well-meaning adults can easily lapse into unsightly pettiness.

To say it had been a tough year for Russell's team would be an understatement. They only had the one win despite having some quality players. We're they better off roster wise than Matthews, Auto King or even our team?

No.

Were they so bad off that 1-22 on the last day of the season was reasonable?

No.

It was underachievement.

At one point in the second half I remember I went into the clubhouse to check the pitching chart. I brought up golf to Russ in a conversation. It was the first time I'd seen him smile all year.

I thought he had good kids. I really liked one of his star twelves named Carson and another twelve named Darren became one of my better friends among the players in the league. He wasn't a bad player either.

And they seem to love the game.

And he had really good ten year-olds. A couple very talented guys in fact. There were eight, maybe ten more wins on that roster. Six would have been understandable. But one was head scratching. And so many blowout losses.

The truth was Russ had been at it too long and his low energy, sarcastic negativity wasn't inspiring his players.

We scrimmaged them at some point during the season. It was one of those deals where both teams were practicing near each other and on the spur decided to scrimmage.

The first thing I noticed was he had barely half his roster there. The difference in excitement and spirit between our guys and his guys was startling. One thing that happened again and again was there was a wooded area behind the practice field and foul balls would get hit back there randomly. There was no way to avoid balls flying back there frequently.

If you didn't run into the woods quickly and follow the path of the ball, it would get lost in the messy thickness of the underbrush.

Time and again our younger guys tore into the woods for foul balls without having to be asked. Their guys never moved. Finally he yelled at them to go chase.

Russ had lost his edge and he acted like he didn't care either way.

It rubbed off on his players.

But that Auto King game was an opportunity for them to go out winners and for Russ to get some measure of payback from Auto King's manager. Rick was the other rock star big name manager in the league. They'd each been at it for a couple decades plus. The difference was Rick's coaching was like fine wine and Russ' was aging like milk.

Every year Auto King was getting better and the future looked solid if not brighter because he'd done such a good job drafting.

The clear difference in the success the two men were having in the twilight of their coaching pissed Russ off. But if he wasn't going to put the extra time and energy into changing it, his fortunes weren't going to correct themselves.

But that day he and his team had things to play for. Both personally and for the league.

Beyond that, everybody general duty to compete to win every moment. The integrity of any game and any league is based on such a foundation.

Unfortunately for us, that's now how it went down.

And it had everything to do with our team and settling a score. 
Chapter 35

Union Party Store got destroyed. It was never close and the pounding started from basically the first pitch. That's what happens when you have a great team having a great second half butting up against a team full of kids and a coach who were wishing for the season to end.

They'd won their miracle game against Matthews and had nothing left in the tank for more.

Russ tossed out a pitcher who I hadn't seen him throw before

I don't know if they had any chance to pull the upset and put us into the tie for the half, but going with what was probably back line pitcher sure didn't help.

It didn't take five minutes of their game and I knew our season was over.

I watched the rest of the game and had a good time chatting with Coach and Lonny. As it got closer to the end and night was starting to overtake the sky, an empty feeling overtook me.

As everyone filtered away, the day's games in the books, I circled around the back of the clubhouse for a quick and clandestine exit to my car.

Season one was over and it wasn't making me feel anything but deeply sad, fast track to depressed.

With no league-related things happening for a couple days, I was going to have to deal with it at home.

I was really down. More down than anything short of losing a family member to death. Nobody was playing better than us. So we were absolutely deserving to play on. The older guys particularly were playing their best ball right at the end.

I really didn't want it to end.

I spent a couple days in a deep funk. I kept the whole thing to myself. I had a very good relationship with Coach and we traded way over a hundred emails throughout the six-month process.

But I felt kind of weird for feeling like I felt.

I had to get it together. We had All Star voting and I was determined all those twelve year-olds make it if nothing else.

We actually had seven guys throughout the classes I thought were worthy. The four twelves. Three of them were slam dunks. Vance was maybe the second or third best all-around player in the league. Richie had always been an All Star and hit and fielded well against the best competition. Kory was a big time hitter. Maybe the best pure hitter in the league from a technical standpoint. He hit good or bad pitching.

The elevens were Evan and Tanner and were solidly in.

Tens I wasn't sure. Jett was our best based on the eye test. Xavier seemed to adapt well as the season went on and had given us some legitimate quality innings as a pitcher. That is very difficult to do as a ten year-old. It was a little unpredictable picking that team because league wide none of the tens outside of a maybe a couple had numbers which were any good.

But I was hopeful for him.

Still, Woody making that twelve year-old team was the big prize. I was holding out hope he had done enough.

Coach and I met to prepare for the meeting a couple days in advance. Of course he had the numbers lined up and organized.

We would give it our best shot in that meeting.
Chapter 35

The truth about the Auto King game and the sorry effort of his team on the last day of the season, came out with Russ later that summer. He and I started hanging out near the end of the season. Whenever I played sports growing up, I tended to hang with the veteran older guys on teams.

I could be serious about my sports. Usually older guys were more that way too.

Russ seemed a lot happier away from the ballfield and I liked Russ right away. He was a fun guy who liked a lot of the same topics I liked. Politics, women, sports. And he kept a stellar stash of excellent weed which he'd share liberally.

To top it off, he was an awesome cook. I knew if I went over to his place, I'd get fed and fed well. The weeks on end of fast food and cheap carry out pizza would have to stop for a night while I pigged on a serious meal. I could cook. Not all that well. But I didn't want to. Plus with my grandma gone, I didn't want to be spending extra money on things. Money was tighter.

So I found myself over at Russ' in the late summer. Custom was the beers were flowing and the wacky 'backy was smoking.

One night when we were both three sheets to the wind, shit started flying around about Little League. It became apparent each time the topic would come up that summer was that Russ was becoming increasingly bitter. No one was spared. Janet the elderly long time president could do nothing right. Rick, Auto King's coach, whom he was convinced got all sorts of advantages and favors from the league, umpires, and parents he considered clueless.

It didn't take long for the elephant in the room to come out.

Aaron was headed to our team and he was a truly dominant prospect. He was going to be the first pick and that first pick was his property. Then that all unraveled when he intentionally walked Aaron's big brother in a truly classic game between Union Party Store and Coney Plus.

Soon after, we got the commitment from Aaron's dad to be one of our coaches, put Aaron with us, and jump ahead of Russ team in the draft.

Like always when baseball came up I tried to avoid the topic and enjoy a warm summer evening of relaxing and partying on Russ' back deck.

But I knew it was coming.

"You know that Aaron kid, his dad had better be showing up to your practices and actually coaching," he said with a super intensity I figured his team could have benefited from but never received.

(There was golf to be played after all.)

I smiled and played it off assuring him he would. Although I had no clue how any of that was going to play out. I just wanted to get on with the partying and steer clear of arguments. I was mellowed and didn't want to deal with the topic.

I'd given up weed years ago, but I made what I dubbed "The Russ Exception" whenever he invited me over.

Like an idiot I started steering the conversation back to the end of the season. I should have dropped baseball talk altogether. I looked at Russ and his eyes were far off. Like he was ruminating on another slight that he perceived was doing over his team.

The guy had an unbelievable run. He won everything in sight for years and coached some of the best players the league had seen. But it had gone bad and he didn't have the push or patience to change it.

So it was on to sad blaming and even worse, petty childish revenge over imagined slights.

"I appreciated you trying to help us out that last game," I said, trying to swing the energy more positive

"Well I held back better pitchers for that last one," he said smiling.

"Oh," was all I could say.

I tried to act like it didn't bother me, but I couldn't shake it. A competitor always tries his best to win every game. I'd always learned that a manager in baseball plays to win no matter what.

The admission was disappointing on too many levels to count.

I ended up leaving about a half hour later, suddenly very tired. I made a pact with myself I wouldn't talk about what Russ told me under any circumstances. I didn't want to be in the business of gossiping about what amounted to drunk party talk.

I didn't want a formerly great coaches' reputation harmed.

The challenge for me going forward was not to take it personally. I loved those players and the idea I could have gotten another game or maybe more with them and didn't get a fair chance opened up some wounds.
Chapter 37--

The story of Russ and his underhanded attempt to do in our team illustrated how an entertaining game played by kids with tremendous skill and motivation could be corrupted wholly by adults.

It's a theme that is repeated time and again in youth sports.

The All Star vote after that first year was glaring example.

Coach had done a lot of work lining up the numbers for all eight of our candidates. At the meeting it was clear he did more than any other manager.

Rick from Auto King didn't bring any numbers and instead would conclude each of his nominees with a brief description of their accomplishments and a "he deserves to be on the team" or "he probably doesn't deserve to be on the team" vote.

But he'd been at it a long time so when he told you something, you felt like you could count on it.

When Woody's name came up, I got tense and started to look around the room. There were a lot of heads down. The most important belonging to Ron, Bilco's coach. He was the man in charge of the team. He never looked up.

I knew the deal. His son Ron Jr was a first baseman and that's all he was. He was clunky on his feet and while you could hide him in the outfield for All Stars, it was highly risky.

Woody was also a first baseman and a better one all around. But I'd learn quickly that for certain guys being better than another guy wasn't always the most important factor.

An All Star team was more about getting the shoe-ins on the team. Then the borderline guys were in their own separate pool and a variety of factors, including parental connections and whether a parent could serve as a coach plays a part in the close selections.

Woody had no dad in his life and therefore no male presence in his corner. The son of the All Star Coach obviously did. Plus Woody only played two years in majors and started only his last. He had no prior All Star history. That also helps a player make it if he's borderline. Just that perception that he is an All Star.

It's not right necessarily and I hate it. But that's how those things often operate in youth sports.

Not everyone is going to be happy.

Coach did an amazing job outlining all Woody did for us in a truly remarkable second half of the season. But I pretty much knew by the end of the meeting Woody was going to be left out in the cold.

I painted on a smile while inside I seethed.

Ron then approached me as I made my way to the door.

"Nick thank you for your willingness to help me coach. But we got things worked out with Jerry, and he's going to help coach the team."

He shook my hand and I barely got out a "sounds good" before he was off to his car.

He was pleasant about it but you could tell it was uncomfortable.

I figured it out. I was a more mellow coach and the threat of me assisting the All Star team would help force Dirty J to behave himself.

I found out a day or two later from Janet that Jerry had so alienated players the previous All Star year with a post-game tirade about their being failures, his coaching future in the league was on thin ice.

Turns out I was a pawn in the game to get him to agree to chill out and toe the line.

More All Star bull shit.

The next night after the teams were announced, I took the job on to call Woody and tell him the bad news.

He took it better than me. When I started to bring up the obvious factor of him sharing a position with the coaches' son and before I could finish he interrupted me.

"I know. It makes sense."

A kid being able to be more adult then the adults. Saw it time and again that first year.
Chapter 36

For me the disappointment in all things Little League was at an all-time high for me. It was mostly how Woody got screwed over by a process that was weighted toward picking the less deserving but better connected.

I often wonder what we are teaching our kids when we play games like that with the universal law that merit should matter more than anything.

Kids will ultimately end up doing what we sanction through our actions. And the cycle continues.

At any rate, I needed a break. The walls were quickly closing in at home. There was no longer any barrier between me and my judgmental family with my grandma gone

To their point of view, my reason for being there was gone.

Even if they wouldn't admit it out loud, it was their turn to get back to being meddling about my life and the choices I was making.

My writing business had taken a hit during the season too. I got pretty absorbed in the ups and downs of the team. My work production suffered. Then I had a few of my clients quit being good clients and they stopped ordering more work.

So money was tightening.

Not a good situation when I was heading toward relying on the good will of family. People I just didn't have a strong relationship with.

One thing was certain and not negotiable: the coaching was continuing.

I was excited about the team for the year and learning more of what I called "the job".

The focus of my All Star season was to get over and see the two elevens Evan and Tanner play on their team. Hopefully, get to know them and their games a little better.

I knew league play was a twelve year-old's game. Tanner was potentially dominant and Evan was All Star level. I thought bringing in a total horse like Aaron as a ten year old, we'd be fine. After all, the other teams were losing some great players

I spent some time out of the scene decompressing and writing to fulfill some orders so I could get the cash flow up. Coach would shoot me updates on the twelve year-olds, And with Xavier making the tens, he kept me up to date on them too.

I'd emerge from my dungeon of hunching over a computer long enough to watch the eleven year old games across town.

It was just enough of everything and it was awesome to have a break.

Still life around me had a very unsettled feeling. My nerves were pushing me and tiring me. It was because I felt like a stranger in my own house.
Chapter 39

I'd gotten over the initial uneasiness of it a few weeks earlier.

I'd even gotten over the fact I wished she was a he.

"So how often do you have contact with Melanie," Doctor Louise Chamberlain asked.

"By phone and email only. Haven't seen her seen her since the beginning of the season," I said, trying very hard to keep my voice even.

I didn't want to give off the impression I cared either way. Because I didn't know if I did.

I couldn't deny I liked the attention when Melanie would reach out. I wasn't lonely. But it was the off season. Fall league practices had started, but that was way different. Everyone was more relaxed. It existed for guys to work on their game and get better for what mattered: spring.

I was starting to settle in to the whole concept. Being completely open with someone who was a total stranger a couple months earlier. It was hard for me.

"Do you think the whole thing was wrong?" I asked, my eyes shifting all over the place but not anywhere near the person I was talking to.

"Not for me to say," she said.

"It isn't? How come?"

"I am here to listen and answer your questions. Give advice when it's being sought."

"I am seeking."

"With the girl?"

"Yes."

"How do you feel about it?"

"It worked for me," I said. "I was always attracted to her. It was a diversion more than anything. I like the attention. It was more attention than I was getting the last few years. I don't know."

"Does this make you nervous? Talking about these topics?"

"I try not to think too deeply about certain things. This was one of them. She's married and my intention was to not disturb that. But let's be real, it was very disturbed."

"If you are looking for a moral judgment, that's not my department. People get and stay married for a variety of reasons. I am not a religious therapist. I am secular. I try to come at it from a professional point of view."

I nodded my head but remained silent.

"I don't know what to do."

"I think you do. I think you are needing to meet new people. All you do is hang around kids mostly."

"Is that unhealthy?"

"No. But you told me in our early visits you were happy when you both called it off."

"Yeah. I didn't call it off. It just stopped. And I was happy."

"Now you're not?"

"I have to think that over. Did I tell you about this new ten year old we got a commitment from?"

"Yes. Many times."

"Well it's exciting."

"Yes I can tell. Remember, only you can determine what's really important to you. You need to live that and you need to remember that what other people are doing or thinking isn't part of what's important. Does that help?"

"With the Melanie thing?"

"With everything."

"Yeah a little. I'll think it over. Life is kind of in flux right now. Nothing will probably come of it anyway. I was not unhappy the way things were."

"What about your family and all that?"

I fidgeted back and forth in my chair and my mind drifted to practice that evening.

"I am spent Doc. Let's talk about that next time. Please?"

"OK."

Once again the circus elephant in the room. I was leading parallel lives. One pleasure and one uncomfortable bordering on painful.

I felt like a failure. I was nearly forty and I lacked the ability to make it better.

The problem was I was more worried about putting together the money for the next session, than I was fixing the big failure. I wanted to take a trip overseas the following summer. Maybe the Philippines. Maybe the West Coast. I had money set aside. But I was already starting to dip into that. Against my own rules

I was convinced Doc C was the right person to get me to a good place about my family and my future. But I was dreading the discomfort of talking about it all.

Next time. I swore next time.

My mind shifted to that night's practice and everything instantly felt better.
Chapter 40

It didn't take long for all the changes I was doing in my living situation to add up to a close fit money-wise. This was the tense separate life away from Coach and the team I dealt with.

He had a family and a job.

Some of the older coaches had pending retirement, grand kids, and keeping their personal health up to worry about.

We all add our worries. I'd been a few years away from being an actual professional with a steady pay check.

In the writing business, the orders slowed down and I soon learned that was because the authoring business was like a lot of businesses done indoors: it tended to take a backseat to having fun when nice weather hit.

With my grandma gone I had real expenses added into the equation. I went from being a kept man to struggling to keep things up.

The idea hit me that one easy way to get more money rolling in was to take on a roommate. I had my grandma's old bedroom and a private bathroom to offer. Plus a garage. That's a key seller in the cold winters.

Without consulting anyone in my family, I went ahead and dropped an ad on Craigslist.

It would have meant an extra $400 a month if I pulled it off.

The first guy I was sure I had lined up would have been perfect. He was an actual professor at a local university. He was gone all the time and spent his spare time reading and researching.

Plus we really hit it off. His discipline was art history. Which meant if he was able to talk sports and bad television shows from the 80's we'd be fine. Any other topics and I was outgunned.

He was all but in when he suddenly quit taking my calls. I knew from experience something was up. He was going in a different direction and was trying to figure out how to break it to me.

After a couple days, a two line email came my way saying he was backing out. After a week of searching, I was left scrambling. The remaining candidates were a succession of sketchy types. A tattoo artist with a nose ring here. A coffee stop hippie there. I couldn't have the place turning into squatter-ville for the pot and flop crowd.

The goal was to bring in money while also flying underneath the radar with my family. My aunt living up the block about 400 feet and her husband being the type who loved to meddle in just about anything involving other people, made every move I undertook all the more stressful.

Given I clearly in no position to be too picky, the fact I was shooting down candidate after candidate was indicative of the quality of the pool.

Again and again, the words of my grandma's nurse when she showed up at the funeral echoed in my head. If I had left like I always planned to do, all the stress would be gone.

At the very least I should have went and found my own place. I would have had to find extra work though. And that would have meant further neglecting my writing.

It all came down to one thing: I wasn't going to change too much of what I had going. The baseball was the tail wagging the dog. I had to have the flexible schedule to work for Coach and the team again.

I needed a white knight to come in and rent the damn room.

And I thought at first he'd arrived.

But like basically everything since my grandma passed, nothing was that simple.
Chapter 41

On the whole and on the surface C.J. was not a bad guy. In fact he was a pretty decent guy. Generous and always up for a good time.

His issue was he was twenty three. And I wasn't.

He had a good job selling cars at a reputable dealership. And taking my room for rent was his first time living out of the house. So he wanted to make it work.

His family was super tight as many Latino families can be.

I'd watch them interact and be jealous. There wasn't that tenseness you'd see hanging in the air at our family gatherings. Maybe because with his family they were free to talk to each other about any topic. It wasn't all some mental chess match to see who could get the upper hand and be the superior one in the room.

That pretty much described every single second at our Family Christmas.

But being the age he was and having a good stable job put him in the minority among many of his peers. Many of his friends were still in school. Or not going to school and working low-paying jobs.

And since that basically described me too, so I had to be fine with that.

I'd forgotten what life was like being able to burn it at both ends like he and his friends would do.

I was able to keep my family at arm's length over the whole transaction and I loved the extra money. I was busy getting rolling with fall practice and scrambling around hustling for money, so I was really hands off about everything.

One night in August I retired to the bedroom and left C.J. to have what he described as a small party. I had to get up early and with air conditioning roaring in my ear, I never heard a thing.

When I woke the next morning the scene was the beginning of a steady decline in familial relations ending months later with me booted out the door.
Chapter 42

I am a deep sleeper. And I have a pretty cool skill where I can sleep anywhere, any time. Plus I was extra tired for some reason that night. Maybe it was the heat.

Anyway a peaceful 10-hour slumber brought me awake to a lot more than I could have ever bargained for.

At a little after seven, I walked into the back yard of my grandma's place to a scene that could have passed for a "day after" from a deleted scene in "Animal House". Countless red plastic cups strewn about the property. A few feet away from a fire pit with smoldering embers which at its height, at grown so big it threatened two large pine trees in my grandma's backyard. Which could have threatened the deck adjoining the house. Which could have threatened the house itself.

Behind those trees, there was a sound system with speakers so humongous looked like they belonged at a Metallica concert.

I was afraid to look up and right behind the trees. There was a green belt of grass there that separated the house from my aunt's place from my place.

I just knew it was going to be a sight I wouldn't care to witness.

I took a deep breath and peered around the two large pines and found a mini tent city that looked like a Civil War encampment. The only thing missing was General Grant on his trustee horse.

Something inside me started to grow irate and bold. I approached one of the tent.

Two of C.J.'s friends peaked out and it didn't take much to see neither of them had clothes on. The tent reeked of stale weed.

Rob, who I knew a little greeted me with groggy smile. I responded reflexively with a "hey" and beat a retreat to the road area. Out of the corner of my eye, I already saw my aunt approaching.

The earful of questions and accusations I received made my blood boil. It was a party. A party that apparently got so loud, the police were there. I didn't stop to ask if anyone got hauled in. And it didn't matter.

This one fell squarely at my feet. Where before I could keep the situation at the old house low key, it was now under an extreme microscope.

I spent the rest of the morning apologizing to every neighbor I could and imploring C.J. to get the yard cleaned up and the mini Woodstock disbanded.

It was a turning point and the beginning of a long slow march through personal life hell that wouldn't lift for the next year. I needed a practice with the team and an appointment with Doc C.

That day I had to keep reminding myself why the hell I stuck around instead of bolting the moment my grandma was buried. It was the only thing that kept me sane.

Chapter 43

Out of the 6 ten year-olds from our first team, we lined up 3 of them to do Fall league. Seth, Bradford, and Xavier.

Like spring, Coach was running the show and I was assisting.

Fall league is a lot different in Merwin East in a couple respects. As far as participation, you can take the returning spring players and cut the number in half. Then shave maybe another quarter off that number and you get your number of participants. The rest is made up of nine year-olds who are going to be rookies the following spring and kids from other areas.

The tone is way different. Winning takes a backseat to developing players for spring. At least that's what you tell yourself.

But as we dug into practice and approached the actually game schedule, the competitive fires start burning progressively hotter. It's just hard to dial down.

The problem was all the old guys who had carried our success were gone. What was left on the fall roster was our most inexperienced players and then even more inexperienced guys who hadn't even played majors yet.

Amid the more casual environment and mostly pleasant weather of August, we worked to prepare the guys. I don't know what Coach was thinking but I thought the experience would be a continuation of a rise that began in the spring.

But I saw right away it's a different world with a team with younger players. There's a learning curve and an experience curve. And it's often accompanied by some severe lessons that come in the form of lopsided results.

I was still too new to know all that and I didn't dare ask Coach what to expect. I acted like whatever happened, I expected ahead of time.

There were problems that riddled the whole experience and those problems presaged issues with that second team the next spring.

The biggest was not enough experienced talent.

Coach was working third shift like he was in spring. That worked great in terms of him being able to have his days to come work with the team. But it also brought hell to his sleeping patterns.

When he showed up I could tell instantly by a glazed look on his face and squinty eyes, he was going to have to work harder at being patient.

Bradford was a guy who had a lot of potential. He had beautiful natural swing. But he hadn't shown much in spring. And with the make-up of our team he was going to be counted on to be a lot more than he was the first spring. In year one, he was basically a bit player who got an at bat a game and only because the rules said he had to.

The drill ran the same. I'd watch nervously hoping he'd make a play in the outfield to help cover my butt for the coaching prep I'd lead them through in practice.

But with the loss of so many good players, his role was going to be expanding drastically the following spring.

So that fall when he caught Coach after a long night of work with a last-second absence from a game, things got tense.

Hey there, just letting u know Bradford won't be at the game tonight.

The text from Bradford's mom caught coach blindsided 45 minutes before game time. Coach's face turned several shades of red as he tried to type out a polite response on his smart phone.

"Ok, thanks for letting me know"

"What the hell?" Coach muttered "Now we have to change the whole game plan.

Bradford was our main catcher and not everyone could play the demanding position.

Fall baseball games can be ugly as kids learn new positions and younger guys get used to the speed of the game. This game was the pinnacle of all things sloppy as our reserve catchers allowed many runners to score in a one-sided defeat.

As we were leaving the dugout I saw Coach glance down at his phone and exclaim "What is that supposed to mean"?

"Bradford's little brother had his birthday party today and he just loves his little brother."

It was one of many indisputably tense moments during a difficult fall season.

We needed time away. From each other. The game. The whole thing.

But there was a schedule to play.

As the games piled up, performances seemed to be getting worse. A lot worse.
Chapter 44

Spring was over. Very over. The team we were putting out there that fall had talent but it was all young talent

We built it around two needs. One was getting our returning players lots of practice reps and game experience. That got accomplished. The other was looking closer at the rookie players coming up in preparation for the forthcoming draft.

Neither of those goals serve the need of competing at the highest level that day.

What resulted was a series of floggings at the hands of more talented teams through a fall schedule that luckily was half as long as the spring one.

Coach Larkin from Coney Plus threw together a team of A-list twelve year olds and cleaned our clock a couple times. The narrative had basically flipped from spring. He had the better players. He was rolling with them. Vance and Richie and that bunch were gone.

Not only did we lose, but we often looked physically overwhelmed. The ball would come off the bats of older and stronger players, and get to places quicker on the field before we could seemingly react. When it would come out of the hands of their pitchers, it would be going too fast and too crisp.

As our errors, mental and physical, piled up at a rate I hadn't seen from us in spring I become increasingly upset at my coaching. And I was also upset at the players.

Coach was even more upset and came unglued with his loud brief outbursts more frequently in one game then he'd have in multiple games in spring.

When it ended, we were relieved. It was on to the draft taking place the week after fall season. Then spring. We'd bring Evan and Tanner back into the fold. Plus we'd add Aaron.

I actually figured we'd have the talent to match up and even exceed the previous spring team's accomplishments.

Coach and I huddled up putting together our draft preferences. We'd happily moved on from what we both considered a pretty embarrassing fall experience.

We were sure that was all behind us.

But whatever the season, you can't skirt the natural laws of what wins in Little League baseball. 
Chapter 45

If the day-to-day coaching in practice and the off-season is the appeal for people who love the actual game of baseball, the process of figuring out which players to take in the draft is the addiction for the baseball fans.

I loved it and Coach was right there with me. Watching those mid-major games by the hour when I wasn't busy with team business was one of my favorite things.

There were actually two drafts in Merwin East. You have the draft that happens in October right after the conclusion of Fall League. This is for players who previously played in the league at the lower level and would be eligible for majors in spring.

The other draft was in spring. That was for new players who came in from outside the league. That was the draft where we picked up Tanner the previous spring.

The major difference was size: Fall draft you sifted through dozens of players and it would extend anywhere from five to ten rounds with each team getting a selection per round. The order was based on overall record from the prior spring Worst picks first and so on.

Spring was ordered by a random hat draw and you might have at most two rounds of draft-able players. By draft-able I mean could pick up a bat or throw a ball properly. The guys who did that really well were usually very few. Guys who could transform your team and make it significantly better, less than that.

Preparation time in the spring new player draft was also basically none. The managers would meet at an indoor hitting facility and the players who were eligible would be put through a quick series of infield, throwing, and hitting drills. Then the managers would enter a room, do the random hat draw to determine order, and pick.

But the fall draft is where you could really impact your team. It was those players who would constitute the bulk of your team going forward.

The positive was you had countless opportunities to study those players in live game action.

We were in an interesting position for the draft. Aaron was the prize of prizes and we lined him up ahead of time using a protection. His dad agreed to be one of our assistants and in exchange we got to jump ahead of the other teams to take him. But that meant we wouldn't pick again until the 2nd round.

And with us having the third best record, our next pick wasn't until tenth overall.

Every year, the league has an All Star team comprised mostly of nine-year old mid-major level players it puts together to compete in district tournament. Those players are normally selected first in the fall draft.

The logic was simple: they were likely the best players in the mid-majors or darn close. It made life easier for managers who I began to see weren't spending much time down there with me watching mid-major games. So it was very convenient for them to just follow the All Star list.

The tricky part for us was when Ace Electric reached that second pick at number ten, the All Stars would be off the board and we would be picking from the non-All Stars that remained. In that regard our diligence in watching games and keeping detailed notes was born of necessity.

The player I had as my best player available for 2nd pick was destined to change the dynamic of our team going forward in many unpredictable ways.
Chapter 46

Since there were no All Stars to pick when it was time for us to select, we had maybe the trickiest pick of the draft. We would be selecting the first non-all-star.

Prior to our pick, it was basically paint by numbers with very little scouting necessary. There was a short tryout a few days before the draft was meant to help you sort out the more unknown players.

So it was kind of like the work of the various team managers was cut down to one hour. At least for the ones who didn't attend mid-major games.

The first nine picks were straight forward. The only real surprises would be small ones and only apparent to draft nerds like myself and Coach. "I had this guy ranked ahead of that guy but they got flipped in the draft." Stuff we'd be able to talk about after over a beer.

But that first non-all-star pick is way trickier. To do it right, you had to get your information by going and watching live games during spring. Then you compiled all your notes, sifted through them trying to find differences between. This was all based on games which had quirkiness to them. In that way, even if you studied things closely, you were left to guess on how a player's results would translate to major level.

The biggest quirk being the pitching. Much of it was very slow with lob floaters to the plate. You never saw that in the majors. Not even from the most inexperienced mop up guy who came in to finish out a blowout.

So figuring out who could actually hit real major league pitching was an inexact exercise at best.

Luckily, or at the time it seemed lucky, I'd seen a small kid who had put a couple balls in play against the best power arm in mid-majors. His name was Bryce and he had made contact off our first pick Aaron.

I don't think he got a hit on those occasions, but just hitting the ball and doing it in a fearless way put him in rare air. All the All Star players struck out against Aaron and looked frightened to death doing it. Also in his favor: Bryce also played catcher and could run like the wind.

And if anything we found out later how much I underestimated that speed. It was on another level in a straight line and he got to full velocity in the first couple steps. Like he was a match box car released from coil spring pointed downhill.

He met all our needs. We saw a great compliment to the Aaron's power and a two, maybe even three-year catcher.

He even pitched a little.

One thing I put in his favor was just his general athleticism. He was deeply involved in travel level hockey.

At that point we were still in a lot more of a learning mode and we both thought hockey was a positive thing. Evan was a big hockey player and was a very big part of our team.

And the fact Bryce was coached by his dad Jay seemed great too. After all, Xavier was one of our best workers.

Like all things Little League, Coach and I discussed our 2nd round pick in depth and he seemed to trust my judgment after all the mid-major league games I had watched.

I checked my inbox one last time before heading to bed.

Subject: Bryce

Hey if you think Bryce is the way to go, let's do it. I like that he catches. We definitely need some depth there with Tanner in his 12 year old season. Bradford is OK but we need depth there. We can bring him along slowly this year.

But amid all the positives, I overlooked an obvious downside. I was very unlikely to get an honest view of the intangibles like work ethic and attitude from the manager when the manager was his dad.

These factors would bite at us for our last two seasons together. Managing and maximizing our number two pick became more and more like trying to subdue a greased pig on a Jell-O covered slip and slide.

And because I was the man who pushed for the pick, it was a constant source of both stress and embarrassment.
Chapter 47

Even with a roommate who mostly paid on time, life changed economically after I became responsible for the bills.

When the writing profits began to plummet during my first season with the team, I was stuck. The outlook in the near future was equally as bleak. I hadn't been working near hard enough and had myself to blame.

I knew I needed to plug away at my books to have more to sell so the money would roll in while I worked on other projects.

My thinking was getting even narrower as I started to bring in less money. My consuming thought processes were I needed money right away and regularly. Sitting down and writing books was great, but the time lag in creation would mean three months before I'd see any money. If at all.

I needed a regular job. Like normal people. It had been so many years, I wasn't sure I knew how. And I wasn't sure what I would do. I had no real skills.

That's the crazy irony of spending a bunch of money and time becoming a lawyer. If I wanted to do it again go back to practicing, I had to take the BAR exam again. Then I could actually make money from it. Otherwise it was mostly useless.

I'd tried in the past to work as a paralegal, legal secretary or some sort of research assistant, but no one would hire me. They kept saying I was overqualified.

Since the honest answer that I was a shitty lawyer wouldn't have helped my case, I always grumbled under my breath and went on to the next job prospect.

I thought maybe I could find work in some office doing something. But I didn't know what work might be done in an office. I'd go to big store to buy something like bananas or the two for one on Hostess Cupcakes, I knew there had to be support staff somewhere running around an office, doing official things.

So that was my hope.

I was way out of element and totally clueless about the world. It was pretty scary how far out of it I was.

But just when I sat down to write an actual resume and attempted to explain the near decade absence from meaningful employment, a call came.

One of my aunt's teacher friends had a husband. And she needed me to hang out with him, drive him places.

I'd met Bill once a couple years earlier at a barbeque at my aunt's house. I thought immediately there was something peculiar about him. He had a good job and a master's degree, but conversation wise he seemed spaced out. He looked at me when I talked and he smiled but where normal decorum would expect some sort of response to keep things flowing, nothing.

Even after I directed questions at him. He would finally get around to answering, but it took him noticeably abnormal amounts of time to get around to it.

So when I heard a year or so after through my aunt that he was visiting the Mayo Clinic, I wasn't surprised. And when I heard that he a combination of two of the more brutal diseases a person could be punished with, I was sick to my stomach.

A slow moving form of dementia and Lou Gehrig's disease. His mind and body being slowly taken from him in a slow and awful assault.

I sent his wife a note telling her I'd help if she needed me.

A year later she did.

Just like that, I had a source of income that I desperately needed to right the ship.

And the biggest thing was I would not have to take time away from coaching.

On day one with Bill, I didn't have any idea how far or how deep the involvement would end up being.

Sitting there was a big athletic man who talked well, read books, walked fine, and ate like a cow. We walked along the river and went to lunch.

I was wondering what the hell his wife needed me for.

But I needed the money. I didn't think it would last long but I figured it gave me added security while I found something more long-lasting and permanent.

But as the weather turned to fall, I was doing more with him, not less. And the money picked up.

And he rapidly became less and less the guy I first drove to lunch back in May.
Chapter 48

Truthfully, I didn't have any sort of creeping feeling that year two would see a ton of struggles compared to the first team.

But looking back on it, if I actually had a clue, I would have known.

There were legitimate reasons to be optimistic. Evan and Tanner were good ball players and since they'd be back for their last year, we had talent. What I didn't realize was how important it was to have more than two.

It was a pretty amazing oversight given how I'd so recently seen Vance, Richie, Kory and Woody almost carry us to the league playoffs.

On my end it came down to a combination of not knowing what I didn't know about what it took to win in the league and me thinking I actually had something to do with how great those departed twelves were.

Coach probably knew but never said anything while I expressed confidence in our ability to "take the next step". I figured it all added up. We were a close third, we had good players back and we're great coaches.

And I relied heavily in believing in that last part. But I had a ton to learn. Coach did a lot both before and on game day. I really didn't do much but throw batting practice and try to keep the guys feeling positive.

I guess it's good to have confidence. Unless it gets in the way of attacking reality and making reality better.

I don't know if that's what happened or not. So many other things went sideways leading up to the season. Way before we hit the field.

We didn't have the depth of veteran players and other teams had more of them. And the guys on other teams were almost all as good or better than our best.

But the signs were there way before we played the opener in April.

For starters, Coach had a new work schedule. Instead of doing night shift where he could get up in the early afternoon and run practice, he had to work a stretch of afternoon shifts in preseason. That way he'd be free to manage the games once they started.

So I ran practices. It was obvious two things were different from the year before when I nearly pissed my pants running one the first time. One I was better at what I was doing. Two, the guys I was working with in season two weren't near as polished and experienced. Even Aaron, who practiced like every moment was his last, wasn't anything close to Vic or Richie. He was ten. But he was our best guy on days when Evan and Tanner, our two twelve year olds weren't there.

Those days were pretty often too because Evan had hockey commitments. And Tanner. Like the prior year, we didn't see much of him in pre-season.

It was disappointing. If he were there, it would have made me less uneasy about what I was seeing. But also, his dad Lonny was a major presence the year before. I figured with it being his son's twelve-year old year, he'd be involved.

Then to make matters worse, I found out the reason wasn't because he wasn't playing baseball. He was playing a lot.
Chapter 49

Aaron was a special player. You knew it the first time you saw him in mid-majors. The phrase is cliché, but he was a true man among boys. Bigger, faster, more agile, coordinated and aggressive. He had it all.

A lot of times when you have a kid that is the clear standout in his age group, you'll have at least one kid who has some extra brass and will speak defiantly. "Aaron isn't all that. I could hit him..." etc.

You wouldn't ever hear that about him from any other kid. He was brahma bull amid a land of mice.

He was that far ahead of everyone. And he was ours.

The whole thing got me revved up for those early practices. I wanted to be extra prepared and try to do things at an especially high level. That's a rare, rare player who can make you feel like you have to constantly measure up to him.

I'd had those same feelings working with those departed twelve year-olds. But they were twelve. And they'd been coached by other good coaches. My urgency then was total nerves. Making sure I didn't make a mistake or look like a fool.

I wasn't the next great baseball mind by year two. But I was past being insecure. The feeling had shifted to a definite pressure to take Aaron the golden goose and make sure the team cashed in.

He was bigger than anyone on our team. He was faster. He could hit it further. He could throw it harder. And he worked insanely hard every second he was at a practice.

I knew it was a once in a long, long time opportunity. I kept watching him blow through every drill with an effort and excellence reserved for guys ready to go to the next level, not someone starting Little League.

But in the real world outside the awed spectator in me, the season creeped closer and the gym practices piled up. I just didn't see us doing much improving. Not like I hoped. Not anywhere near the level you could see things jump forward the previous season.

It was a nice distraction that there was still the beast roaming around making play after player, never saying a word. Just full blast every second. And it lessened the frustration over the team as a whole.

I'd tell myself over and over that the league was likely to be down across the board. That twelve year old class from the prior year was loaded. Now that they are gone, we could win with less talent. Whatever it took to make me feel more confident.

But one day when Aaron was at a basketball game instead of at practice, and we looked a lot more like a group of tens, than advanced elevens, I blew up.

I looked around. There was no Evan. Tanner was keeping with tradition from the prior year and never showing up.

We looked young and we looked immature and we looked over our head.

I was mad at them. But more precisely, mad at the reality.

That became the recurring theme of that season for me and I think for Coach too. We were constantly dealing with reality in our minds. Getting past some recurring feelings of helplessness that probably still haunted us from the thrashings we took the previous fall.

Nobody wanted to win more than Coach. And I wanted him to win too. In the worst way.

When the topic of practice came up that night. I soft-peddled my blow up. I hoped maybe I wasn't seeing what I knew I was seeing.

A group of great young guys who were trying but lacking the weapons to rescue themselves.
Chapter 50

Tanner started to filter in to some practices as the season opener approached. In a lot of ways it wasn't much different than the year before when his preseason attendance was irregular at best.

Coach and I were more fried by it in year two for a variety of reasons. At least I was definitely more fried by it. The biggest thing being he was twelve. As far as sports it's basically no different than your senior year in high school. A year when you'll be the big man on campus and in Little League that means being dominant over a pool of players, 2/3 of which are younger than you.

Tanner was already an elite catcher for his age. Probably the best in the league even including others in his age class. And there were a couple other damn good ones.

But he was always a different guy. At the games, his demeanor never changed whether was 3 for 3 with a homer or 0 for 3 with three strikeouts. It was a detached kind of composure. Which was fine.

Then he liked to talk about video games and also playing in a garage band. The thing was the band didn't exist. It was imaginary world living in his head. Out of all the guys on the team, I know I talked with him the least that first year. From a coaching standpoint, coaching him was no different than the other veterans. I really couldn't tell them much. He was advanced and one of the best around.

But just in terms of chatter and relating, we didn't do a lot of it. I did make the effort because that was something I thought was one of my primary roles. Coach had a more business-like and a little more introverted demeanor. He admitted to me a few times he was neither a gifted nor willing people person. He would rather have spent the time teaching, thinking of things to teach, and coming up with strategy.

Point being, I had the de facto role of being the guy who communicated more regularly and more informally with the players. Tanner was just hard to break through with on that level. Nice kid. Amazing player. But off on his own mental journey.

Overall I liked him. He was advanced mentally in a lot of ways. The biggest thing was you could tell it was just a game to him. And the other thing was he always seemed to raise his performance to the level of his competition. He seemed more interested and more focused against better teams and players.

Less than that seemed to bore him. League play in Little League was not the best competition a kid like him could face.

Factor in his sister being a terrific high school softball player coached by a mom who was a legendary coach and his apparent indifference to Little League made sense. It was a family not only in hot pursuit of college offers for their kids, but with a clear path set in their minds about how to get there.

Still what happened next caught Coach and me by surprise, just probably not as much as we let on.

We opened that year against Union Party Store. They had one win the year before. The worse record by quite a bit. But that meant they got to pick first in the draft. With the top pick they got the classic two for one. A coach and his son. The coach was named Todd Kauffman. He was a guy who was everything Russ wasn't personality wise.

Todd was hard boiled to win. His team had won it all in mid majors the prior year. Russ hadn't had much recent success. While his drafts flopped and his players under performed, his preferred method to deal with it was to look for more opportunities to cut out and play golf. The fire wasn't just out; the pit was fully submerged in a half a foot of water.

But Todd wasn't down with that approach. He was going to be whipping those guys into shape. Plus they'd taken on another assistant who also had a loud passionate bent. Matt Boozer was a parent to one of the top ten year olds in the league from the previous season. I don't know if he knew baseball, but he yelled instructions that first year from the stands like he invented the game.

He was a shorter guy with a sort of rough appearance that was softened a great deal by a hard to miss late 80's mullet hair style. Nice guy when you talked to him, but definitely your classic parent/expert who probably made Russ' coaching existence hell that first year.

But they had talent. And getting that top pick would make things even better. Sure they didn't get Aaron but they got the next best guy plus they picked first in every round.

Somehow word got around that they considered us their rival too. That was news to me. Everybody took their turn beating them the previous year. I thought we did it with as much or more restraint and class as anyone.

So for whatever reason, the emotions in the opener would be running high. Worse yet: we were nowhere near ready. I just felt it. But I also felt a couple more months and more work outdoors wouldn't have really mattered.

Then the final insult in a preseason full of them as the Tanner mess got even messier.
Chapter 51

Coach took the reins for the last month of practice before the April opener and I was pleased.

We still seemed lacking across the board. Size, speed, playmakers, arm depth. You basically name it. Vance and the rest were gone and gone big time. Still we'd won the prior year and part of me still thought we would again.

But even with those issues the process was no less fun and the kids were great. If anything, the enjoyment of having many of the same guys back for a second year made the experience way better. I knew guys like Coaches' son Xavier and Bradford far better than the guys we lost to the next level.

Besides having the fall league and the extra preseason, a big reason for familiarity is the younger players needed more of the social aspect. It think it comforted them and perhaps helped calm them down. Veteran players who had more coaching and were more mature. They aren't worried about looking bad. They know they can compete. They are more likely to be satisfied getting to practice, getting the work in, and getting on with their day.

It's amazing the difference in attitude and personality between a young guy of ten and one of twelve. I can't imagine there are many two-year periods that a young guy goes through in his life where he changes that much in his game and as a person.

And if you don't enjoy seeing that process unfold to some degree, at least as much as you enjoy the wins, I would advise against coaching Little League.

There are a lot of factors that go into winning. A big one, probably the biggest is the quality and depth among oldest players. That second year, the depth was an issue and it was obviously going to hurt us.

We had Evan and we had Tanner. The latter especially was potentially one of the most valuable players in the league as well as simply one of the five best.

Evan was a very good player. All Star level. Tanner was elite by comparison.

But other teams had more. The big two from the previous year Auto King and Matthews particularly. Plus there was a third with a lot of twelves that I overlooked. Bilco was so bad and uninspired the year before, I never bothered to give their roster and seven 12 year olds a second look. That's a lot of veteran presence for a twelve man roster.

So you had three teams with quality depth in their veterans.

I thought we had quality and then hoped the thick class of second year guys would take it to the next level. Then we'd maybe have depth too.

Tanner was key but he was rarely there. Same as the year before.

As practices moved outdoors into the raw cold of April, talk started floating that he was deeply involved with a travel team. That was common, but even guys from our first year who did travel made the extra effort to come to games and practices.

Then right before the season opener, the other shoe dropped. Tanner had injured his right elbow. Bad. And had done it in a travel game

At first Lonny related to Coach he might be back. But that was prior to him seeing a specialist. When that appointment was finished, it was clear baseball was done.

An All Star level, twelve year old player who caught nearly every inning for us the previous year, gone.

And gone as in totally. He never came out to a game after the first one when he sat quietly in the dugout and bolted right after.

The hole in the lineup hurt as well as his lack of enthusiasm for his teammates on his part. And that his dad was our previous year's hitting coach rubbed stinging salt into it.

We were a team with one twelve year old in a league that was perennially driven by them.

In one of the bitterest cold damp April's on record, the guys readied to go at it missing an absolutely vital piece.

Part of me was still very optimistic we'd compete.

The naive, inexperienced part of me.
Chapter 52

Coach was livid about the Tanner thing. First barely showing up at our practices and using a minor injury as the main reason. Then going off and playing in a travel tournament where he messes the arm up so bad he couldn't play baseball at all.

Subject: Tanner

I can't believe it. We've soft played Tanner the whole time and it blows up in our face. I don't blame Tanner of course. Lonny could have at least been up front with us from the start. Communicating with him is like trying to hit a dart board in the dark.

And just like that we were out our best player.

Those twelves were lean for us to start with because of defections out of Little League by two studs before I started working with the team.

The twelve year-old class our first year covered up a soft and very weak underbelly in the middle of the roster.

Getting Tanner in the hat draw helped the first season, but when we really needed him was in season two.

We were stuck and would be butting heads with five other teams all with more depth at that age. In some cases, quite a few more and with better quality.

The Tanner situation made for a dreary and ominous beginning to the season which opened on an equally dreary and blustery day in mid-April.

One of those days where it the clouds hung so low that all day it felt like the sun was about to go down and it was going to turn to night.

Union Party Store was clearly a different team from the group that sleep walked through the previous season. From the beginning, it seemed like everything they hit found a hole, and everything hit to us we bobbled and gave them a base. And to top it off they looked like they had more talent.

And that last thing was the most frightening part.

We were both in the same boat as far as weaker 12 year olds, but like everyone else they had more of them then we did.

Their elevens were ahead of ours for the most part. Or at least it seemed so that day. We needed Xavier and Jett to play up to their potential and the lack of older kids put the spotlight on them.

Everything Union Party Store did brought an eruption from their dugout and fans that seemed to last all day through every pitch. The game meant a lot to them. And we seemed shell shocked and too young.

Like a bunch of rookies asked to be veterans, but who just couldn't.

And that's what we were.

Even Aaron who at ten was our most talented and arguably our most dominating player, looked very ten. Albeit in a man child powerful physical package.

It was a thrashing. And after about one inning, I knew we were in for a lot of them.

We were overwhelmed in all aspects. Against a team that I thought still had major issues. Worse, we seemed passive and without any energy.

Completely reversed from the prior year where I thought our enthusiasm, especially among the younger players, was one of our better qualities.

My thinking was if we attacked that problem first, it might give us the jolt Union Party Store clearly received from their new energy and attitude.

It was the easiest thing to correct. Physically we were behind the eight ball and there weren't any players coming through the door to change our roster fortunes.

But maybe the injection of more enthusiasm might improve the rest of our overall performance.

We had to do something. We played Bilco Food Service in a matter of hours and they had flipped into serious in one off season.
Chapter 53

I had a lot to do to catch up with reality. Luckily the overwhelmed appearance of our team was fast tracking my education.

We wasted no time in staking our claim as the team with the biggest hill to climb to win games. Our ace was either Aaron, a ten year old, or Evan, our only twelve. With Aaron pitching, it didn't take look for older players to get their teeth sharpened and swoop in to dine on some fresh meat.

Aaron, surprisingly had been on less than great teams before. Which shows the reality of baseball. One guy, even two guys, no matter how good, must have support around them.

As amazing as he was, he was ten. He was there as support, not a main cog. And at times he struggled as much as other ten year olds with a lot less ability. It was the deal with being ten in a great league.

He'd strike out and you could see him become instantly bewildered. Wondering why he kept missing. And with each bad at bat his reasons became more technical as he wandered to the bench and began babbling to his dad or anyone within earshot. Until his head was a spinning tornado of non-stop minor swing and approach adjustments. They came so fast and many were so obscure that I couldn't keep up, let alone address them.

As I heard one parent put it perfectly in a post-game conversation after an early season loss. "Someone tell him to just hit the damn ball."

But it got worse before it got better. Aaron's dad was basically Lonny's replacement as our third coach during games and Jack was growing more tense with each bludgeoning.

At the same time, Aaron's struggles and post at bat frustrations because increasingly difficult for even him to manage. When on one occasion he was near tears after a strike out, Jack threatened to remove him from the dugout if he didn't quit pouting. At the same time he implored him to stop thinking so much. See it and hit it.

On the pitching side, the kid had a rifle for an arm. He would shut down teams for an inning or two, then it would all come unglued. The repeated pattern was mostly due to the glaring fact that we couldn't make the simple play in the field.

The rest was being ten playing against twelves. He'd have his spectacular at bats or shut down innings or amazing plays at short, but the bigger, older kids always found a way to defeat him in the end.

It all kept looking like it was too much for us. Physically it was for sure. But the real challenge was one we didn't have to deal with as coaches that first year: the players keeping it together mentally.

But this sort of anarchy was where I think Coach was always at his best: When the bullets were flying at us and the casualties mounted he had a very centered way that I thought relaxed the players.

We needed something to grab onto as a unit. Something that would make us feel like we could play the game competitively. And we needed it fast.

Because the misery for all twelve guys was growing.
Chapter 54

I did something I never did before in preparation for the Bilco Food Service game. Still thinking game one was just an example of a team having a bad first game, same as any other team, I took to the internet seeking more fan support for game two.

In the Union Party Store game, the energy was very one-sided. Their fans were loud and bordering on obnoxious. We didn't have that type of parent. Lonny could have gotten loud, but Tanner wasn't around.

Vance's dad was a big mouth. In fact he and Lonny got thrown off the property at an All Star tournament game after our first year for jawing with an umpire. But he was flying off at the lip over at the Junior League Field a few miles away.

After that, all that was left were low-key professional types. One was a doctor, Bradford's parents never showed up, even though Evan's parents were opinionated, they weren't yelling at games. By and large that lower key fan base seemed like a good thing. After all when we were winning the year before the parent issues were minimal.

But we needed energy and we needed it fast. Or at least I hoped that was a big part of what we needed. We plain looked over matched and unprepared in that first game.

In truth, we were probably just as prepared as any other team. Or if nothing else, not grossly out-prepared by those other teams. We had a gym in preseason and we practiced a lot. You didn't get outside much before the season started. That was the way it was. March frequently remained a winter month in Michigan. Even if it warmed up, there was usually rain and soaked muddy fields.

At one point I remember having the guys work on catching fly balls in the parking lot outside the school where our gym was located.

We worked hard and I thought our practices were pretty damn good the last few weeks prior to the opener.

So I hoped maybe if the parents could just dig in and get loud and more intimidating, the opponent would crumble like a house of cards. Just like we seemed to in the opener.

We went into the Bilco game and I was still confident. I was basically stuck in the past though. Bilco was mostly veterans, unlike the previous year when they pretty much stunk.

That was all in the past and in year two they had a new manager and a different energy that was hard to ignore.

As we laid out the bats and balls and got ready to play, a reminder of where we were and how far we had to go came strolling into the dugout with his Ace Electric hat on his head. Woody was on hand in the bleachers, excited to be back, and I was excited to see him.

It was more appearance time than were getting out of Tanner, who was technically still on the team.

But all the yelling in the world from a crowd as big as what you'd see at a NASCAR race or an appearance by the Pope himself wasn't changing things.

We put together an incomprehensible inning in the second which included 8 errors. It had Blake, our ten year old we hoped to more or less hide at third, in tears as multiple balls seemed to have magnets off the bat right to his general area

The cold, windy, dampness of the evening added to the pain.

In one hour I went from believing game one was a pure happen stance of early season, to thinking myself we may not win a game.

The story line was hard to refute: Two games, two blowouts, and we'd used our best pitchers in the losses.

And we still hadn't played the two loaded teams who had dominated the league the season before.

While things remained quiet for me on the home front, it was debatable whether or not that was a good thing.

The relationship with my family was an uneasy peace at best. Communication was basically non-existent except for hanging out with my cousin Jim. I was being watched closely from a distance with everyone because of the strange goings on with my roommate over the prior summer. The "Mini Woodstock" party in the back yard way in August still hung over me.

Christmas came and went and I actually attended the family party. Not because I wanted to but because I was sure it was going to invite more questions and scrutiny if didn't. The paranoia and distrust was so bad that every move I made around the house was designed to cover my ass. I figured it was better to be at a function and keep my ears open to the gossip, than it was to not be there and walk around without a way to defend myself from BS.

After Christmas I exhaled knowing there was nothing scheduled for a few months as a family. I retreated into my mode of working on my writing projects, keeping an eye on Bill, and working with the team. The latter being by far the most important of the three in my view.

Which was likely why the other aspects weren't performing the way I envisioned. I definitely wasn't making the kind of money I wanted or needed.

During pre-season before year two I pulled back and looked at things. Some extra money would have been nice. So I gave it some deeper thought and looked at my options.

I had huge concern I was going to lose my work with Bill. I didn't know if it was true or not, but I was concerned it was possible.

It all started with a lousy mid-winter trip to the local mall. The pavement was dry walking in. Making sure there wasn't any issues with footing like ice or snow was always my biggest concern.

As we exited through the parking lot after our walk. We separated briefly to get into the car. I went ahead to get in the driver's side and he fanned off to my right to get into the passenger side. The car was parked in the first spot next to the curb. Before I could react, Bill walked right into the curb. He hit with his feet like it wasn't there.

He fell flat forward, banging his head on the pavement, forehead first. The impact was so violent and without any attempt or effort made by him to stop his fall. Like a building that tipped and snapped in half with the top half the ground at free fall speed.

The result was two badly blackened eyes and a bloody mouth. How he didn't lose teeth or even worse, I'll never know.

Even though he was OK for the most part, the incident eroded my confidence that I could do the job or that I would be given the chance to continue.

With money progressively tightening each month away from my grandma being among the living, I needed to make a few dollars fast.

In basic desperation, I decided I would return to my high school, first-job roots.

I was going back to the fast food industry.
Chapter 55

The hours were the deep late night closing shift. At first it didn't seem like any big deal, but as the spring steamrolled toward summer and the night's became warmer, the late night bad food eating crowd began to converge in force.

One thing I learned quickly as I bumbled my way through the increasingly difficult work hours was fast food was very hard work. And that it was a young person's game. As I bumbled around trying to keep up, I could picture some of my players coming in, learning the job and running circles around me.

I'd been out of the conventional workforce for over five years. Even when I was a lawyer, I worked as an independent contractor. I wasn't used to having to be at a place at a certain time and then answering to someone when I got there.

But it was a huge help getting that extra money. And at 40, I was mature enough not to go blow it on junk like I surely would have when I was a teenager. But this kind of job seemed easier then.

I reinvested it into a quality ghost writer because I was seeing I actually wasn't that good of a writer. I also used it for marketing what I'd already wrote.

Overall thanks to Coach helping land the job and the extra money, things were looking up. But man I was exhausted pulling nights like that then getting up early to deal with Bill and his decreasing physical ability and mental awareness. Then somewhere in between coaching the team in the late afternoon.

Everything I was doing was getting the short shrift.

Bill's wife Suzanne saw how much weight I was losing and how tired I looked and began to voice concerns. Bill was beginning to have a hard time getting off couch by himself and he kept falling in the shower. That spring she replaced the glass window with a curtain because he'd knocked the glass out of its running slot. It was a wonder it didn't shatter. Bill was a big guy. He weighed a solid 220 and was over six feet tall.

Then he fell on her coffee table, spilling his coffee everywhere. So it was time to go to one of those slurp cups with the lid you'd used for coffee in the car.

Changes like that happened constantly. Small bad things that were accumulated over time. They piled up over the course of that first year.

Bottom line was I was needed more than I had been and the money from that job was going to pick up. I was making more with the writing too. And full credit went to the money from burger hustling at night.

I had to drop something.

I wasn't enjoying anything and the job I was doing for Coach and the team was pretty much garbage.

I prided myself on being as ready for every game and practice, but I was falling way short of that standard. Things like understanding specific rules were getting missed. I was sleepwalking through games was the problem.

The lesson was obvious in my mind. If I really liked doing something, I needed to be fully and engaged in it and cut out the rest of the time suckers. Being just sort of involved wasn't satisfying me.

I wasn't helping the players and we weren't winning. We weren't even close and I knew my performance wasn't helping.

I knew I had to make decisions on what stayed and what didn't. It worked out pretty well that I and baseball would have a rare and brief break from each other. 
Chapter 56

My cousin Jim was graduating from pharmacy school. A big deal on its own. But it was way bigger for him. He basically went through hell and came out the other side.

Two years earlier, he was a few months away from graduation when he had a bad breakup. He was really into the girl and it turned out way more than she was him.

He went into a tailspin that was more than a guy having the blues with a broken heart. The relationship failure instigated a series of behaviors which fast spiraled from abnormal to scary. It started with oversleeping and the general depressed mood and morphed into a physical incapacity to perform even basic functions. Then it sunk further to paranoia so frightening that he lost the ability to separate reality from make believe.

Things were happening around him which no one else was seeing. Things like demons and make believe characters threatening his safety. Threats only he could see. I spent night after night trying to talk him out of these episodes. Thinking at first all he was needing was a new outlook or attitude. But it was way more serious than that.

As days turned to weeks, it was clear nothing was working. And things were only getting worse.

He'd go days without showering. Eating only bag after bag of potato chips. With the hallucinations, there was sincere worry he would hurt himself. A negative story on the news would send him into delusions about how people were going to come through the TV and harm him.

His parents Don and Linda were horrified. It wasn't something a person could talk himself through with affirmations or a change of thinking. Something was unhinged with his internal wiring.

I was uneasy about his support system living under his parent's roof. His dad wasn't one to believe in mental illness. He was a high achiever who made great money working for a corporation for forty years. In his mindset people who had mental problems were just looking for excuses not to work hard.

Plus his mom was super worried about appearances. The idea it would get out that her son was behaving goofy and wasn't going to finish professional school seemed to upset her more than the possibility of illness itself.

But then the diagnoses threw everyone back. Schizophrenia. The trauma from the break up was only a triggering event. The disease likely developed much earlier.

His future as a pharmacist looked bleak at best. You couldn't have someone who was delusional and not of sound mind dosing out medications.

But somehow with the help of medication and excellent counseling, time brought him back to a solid baseline. He finished his clinical internship. Every day for months on end, my nerves would be overtaxed while he'd be off working at a high-pressure situation and coming home safely.

I never thought it was a good idea he go forward with any of it. That he should have found something less stressful. And the risk wasn't worth it.

But he finished and he did it because he wanted to. And his heart was in the right place. He knew he had problems and he would have to manage those problems carefully the rest of his life. And he wanted to use his occupation to help people. Maybe get into the development and research side of mental illness management and cure.

I couldn't miss that graduation. Plus the team needed a break from me. We hadn't won one game and I didn't know if we would.

I hated to miss, but I thought it might change our luck.

The game was against Union Party Store. They had looked like a totally new and improved team in the opener but they hadn't won a game since that day. That shocked me. They looked like a possible contender in that opener. But their scuffling also presented a real opportunity for us to break through.
Chapter 57

As it turned out, traveling a couple hours away by car from the team and that day's game did little to take my mind away from it.

If there was any greater indication how the bug of working for players had taken hold of me, it was my all day obsession with everything that was happening back at the fields.

I wasn't happy to be away or relieved about it. And we were a winless team which had so little veteran impact talent that a winless season was more likely than not. Even though we still had 2/3 of the season left to play, I didn't feel like there was enough time to make up the sizable gap in overall firepower to feel like a win was coming.

On the plus side Union Party Store was looking like the same old-same old. Russ was less interested than he'd ever been. He regretted bringing on Matt Boozer as an assistant. Matt was go-go-go all the time which conflicted greatly with Russ' very laid back approach. Todd Kauffman, whose son was their first round pick, was more or less running things.

I guess weather was warming up and Russ' golf league was set to kick into high gear. I'd heard rumors floating around he was hanging it up after the season. Those rumors seemed even more likely with the team struggling again.

So it was a break for us that another team was struggling like we were. But their struggles surprised me. I thought they had better players. In the end, maybe they didn't. Or maybe they did, but in all other ways, their culture was too dysfunctional to have success.

So I felt a win that day was actually very possible.

And throughout the trip across the state, I nervously waited for any communication back from home. Even thought it was still a couple hours before the game.

I sat in the backseat of my Aunt Linda and Uncle Don's Buick trying to enjoy the scenic woods and countryside as we got further outside the city. The fact was my time around them had dwindled to next to nothing. I had things I was interested in and those things were taking up my time.

But that was more a convenient excuse. I just didn't like being under my family's microscope. I knew I wasn't of any use to them anymore now that my grandma was gone. Staying in the old house kept us together as uneasy business associates.

It was all not a pleasant situation. Failing to bite the bullet and finding my own place right away was a huge error.

That day as I blocked out the tenseness of it all and tried to stay present, I noticed something weird about their behavior. They were always uptight about life and living it "perfect" for all outward appearances. But that day they seemed more somber and guarded. They were quieter and so was Jim.

It made no sense because it was supposed to be a day of both celebration and relief. He'd beaten massive odds to get to that point. He achieved a goal even an optimist like me didn't think he could or should.

When we got to campus, and my cousin went his way, the truth was revealed.

We sat down in the auditorium waiting for the ceremony to get rolling. There was nothing I hated more than an overdone ceremony and with over three hours of pomp and bull shit to come, I braced myself and loosened up my tie.

"Nick, did you know Jim didn't graduate?"

"Um. No," I said and for a moment my heart doubled up a few beats.

Then I they told me why and I knew it was a formality. But not to my Aunt Linda and Uncle Don.

He had a paper and presentation he had to give at the very end of his last internship rotation. It was notoriously hard. And it was something which frequently had to be done two, even three times. It was the academic snobs' one last swipe at the graduates before they went out the door.

But not to aunt and uncle perfect. To them he was committing criminal fraud by walking the ceremony that day.

I shook my head and hunkered down, giving them the same answer in multiple different word orders for the next half hour. They weren't letting it go. It was annoying the hell out of me that people could be so narrow minded. And my mind drifted to the baseball field 80 miles away.
Chapter 58

By late afternoon a flurry of texts back and forth had given me the full story of our first win. The how was way less importance then the fact it happened.

It was real progress. Winning a game was no given. I'd seen enough around the league at that point to know how big the gap was between ourselves and the rest of the league. Older kids win in little league. Twelve versus ten isn't literally men versus boys but in a lot of ways it sort of is.

There is a large growth difference physically. Tens are scared of the bigger kids in many cases so that also sets them back. The entire time spent just getting them to not be scared eats up valuable nuts and bolts preparation. With some guys the entire first year is used up dealing with it.

I know I constantly searched for magic words.

You end up hoping it locks in and the light comes on for certain players.

Then even if a player isn't necessarily scared, he might have drained confidence. That is a totally different deal but renders a player ineffective. You wait for some good to happen to flip the game in their mind. A guy like Aaron was going through that process. As he struggled, his natural instinct was to work harder and to his detriment, think harder.

So you waited for the young guys to just start playing and stop thinking so much. Then after that, you waited for them to physically catch up. The guys that worked the hardest would get there the quickest. What's most difficult for the youngest players is the work as a rookie comes with very little on field success. A success level far beneath what the good players were used to at the lower levels.

The whole thing is not there for them to dominate, but hopefully blend in and not screw things up.

A guy like Jett, who was the exception and having an outstanding eleven year-old year, had only six or seven hits when he was ten. And visually I thought he was playing well that season.

The third and rarer category of the rookie player was being populated by one guy. The category was poor attendance and seeming indifference to what was happening when he was there. And throw in an exasperating goofiness when time was urgently calling for more effort and focus.

Bryce was madly talented. He was straight line fast, starting from a dead stop like no athlete I'd ever been around at any level.

But he missed so much practice in preseason and was so exhausted when he finally did start showing up, he had the appearance of a draft bust. With your second pick, you are looking for a front line player and you hope, a star.

But he was a non-factor. Worse was he didn't seem to care much either way. He acted like a screw off at practice. It happened between and sometimes during reps he sorely needed.

SUBJECT: Bryce

I don't know what to do with this kid. Every time I coach him up on anything he acts like I'm scolding him. Doesn't matter what angle I take he gets hostile and whiney.

Bryce has the talent, I don't need anything extraordinary from him. Just do what he's asked and give us a couple hours of his attention.

I could see Coach's patience wearing thin with a guy whom I had strongly supported drafting, so I penned a long email to his mom Nikki.

I tried to keep the tone positive. I knew his parents were divorced and the divorce occurred about the same age as when my parents were split up. And I knew it affected me.

I remember always searching for an escape when I was younger. I grew up in a neighborhood that was geographically isolated with few kids around. For me it was playing imaginary sports games for hours. Mimicking the stars on the teams and doing the play by play along with the action.

It probably wasn't normal compared to most kids. But it took my mind off things.

I was sure with Bryce that whether or not he was generally a fool at heart, the situation in his home life had contributed to his behavior when he was with the team.

After I sent the email, Nikki approached me a few days later before a game. She reassured me he loved baseball and was having fun. Things were so broken, we'd had problems getting him to play the spot we drafted him to play: catcher. She sanctioned me and strongly encouraged me to be firm with him and not let him get away with backing out of what we needed him to do for the team.

It gave me a feeling of empowerment. He was tired and she admitted as much. He'd been travelling with his youth hockey team for the last eight months.

I didn't know if the parents thought we were being unreasonable or what they thought. I picked up that the mom was babying him and probably spoiling him to play good cop to the dad's more stern bad cop. It was a competition for popularity and control between adults.

I'd seen it before in my own situation with my parents.

I had a brief talk with Bryce that night. It was different. The tone was more direct and stern like his mom had suggested. I figured he'd snap to it. He acted like he got the message. It let him know he was catching that night. And although things hadn't gone real good thus far, we had at least had a win in our back pocket, the weather was turning warmer. So looking at it optimistically, maybe he was rested and ready to contribute.

I really felt tense about the whole thing. There were guys drafted after him who were less trouble and already starting to show promise.

I crossed my fingers and watched him trudge behind the dish for what I hoped would be a new day.

But the theme kept repeating itself. With Bryce and with that second year team, things were never that easy.
Chapter 59

Unfortunately, one win didn't lead to two and then three. Union Party Store wasn't on the schedule every game night and the rest of the teams were quite a bit better than were just in pure talent.

There were bright spots. As the season progressed, it wasn't hard to find them. Aaron was starting to show dominance at the plate and he would be highly dominant for stretches on the mound. The latter accomplishment was extremely impressive as a ten year old.

From what Coach had explained to me, rare was the player who could come in and strike a bunch of opposing hitters out. He was doing it. But he'd run into problems because he lacked of a consistent trick pitch that changed speeds. No matter how hard he threw, and he threw hard on a level rivaled by few, older hitters would catch up and punish him.

Veteran hitters smelled blood in the water when a guy only threw one speed. Some very average twelve year-olds were drilling the ball.

It's the way it was and we knew it. We knew for sure, if we didn't entirely know before, that you weren't winning with younger players in the league. So I could see our patience grow with the whole production. Coach was less prone to in game outbursts and you could see a definite intent to be more positive.

Real improvement and real results were going to take time. And it wasn't like the kids weren't trying.

Coaches' frustration, like it always was, seemed reserved for Xavier. Despite a key hit in the win over Union Party Store, he was not progressing offensively. He was making a lot more contact than when he was ten. But when he hit it, it wasn't going anywhere. Tappers to second base and the pitcher. Lots of them. Swing was defensive and oozing uncertainty.

Weak ground outs continued to be the dominant result as the first half turned to the second. He was starting to pitch well though. Not just blowing the ball by a lot of hitters, but pitching like a veteran. He understood keeping guys off balance and the art of deception.

There was a lot to like for the following year when basically the whole team, minus Evan, would be back. Coach was smart. He knew individual improvements were great and that we were heading in the right direction. But he also knew there were today's problems that needed to be fixed. We needed to see real results and win more. To get out of last place if possible.

It was the fact that we were behind even Union Party Store. Coach Russ had hit the door. He stopped in mid-season and turned the team over to his assistant Todd. But not before a he purged the dugout of Matt Boozer in a loud tirade that had the league talking. It seems Boozer disagreed with Russ' choice at pitcher that day and was loudly second guessing him in front the parents. Russ' told him if he didn't like his decisions he could either shut up or get the hell out of the dugout. Boozer bolted for the faraway centerfield bleachers, sulking the rest of the game in solitude. I was sorry I missed it

Union was in disarray, but still ahead of us in the standings. That needed to be fixed. While we had stabilized our pitching to keep us in most games, and started catching the ball (at least more consistently then the eight error inning we'd dropped earlier in the season), we had a very weak offense.

Xavier wasn't alone with issues on offense. When our guys were at least just hitting the ball, only three of them were hitting it with any force consistently.

Piecing together runs and giving the team a spark were clear needs.

Evan was our only twelve. Tanner never played an inning and had disappeared altogether. In fact, never came around after the opener. And we had a duty to try to rescue Evan's last year of Little League from embarrassment. The whole thing was getting to him and his stoic, expressionless demeanor was beginning to slowly crack.

He was a good but not exceptional player. He was a decent, not great pitcher. He wasn't liable to carry us to many wins.

In one game before the half he used up his entire pitch count in two innings. Good teams were teeing off on his fastball, which was just average. While his buddy's on other teams like Auto King were running around the bases blowing up all the younger players in their last year, he was stuck relying on a bunch of little kids.

Coach understood all the reasons we had to do something and with many games already gone in a season that was a light speed seven weeks, all options were on the table.

What he came up dramatically changed the entire situation going forward.
Chapter 60

Coach and I had been working together for over a year.

The more I did in helping the players get ready for games, the more I realized he operated in a totally different world then I did as far as our roles.

There was a lot to making games run smooth like they always did. I hadn't remembered one point in any game from the first year, fall or spring, where I sensed any hiccups or lack of preparation. You came to take it for granted. I'd start to think they ran themselves because it flowed that well.

So we were getting excellent leadership. When we lost, and we lost a lot that first fall and that second spring, it was because we were physically outclassed. Bigger kids with more experience hitting the ball harder, throwing it faster and making more plays, more easily.

There was never a sense on my part that there was any tactics or larger strategy at fault.

Coach was a lot of things. Smart, prepared, committed, solid with the players and it turned out willing to be very innovative.

As it became apparent that second spring we were not going to effectively turn around our clear biggest weakness: scoring runs, he brought up the possibility to me in discussions about how to fix the problem.

Bunting wasn't on the table, because many of our games weren't close enough late to allow for it. We didn't have the lock down pitching or defense to make one run built from a sacrifice play matter all that much.

The pitching and defense was getting better fast, but its ceiling was limited by our youth.

But if we could score more in bigger bunches, we might win more.

Becoming better hitters is the never ending project of every baseball team. You build technique in the cage through quality repetition hopefully doing the right things. You then have to shut the mind down and not be overly concerned about technique during the live games. What you had done in preparation was good enough or it wasn't.

Improvement was usually not sudden or extreme. It was more like moving freighter rather than a 14 foot bass boat. It took time and it happened due to many small acts which take place in practices.

But there was one area on offense we hadn't explored and I never considered.

Getting around the bases more aggressively and more efficiently. The biggest reason it didn't occur to me was not because I didn't like that style of play. I loved it. I was raised on the St. Louis Cardinals Running Redbirds teams in the 1980s.

The thing that kept me from giving a running game a lot of thought was the rules of Little League. I couldn't see past them. You couldn't lead off and you can't even leave the bases until the ball reached the catcher.

I'd seen Vance straight steal a base or two during the first season. But even with an average catcher and his speed, he barely made it.

You did your base running base to base on passed balls/wild pitches or when a ball was actually hit.

I wasn't seeing the possibilities. It took one conversation with Coach and one thirty minute slice of our next practice after that conversation to open up my mind.

It was our turn as coaches and as a team to fight back after we got swatted repeatedly across the face. 
Chapter 60

Subject: Base running

It's so frustrating. We get guys on base and we can't get them in. I'm thinking of getting creative on the base paths. Really, we are playing with house money at this point.

I'm not sleeping much these days, usually up by noon. You have time for lunch tomorrow?

Coach rolled into the local diner we frequented for such meetings. It is one level above a dive but no one would mistake it for fine dining. Decorated with an outdated western motif, I guess you could say it was the local greasy spoon.

Although I knew Coach wasn't well rested he was surprisingly alert and almost excited. He laid it out pretty simply. Run between pitches. But instead of the straight steal or running on wild pitches like everyone else, open up the situations. Run with unconventional timing and in unconventional ways.

Like I mentioned, just straight stealing on a pitch is difficult because Little League rules prohibit you from getting any meaningful jump. Leading off was also prohibited.

But you could still get a jump, lead off, steal, crawl, skip, or log roll if you did after the pitch reached the batter (in other words when the catcher caught the pitch). Just that no one ever did it.

The things I loved about his plan were the aggressive style, the fact I knew it would catch teams off guard, and that it defied the norm to what we saw in the league. Teams, with rare exceptions would only run on passed balls and wild pitches that got far away from the catcher.

That whole period of play between the time the catcher got the ball and when the pitcher pitched it again, was mostly a dead zone of meaningless repetitive activity.

But no more was that the case. Not when teams played Ace Electric.

Because no other teams were doing it, no other teams were spending practice time defending it.

Teams would very likely be caught off totally guard. And even if they knew how to defend it, they would be crossing their fingers that they could execute under the little league handicaps of limited practice time and the insertion of inexperienced substitutes during a game.

Opponents would be asking guys who might not be playing a lot or have much skill or experience, to execute an unfamiliar play at game speed just to get one little out. If all went according to plan, balls would be thrown away, pitchers would be frustrated, and our guys be alive with excitement.

That was probably the biggest thing: we were having such a hard time stringing together hits and scoring runs, especially after the first three or four hitters, the new strategy would give us a new way to move guys around the bases. With that hopefully a feeling of power and maybe more control.

At the beginning of the practice to install the new concepts, Coach gave me the floor for a minute. Even though we weren't winning much and often getting blown out, the guys all showed up. It was a fairly rare event to have a full practice in the midst of a busy regular season schedule.

I told them they were lucky to be where they were because they had a brilliant guy in charge and that I was excited about what they were about learn and where I was going. And I wished I could still play so I could do it to. I always hoped that came across authentic when I said it. Because I meant it!

The league was the Ritz Carlton of youth baseball.

Then I stumbled into the backbone of why mixing things up and creating chaos on the bases to change our fortune was important in the bigger picture. It was a principle I talked about often after and nailed what the coaching experience was doing for me in my personal life.

I saw the guys struggle and work to master the important skills of baseball, the ones that matter. The guys who did finally master what was important were the ones who took on that challenge directly. They were honest with what was beating them and got busy working relentlessly to change it.

That principle applied to baseball and it applied to work. It applied to relationships. It applied to everything. It was universal.

With that out of the way and obvious anticipation on the player's faces, the entire group, me included, entered Coach Reynolds's jungle. A place loaded with wild pandas and tigers.
Chapter 61

We were basically going to take that dead time between pitches and look for opportunities to send our base runners off to the next base. It was something I only saw the super-fast, veteran players do and when they did it was rare. The question would be how quickly guys would let go of what they were comfortable with and just dive in.

In that first practice some of the guys took to it right away. Others weren't so sure. Coach had to reassure them "If you hustle and do what we ask and you get out then it's just the cost of doing business". It went over their heads so Coach clarified "Look, if you try your best and you get out then it's my fault, do you trust me? We'll pick our spots. When the defense isn't paying attention, after a bobble on relay throws we are gonna take whatever we can." The few guys who were unsure seemed to be more at ease with and even perked up a little bit.

It was interesting because some of the young guys who had the roughest moments that season, seemed the most excited and the most willing. A guy like Blake, a ten year old who had been reduced to tears in the second game of the season with while he struggled to make plays at third base, was an enthusiastic test pilot.

He had this hitch in his swing where when the ball would approach him, his left foot would flail out toward third base, almost into foul territory. And he'd also wind up the bat in an extreme full swat motion. Like he was starring in a kung fu movie and filming a scene where he was beating back a half dozen bad guys. It was proving vexing for us to change. If we were searching for a positive, at least he didn't get cheated with some weak swing. But the unorthodox movements also caused his head to go flying all over the place.

He was an all-around good athlete, excelling in soccer and basketball. But he was far from a natural baseball player. But he worked hard, was a super kid with great parents and had an excellent attitude.

And the failures in all areas surely were getting to him.

So when coach introduced panda and tiger to him, a light came on. It was opportunity for more than some glory scoring a run if he happened to get on base. It was more than a way to help the team. It was a way to exact revenge. To make his buddies populating other, better teams feel a little of that defeated feeling he'd been hit over the head with the first part of the season.

Panda was his play and he did the unconventional aspects of it without fear. Coach determined that part of the edge we'd get was the strange visual look of what we were doing. People never saw it in the league so they'd be caught by surprise and not know how to defend it.

And he was more right than he knew.

With panda everything started out looking normal. The ball would be delivered to the catcher. A normal pitch. The runners on any of the bases would then calmly, half jog or even walk away from their base and into the no man's land between the bases. Almost like an animal lost from his flock.

Blake in particular mastered the poker face where he seemed just this side of clueless about what he was doing. That was key because the guys who didn't give much away were better hiding their intentions to the opponent.

The extra brilliance of it was it played on the age and emotions of the opposing team. A catcher in Merwin East was basically anonymous. People didn't steal. So if he kept the ball in front of him, his job was done. It wasn't flashy. Just grunt work. So all of a sudden when we ran the panda play, that catcher had an easy opportunity to pick someone off. Or at first he thought that's what he had.

But if all went right, he'd immediately become either confused because he didn't know quite where to throw the ball or he'd become excited and whip it at an unsuspecting teammate on the infield who was likely as confused.

We had one game to play around with it before a match up with Matthews, who was once again dominating. The results were encouraging.

The larger problem was the same as before we learned panda. We were still having a hard time actually getting on base.

Still it was clear that a couple of the guys started to really get way excited about actually getting on base. Guys like Blake or Bradford, who was eleven but still not hitting like he could, immediately got pickier and made the pitcher work more. Getting on meant a little excitement instead of standing there on a base waiting to be stranded because we weren't hitting.

And panda wasn't a play that depended much on speed. You just had to be fearless about the possibility of getting caught in between a base and into a pickle. Some kids were really fast but it was so deeply ingrained in them that they should never get caught out on the bases, that the specter of it happening paralyzed them. Even though they were fast, they weren't good panda candidates.

We were lucky, we had more of the fearless types and the team showed promise right away. Panda gave us energy and a way to compete with the better talent populating other teams.

The other play in Coaches' jungle was called tiger. This was even more daring and probably favored the guys with more athleticism. Instead of a slow stroll into the forbidden mine field between bases, Tiger was a mad dash timed perfectly. When a catcher had become numb by throwing so many balls back to a bored pitcher with a runner on and lobbed one a little too slow back after pitch, tiger sprung. At the precise moment of release on throw back the runner would take off on a sprint.

Where panda had this look of a bunch of guys being clueless, tiger was sheer beauty. Especially when it took place with a steal of home. A guy would have to explode and explode with perfect timing. Often, even with everything done well, there would be an exciting bang-bang type close play. When it would work, the team would go crazy.

Not only was it a base or even a run, but it made the other team look bad. Plus making our players look extra sharp and into the game.

With Matthews next on the schedule after an opportunity to test things out, we'd know whether we had a fad or whole new way of doing business we could use going forward.
Chapter 62

Going in, I didn't place any mental expectations on the Matthews Sporting Goods game. We were out talented basically across the board. They'd beaten us badly (like the other quality teams were doing) in our previous games.

Coach seemed noticeably more relaxed though. One thing we discussed was that even though we didn't really expect to win, if we could steal a base or two or maybe even a run against these guys it would be a big moment.

I didn't have any big goals beyond enjoying a sunny day and watching the guys compete. That was a good and liberating feeling. Not worrying about winning as much. It was easier to accept what was happening if I didn't have even average expectations. I loved the group of guys and they weren't failing from lack of effort.

That sort of ease was really the emotional sweet spot that eluded those first three years. I liked how it felt that day.

So it was a down year in our results that was teaching me the lesson better than if we were winning. Basically enjoy the spectacle and the competition. Out of necessity.

Being down at the field meant more to me personally too. My home life was continuing a long slow unravel. My family was finally pulling the plug on me living at my grandma's old house. My days there were dwindling.

The whole thing was a lot like the end to a longstanding pro career of a once productive and popular player. It never ends exactly right. One side or both sides are at best uncomfortable. At worst they can't stand each other and the venom boils over in ever interaction.

And the more we communicated, the worse the communication got.

So the games were a welcomed escape. The new strategy of exotic, unconventional base running was another reason to be extra interested that day.

In a lot of ways, facing Matthews in one of the first games after we had started learning the art of chaos was a cool opportunity. They were one of the two top teams and extremely talented. But they had top players miss now and again for travel ball commitments. Tim, their coach, was an effective leader. But was more caretaker than teacher. He let his guys play without a lot of pressure but his practices were not heavy on deep preparation.

It was very likely he wouldn't have any counter punch prepared for what we were going to be doing.

So there was some reason to be a little more confident than if it were the last place team playing the first place team. Right away though, a main area of optimism proved false. It was a week night and they did have their entire roster. Including Kaden, the 1,000 pound fire breathing dragon of greatness. He was maybe the best guy in the league the year before, this side of Brennan, and there was little doubt he was the most feared. But now he was twelve and he was the unquestioned big man on campus.

I paid little attention to who Tim pitched that day, but I knew it wasn't Kaden.

The game started and into this sort of wild confluence of perfection.

We jumped on them early and shocked everyone by finishing them using the ten run lead mercy rule. We were out of there in under an hour. It was a baseball coaches' fantasy.

Tim always had a way of hovering around the scene after a loss and pouring some cold water all over your victory bonfire. Super nice guy, but he had this annoying habit of making sure you were aware there was some extenuating alibi for his team's defeat. This night it he was letting us know he had been saving pitching for another game.

And honestly if he was, who could blame him? We weren't very good. But it was still a monster of an achievement.

I'd learned a lot in all the losing. I knew it wasn't going to change the overall season record at the end all that much. But it was something to hold onto and grow from. It was a day for the guys to feel like champions.

There was nothing cheap about what they'd done.

Matthews had a full squad. They were the champs. They were in first place.

And our guys ran the bases like dirty rotten thieves, threw strikes, caught the ball and put the bat to it on offense. Everything you need to do, we did.

The smiles on their faces as we finished them off was a top all time personal highlight. Coaches' smile was even bigger. He had an email waiting for me when I got home a couple hours later: "This was probably my favorite win in sports ever."

SUBJECT: Matthews game thoughts

....I knew Tim expected to win when they had Fairgrove pitch. Talented kid but not their best pitcher. When we called panda with Mitch on first base and Jett on third they didn't know what to do. I certainly didn't expect them to throw it into CF. Glad we got that first run and got a lead. I think that set the tone for the rest of the game.

My favorite part was hearing "Dirty J" mutter in the dugout about how poorly he thought the Matthews kids were playing.

Bradford taking home on tiger was something I'll never forget. He timed it just perfectly.

Win #2 in the books!

He'd earned it. The guys had earned it.

More than anything you saw an identity take shape from a game like that. In sports, like in life, you can run around and act like something all you want. But at some point, a group of wobbly young people struggling and growing into adults need real validation.

We were lucky we got that validation early and got it big time. From that night forward, we fully owned and none of the players would question the strategy in their minds after that.

The next season looked bright. But year wasn't bound to change much. Our league was so good the second place team would win 20 out of 24 games.

Veteran players dominating.

But Coach had a made a plan, put it into motion and the guys pulled the upset of the year. It was the only time Matthews was mercied all season long.

The rocking excitement of the kids having fun like our guys did could put the hairs on your neck up more effectively than a sold out rock concert.

When it's right and you are having success and the energy flows from player to player, nothing tops little league baseball.

If you are a competitor then baseball junkie nights like that are like a hallucinogenic drug. And you know you'll keep coming back searching for that feeling again, even if it's forever before it returns. The idea that it's out there somewhere is seductive enough.
Chapter 63

There were positives springing up all over the place that second year. Coach smartly had his eye on the promising third season as he started to carve out roles for the elevens. Bradford had the squatty body and good hands to be a good catcher for us and Bryce was flat out bombing back there.

Ball after ball dropped or squirting past him. Worse, the more it happened, the less he seemed to care. His energy screamed he didn't want to be back there.

SUBJECT: Moving Bryce

It's time. I give up. He's not a catcher. He doesn't want to be a catcher. Hell, he doesn't even want to pitch. What competitor doesn't want to get on the hill?!?!

Let's put him in CF. He can run around out there. Maybe moving him will help him focus on the rest of his game.

Coach obliged him and sent him with that speed out to center field. He was immediately more comfortable. By the second half he was putting the ball in play against every pitcher he faced.

It was that hitter whom I scouted who put the ball in play off Aaron down in mid-majors. Bryce had this very short stroke which made him hard to strike out. Instead of attacking the ball off the front foot, he's let it travel deeper until it almost seemed like it was by him, he'd flick his wrists at the ball and hit it toward to third or short stop. From there it was a foot race he'd almost always win. We had our lead-off hitter for the present and future.

He even made a couple plays in center that were as spectacular as you'd see by any player at any level. He was amazing athlete. A rare talent in a lot of ways. But he was no practice player. Even when he'd show up, he'd do more horsing around than working.

It's just who he was.

It would get at Coach. You could see it. As a team that wasn't winning much, what could be dismissed on a winning team as guys having fun, came across as guys not caring.

Still his production shot way up after he was moved from behind the plate. It helped me breathe easier. He was my pick at least in terms of the scouting and recommendations. And if we didn't grab him, the next team very likely would have.

That whole thing was moving in the right direction and we were better for it.

I would have thought twice about picking any player who was going to be having scheduling conflicts with other sports though. Bryce as exhausted when he finally did show up and started practicing seriously in early April.

As exciting as it was, the Matthews beat down was one of only two wins we had as the calendar turned to June.

We had bright spots all over the place and I was already looking forward to next year. But to say we were making strides in the wins and losses area was not correct. We got Matthews again later in the half and they beat us handily. We lost a couple times by two touchdowns to Auto King even though it was down year for them comparatively speaking.

Evan was our only twelve and the lopsided losses dragged him down. He wasn't an ace level pitcher but he was our ace. He had a couple outings where his command was so poor and he was getting hit so hard that his pitch count ran out of control/

His fastball was good but hittable for most hitters.

Finally in a late season game the washout of his twelve year old year came to a breaking point. His best buddy in the league was on Auto King. Evan got up there with a chance to knock in a couple runs and keep us in a game.

He ripped a bullet up the middle. A hit basically every time. Instead they'd shaded him toward his inside out and opposite field tendencies. Their shortstop gloved the rocket on a single hop, touched second and fired it over to first for a simple double play.

Evan jogged the last few feet. A sure hit turned into an inning crippling double play. The wind was out of his sails.

He got to the dugout and stared aimlessly forward, his face red and his breathing short and becoming heavier by the moment. Then he crossed over onto a list that nearly every kid we'd had found his way on over the two seasons. Crier.

Instead of saying anything about him dogging it up the line, I said nothing. To his credit he tried to hide it and hold it in, but his face became redder and redder until the streams ran down his dusty cheeks like a cloudburst racing across the desert floor.

We couldn't give him the send-off a quality player like him deserved as far as a quality team performance. At least the new running style more made it more interesting for the players and gave us something to build an identity from.

It wasn't changing our fortunes all that much.

The only thing that could do that was the turning of the calendar. When the other teams in league graduated their older guys and or six-man eleven year old class had the chance to be twelve.

Chapter 64

The second to last game was set for a show down against Coney Plus. They were a middle of the road team with a strong class of ten year olds. Like us, better days were ahead. Still they had some really good 11 year old pitchers. It turned into a back and forth slugfest. We won 15-8 and the day was highlighted by a five hit day at the plate by Xavier.

He was primed for a breakout at the plate. He had been making good contact but the improvement most 2nd year players made hadn't quite taken hold offensively until this point.

I could see Coach was pleased with his son's performance. Chatting after the game with the Coney Plus staff Coach made a rare attempt to promote the way his son had played.

"Hey about time Xavier got hot with the bat. Five for five! That should help his cause with the all star vote" Coach beamed.

Yet the way Coney Plus' coach Travis stared indifferently off in the distance told him that it wasn't a sure thing.

Trent, a younger guy in his late 20's whose receding hairline belied his true age, swiped his cleat in the gravel and just muttered "Yeah I suppose so".

It wasn't the vote of confidence Coach was looking for.

Coach shrugged it off as the typical reaction of someone who just lost a game they expected to win. However I knew the vote this year would be tighter for Xavier than maybe Coach realized.

Chapter 65

So it came down to the last game of a season against our apparent rivals, Union Party Store. Loser gets the top player in the following year's draft.

We both were sitting on three wins. To add more intrigue, the next year's draft was weak. Really only two rounds of ready-made players. Barely two good players per team.

And add to it, the gap between the top player and everyone else seemed fairly significant. Then additional spice: Riley, the top pick, was a guy we knew a little better than most. Richie, the hyper intense fire eater from our first team was his big brother. He had nice parents who we got along with. And he also happened to be Aaron's cousin. So the families were close. It was a great fit all around.

The issue was we were playing probably the best we'd played all year. Finally we were catching the ball like a competitive team. That had been our biggest issue all season. Three or four eleven year-olds were taking the next step in some area of their game. Jett, Xavier and Bradford were starting to all hit and they were making steady improvements on the mound. With a good off-season from a couple of those guys and Aaron bursting to the top like he was starting to, we were going to be looking like a factor in our last year.

Coach knew what was on the line with what we'd gain by losing the finale. But we both knew we had the momentum and we wanted the win. We always wanted the win. Driving away from that field after a win was a totally different level of satisfaction. It was akin to a drug. Somehow when you play poorly and still win you would dwell less on all the bad in the performance. At the same time, when you played great but lost, you'd fixate on the small amount of bad. I guess that's sports.

Riley would have helped us the next year and beyond too. Anytime you can get clearly the best player in a class, you want him. That would have been two years in a row we'd done that.

But the idea of short legging the last game in any way never crossed our minds.

SUBJECT: Game 24

I don't know yet who #2 is but it sure would be nice getting Riley on our squad. Great kid, great ball player and we need a catcher and I don't know who else is decent at that position.

As much as I like the thought of getting him we gotta play to win. We've lost enough this year. We have a good chance to beat Union and send Evan off on a two game win streak.

I don't know if Union Party Store was playing to lose or not. It had been become increasingly difficult to tell with them. But we were definitely two teams heading in two directions. Union had talent. But they hit the wall like they did my first year. And when they hit the wall, it was a mighty splatter with no recovery possible.

All the excitement and energy they played with back in April in the opener seemed like years ago. Even if it was less than eight weeks.

On top of all the favorable factors for a win, it was Aaron's turn to pitch. He was starting to find his groove, throwing it past the weak hitters and showing better location when pitching to the heavies.

Knowing what was like likely to happen, I traded emails with Richie and Riley's mom. It was the day before the game. I let her know the situation and my assessment that we'd probably win the next day.

I could tell by her response she was disappointed.

And I was right. We won easily.

It was a perfect warm, sunny day in early June. Started with Coach and I getting a bunch of pictures with Evan in his last league game in Little League. It ended when we all celebrated with some fresh watermelon after the game. Juice running down my face and the kids' too. It was a fun way to end a tough year.

I just knew the worst was over and all the positive vibes we finished with the last three weeks were sure to carry over. Except for Evan, everyone was back. We were the only team who could claim that few roster losses going into the following year.

We were on our way.

After everyone left and I got the car packed, my optimism turned to dread.

In a couple days I'd be making my return to the All Star voting room was coming. Blocking that out my mind like I'd worked at doing wasn't going to hide me from the reality.

As bad as the first year was watching Woody get shafted, this one looked to be even more personal and more disappointing.

Chapter 66

For winning four games, I felt really good about the future. We had six guys back who were going to be twelve. That meant you had six guys who were each older than 2/3 of the rest of the players in the league.

We saw it time and again that twelve year old players determined your team's fate.

That season Bilco Food Service won 20 ball games out of 24, plus a County Championship with 7 twelves. They had stars but they also had a few role player types in that group. And each guy all had a hand in an amazing season.

I actually thought we could do even better than them and win the whole league.

Plus we'd be drafting high again having finished second to last. After having drafted Aaron, the best player available, we'd get the second best player the next year.

Aaron was starting to scald the ball near the end of the season and as a pitcher was mowing good hitters down on the mound with greater frequency. He had breakout star written all over him for our third and final year coaching.

And to add to that, Bryce had a big enough second half to be in the discussion for All Stars.

Bryce making it so he could play more baseball, was the one thing I wanted most for post-season which I thought was the longest shot.

He sat his share early in the season. When we'd play him, usually at catcher, he looked overwhelmed. His open resistance to catching grew, which infuriated me after he gave us basically nothing in preseason preparation.

I'd wanted him to a great extent because he was a catcher. But besides being MIA for basically the entire preseason, screwing around when he did show up, and then not playing well in games, he was topping the sundae by bucking playing the position we needed him to play.

Wisely, Coach gave up swimming up stream with him and put his athleticism to work flipping him to center field. By the latter part of the first half, he started to make contact off basically every pitcher he faced. That same fearlessness I'd seen when he hit Aaron in mid-majors was back in full.

It was no accident. He was comfortable where he was playing on defense. One play he made, dead run to left center diving to snag a liner was the best outfield play I'd ever seen at that level. He made another one backed up to the fence in right center which would have bamboozled most outfielders in little league, no matter how talented.

The ability out there was obvious and had other coaches in the league taking notice. That success and confidence carried over to the plate. By midway through the season he was our lead-off hitter.

It was a stunning turnaround. One I was convinced was All Star worthy. I knew it would be borderline, but usually that ten year-old team was a good one to sneak a guy on. The numbers were seldom very good for any of the nominees. So it was a lot about eye test. Bryce had plays that stood out and we did a good job of not advertising his early season discontent.

But I was going to cover all my bases. I had a drunken night over Coach Finkbeiner's. Near the end I asked him to vote for Bryce. He gave me a quick OK. With it being managers and coaches, every vote mattered. The chances were at least decent he threw my suggestion out to his other voting coach.

I was convinced a full year out of Bryce the next year, with everything we had coming back, we'd be a force.

Bryce making All Stars was a chance to ignite a love for baseball inside that was dormant. I wasn't kidding myself into thinking it would ever be his favorite sport. But maybe he'd see the possibilities in the game and we'd get more out of him.

That third year was the one we had been pointing to and talking about since the end of the first year. Everything was going to be perfect.

But we got blown out of the water by a huge set back in the very same All Star voting room that had delivered the gift of the Bryce vote.
Chapter 67

I was blindsided by the vote that excluded Coach's son Xavier from the 11 year-old All Star team.

I'd heard rumors he was going to be on the bubble. Many of them coming repetitively from the league president herself.

Her chatter on the topic began early. Like the first two weeks of the season. Waaaay too early.

To me it was more All Star annoyance and rubbed me the wrong way after the Woody vote from the previous season. In an eight week season, to be projecting who would or wouldn't be an All Star by the start of week 3 was ludicrous.

But I had personal bias against the whole All Star deal to begin with.

Last thing I wanted or needed to hear was one of my favorite players was being looked at as less then certain other players. Especially with such a small sample size of the season played.

But that was All Stars to me. The player had better be on the positive side of perception around the league or you're in hot water as far as making the team.

I didn't know that reality at the time, but I was a fast learner. After what happened to Woody the previous season, I knew that if you weren't looked at as a shoe-in based on actual accomplishment, you had better have some sort of connection to push you over the top.

In Woody's case, he lost his spot to a lesser player who was the All Star coach's son.

With Xavier, his dad was a Coach who was well liked. More significant, Xavier had made the team the prior year as a ten. So I thought he had perception of being an All Star and also the connections on his side.

During year two he wasn't hitting much, at least at the start of the season, but his defense was great and he was as good as most top 11 year-old pitchers in the league.

In short, he was a good player in his second year, improving in all areas. I chalked the issues to starting out slow offensively on cold weather.

I looked around the league and didn't see a bunch of guys setting the world on fire.

Still every time I'd go into the damn clubhouse for something, I'd hear increasingly ominous talk from Janet about Xavier not making it and wondering whether it would upset Coach. It wasn't even the end of the first half yet. I'd get more furious every time.

It started to piss me off to the degree that I'd peak in there hoping she'd be occupied with something. Then I could sneak to the back to see the pitch count chart without talking to her.

As the season wore on, his offense did pick up including the five hit game against Coney Plus. But it never got scalding hot for many stretches. But it surely was better near the end with the warmer weather. Taking everything into account, I never paid the possibility he wouldn't make it any more mind until after the vote.

My big focus was Bryce and pulling strings to get him on.

When word came down that Xavier didn't make it, I was at the field checking the results.

Flummoxed by the whole thing, I gathered my thoughts and hopped into the car for the five minute trip over to Coach's place. I wanted to make sure it came from me directly.

My face betrayed me and Coach knew right away. He probably had a feeling ahead of time. Xavier was there and he took it really well. Better than I would have.

I'll rip the idea of All Stars to certain company. But to the degree it meant a lot to the kids, I took it as seriously as anyone.

The guys all put so much work in and compete so hard.

Coach didn't have a lot to say in response to the news.

But I did. But it wasn't going to be to him.

I was livid about how it all went down with the avalanche-like cover story about how one kid wasn't deserving. It went back to perception and my belief that Xavier fell on the wrong side of it. It was a boulder landing on top of a mouse.

He was in a hopeless position. Much of it not his own doing.

In my sense of fairness, the whole thing stunk. Not just for him, but Woody. All those guys who lost the chatter battle behind the scenes. The players who couldn't make up the gap on the field no matter what they did.

Sure a player can always do more or better. What pissed me off is how it got decided which guys had to do the extra.

Rationally, I knew deep down there was no perfect system, but that didn't mean I could shrink and do nothing. There were some things I could fix. I set up a meeting with a guy I felt had enough power and influence to fix them.

I saw Coach at his house and I saw a guy deflated like I'd not seen him before. I was very worried about the momentum of the whole thing and how it would influence our third season. I knew he'd coach his ass off. But I was worried the fun would get sucked right out of it for him

A good and fun ending to a strangely rewarding second year, had flipped to harshness for two of my favorite people.

Chapter 68

I needed someone to gripe against.

It had to be someone who would either keep my gripe a secret or if they did spill it, probably wouldn't attach my name to it. And if they attached my name to it, they would get my point across in a way I would have liked.

Larry was the player agent. His job was clerical but way more involved and time intensive than just being a clerk. His responsibilities involved all the crucial paperwork need for the players to be involved in all stars. Birth certificates, proof residence and the like. He was a nice guy who had been serving the league for quite a few years. Like many, he continued to give his time past the point where his children were still of playing age.

I think it takes a special kind of person to do that. There were a few of them working in some capacity in the league and besides the president herself. That selflessness was a major factor in keeping it strong and well positioned for a strong future.

The player agent, from the perspective of the coaches, was the guy to go to with any rules related questions pertaining specifically to the draft, cutting or keeping a player, and a player's eligibility for majors, both All Star and regular season.

It's hard to describe exactly what issues he would handle except to say it seemed like he had a lot of issues from a lot of people coming at him.

Like Coach he was a man with a job and a life outside of the league, but he still gave massive time and put up with massive aggravation without receiving a dime for his pain.

And without fail, whenever I had steam to blow off about something that was bothering me with regard to the league or the players, I'd dial him up.

He was one of those people with power but also you knew his heart was in the right place.

The Xavier snubbing was boiling on my stove and ready to blow a hole in the ceiling. So Larry and I took a walk around the fields to go over it.

"Ya know, she was talking up a couple other players as being likely to be on that All Star team back around May 1," I said, spitting around my words as my heart rate picked up. "First thing is she sits in that office all the time and barely takes in an inning or two a night. If that. Then she starts talking down Xavier's chances while talking up another player. Larry, my point is how in the hell would she or anyone know that early in the season?"

"It's a good point. She's been doing that for years." He responded. "I know she doesn't mean any harm by it. It's part of her fun. Don't be surprised too if the discussion about the players you are talking about didn't start with her."

"I don't follow?"

"Well she probably heard something about this other player from one of the coaches or something," he said. "She maybe saw Xavier play a little too. Hard to say."

"I don't know where the hell she'd get the idea he was under performing. I can't imagine she'd hear it from me or Coach. We know the way she gossips," I said in a calmer, measured tone. "You?"

"No I really don't," he said.

Silence set in as I stewed over the situation. We leaned against the chain link fence bordering the mid-major field and searched for a way to conclude.

His voice tone left me with two impressions. First, none of what I was telling him was any surprise. Second, he found it all tiring.

But I sensed I was making some headway with him. Or maybe he just wanted the hell out of there so he could go deal with his life and other problems.

At the end of the day, it was a done deal and wasn't changing. Xavier was out. Coach was surely feeling horrible. We had to move forward.

"I just don't think it's fair. No matter where the talk originates, it's too early. We need a couple rule changes in my view. The ballots going out before the first half is done for the managers to make their nominations: too damn early. Jesus Christ it's like Antartica for some of these games and the hitters can look like shit. So move the nominations back. The other thing is, well I forgot what the other thing is. Maybe there is no other thing."

We both smiled and I wanted to end there.

"I guess the other thing is could you mention to her that talking about who is in or out before the vote isn't fair?" I asked.

"I'll try to mention something. I don't disagree with you. She doesn't vote though."

"Yeah but she sanctions a certain buzz. That buzz picks up steam for or against a certain kid. I believe strongly that's what worked against my player here. Once the dye was set, there was not a lot he could reasonably do. There's too much invested on the part of the players and their parents emotionally for it to play out like that. That's all I am saying."

"I'll mention it."

As he walked back to toward the clubhouse and I walked to the car, I was as satisfied as someone in my deeply disappointed state could be. I knew the fallout was something we'd keep dealing with as a team. In the short term I was worried about the negativity that could overtake Coach. Long term, less so. But I wanted all this to be fun for him.

It was our year coming up. Bitter tastes were not needed nor welcomed.
Chapter 69

I had a couple opportunities to help coach in All Stars. Unlike the previous year, they were actual offers rather than a ploy to get another coach to behave.

Despite my sour view of the All Star scene, in year two I wanted to do it. It was basically on my mind to do anything to help out our spring team.

I needed to learn more and do a better job coaching. So that meant doing more of the thing I wanted to get better at.

Unlike the prior year, my energy was high and I was ready for more. No doubt the biggest reason for the change was my optimism for that third season coming up.

It was the last year for the original draft class. It would be our third year together and I liked all of the guys. My determination was for it to be special and to do what I could to help make it that way.

I thought through what I wanted out of All Star coaching. First I wanted to get a better look at the kids coming through in the draft. The Bryce experience taught me one big thing: I needed to get a better look at the players. That meant helping with what the league called the tournament team. It was comprised mostly of nine year-old guys who had been in mid-majors, but who were headed to the majors in our next draft.

I'd really get a good look at them if I actually helped coach them.

It seemed like a great fit for me right from the beginning. I dialed up Richie and Riley's dad Doug. Richie was the hyper intense firecracker from our first year. As luck would have it, Doug needed some help so I jumped at it.

I was determined that no one would knew the ins and outs of the incoming draftees better than we would.

Then a day or so later, Rick, Auto King's Coach found me at the annual rule's meeting for All Star coaches and let me know he'd been trying to call me about working with his ten year-old team.

The guy had won state titles and his teams were always right at the top of the league from everything I'd seen.

I thought he was brilliant and still at the top of his game.

I couldn't say no to being able to watch Rick run a practice and teach the game up close.

So I had two coaching jobs. Rick agreed and told me that working for Doug's team would be primary. When those practices ended, I'd show up at his practices after.

I was super pumped. I got all the bases covered that I wanted to with the goal to get smarter and improve my coaching. Between that and Fall League, everything pointed to me maximizing my last year down there.

I hadn't talked to Coach much since the All Star vote and the gut wrenching meeting at his house.

I doubted he wanted to talk Little League and that topic was basically my whole world at that point.

When practices got going I saw him one day working away down at the fields in the heat trimming back foliage that was pushing through an outfield fence.

As a board member his season wasn't over and as usual Merwin East was hosting one of opening rounds of all stars which meant days of preparation.

He was going hard and it was a typical summer day. I saw him sweating and quietly clipping and whittling at those vines.

I got near him during the practice I was working and he looked like a guy lost in the work. And to me he looked pretty solemn.

I wanted things back the way they were as far as talking the game and the league like we used to do. But I knew I had to give it time.

What happened there with that vote was it's own form of mistreatment toward a good person who gave a lot of time and energy to the league and the players. That wasn't the intent of not choosing Xavier, but the effect was what the effect was.

All Stars claimed another victim.
Chapter 70

The opportunity to work for Rick that summer was the big prize for me as far as improving what I was doing for our Spring team.

Talking about a guy who has won two State Championships coaching All Stars. Each of those teams starting out in one of the most challenging districts in the entire State. In over two decades of coaching he had to have won the league double digit times and won around the same in County Championships.

And he was still getting better at what he was doing.

When I would talk to him and try to grab more detail about what he had won and how often, he'd scoff. It wasn't false modesty. I think he was about letting the product speak for itself. And it was always a damn hard product to beat.

All he'd say when the topic of past success came up was that he had good players. But that didn't tell the whole story. The league in its design gives every team its share of quality players. The truth was he'd do an enviable job of getting the most out of them. It wasn't his stars beating our brains out which impressed me. It was seeing numerous guys who looked overwhelmed in tryouts being made into fair hitters after a couple months on his team.

That's hard to do coaching at that level.

Plus when you are talking tens of thousands of hours of practices and hundreds of games, there was nothing the guy hadn't seen.

I know Coach would get up to play his teams. It was a measuring stick going against him. And that first year we held our own. Two out of five with two narrow losses thrown in.

The second year was a down year and we didn't have the players. Even though his team struggled by his standards and finished third, they saved their most devastating work for us.

So it went. I knew the trick to figuring out how to be like Rick was to be close to Rick. Otherwise you were just another guy chattering with him for a minute or two at the cages, left trying to copy whatever it was he was telling his guys.

Besides his success, he was great about letting any player around the league work with his team. Coach had first been exposed to him when Xavier was invited to work out with Auto King before my time in the league.

The things I picked up that summer should be in the youth coaches' bible. As high as my expectations were for what I'd see out of him and what I learned, they were far exceeded.

If you coach or want to coach baseball someday take note.

\--There weren't any meaningless things happening. He would make sure the guys were playing catch the right way. Catching the ball properly and throwing it with pace. Dropped balls in warm ups would draw immediate correction. He watched it like a hawk.

\--He stuck to the same core fundamentals in all his instruction. Defense was get your butt down and two hands out front. If you were an outfielder, it was about getting the throws low. Hitting was swing harder and more hips. A lot of times if a kid looked overwhelmed by faster pitching, Rick would simply challenge the kid not to be so lazy. I'd never seen it done like that, but it worked almost every time. The kid would time it up and blast the next good pitch. It was almost like magic.

\--Rick preferred a limit of ten cuts per turn in batting practice, sometimes less. He believed that the higher the number, the more tired the player became. When the player became tired, bad habits started.

\--Everything was designed to keep the great players grounded and the unsteady ones feeling confident. The harshest most specific criticisms were reserved for the guys who were more advanced. In his view confidence wasn't the issue with star players. So he'd bluntly attack the little things technical points that were holding them back.

\--Practices were no longer than what we'd done on our team. But he was big on concentration and guys being active. He didn't vary practices much at all. He proudly told me one time after I woke him up while she sawed logs in his truck waiting for practice. He was going to go right up until the players arrived. "Don't worry. Just get the bases out, I run basically the same practice every time anyways," he said before peacefully dozing off.

\--He commanded respect because of who he was and what he'd accomplished, but it was more than that. He had great command of his teaching material and was about getting the big ticket stuff across He focused intently on the things that made the most difference in a player's results. When it worked for them, he had their attention. This was critical. A guy like Coach Finkbeiner as an example had been around for years and accomplished much, but his players clearly lacked that same teacher/student trust with him.

\--He wanted the guys playing a lot of baseball. We didn't take many days off and that was a continuation of his habit with his league team. His rule was during the season he wanted guys playing 5 out of 7 days. Basically a total of 5 practices and or games.

As a coach, the whole thing was a mind-altering experience. And in a great, great way.

I couldn't have more respect for a guy than I have for Rick and his commitment to kids and to doing what he does at such a high level.

That was the biggest thing I picked up. The importance of showing up ultra-prepared to compete.

I was determined it would never again slide for me like it had that second season.

Once I embraced that and committed to keeping up with Coach and how ready he was, things got even more fun and interesting.

Chapter 71

It had been brewing for quite a while, but getting booted from my grandma's place that summer was hugely inconvenient.

At the same time, the idea of moving had one clear advantage. There wouldn't be any more need to be in a business set-up with my family members.

I envisioned an even rosier scenario beyond that. One where the lack of any business ties meant no more necessity to get together for any reason.

I was basically going to the holiday functions out of necessity anyway. Necessity because my grandma wanted to go. Then necessity after she was gone to make sure I could stay on their good side. They were the landlords and I was the tenant.

I had recommended they sell the house right away at a discount. There were cash offers on the table for twenty grand under market. I'd dealt in real estate for years when I was in other parts of the country. I knew the stress of holding costs like taxes and upkeep. Plus the maximum market value was a great idea if the market was actually any good.

We lived in an upper mid-west city which was bleeding population. People were frequently leaving to find jobs in other cities or even out of state. Less people wanting to live in the area, meant less demand. And the sales numbers in the area reflected that.

All that also meant the buyers who might be interested could be picky and demanding. We had a house which was two decades old and hadn't been upgraded much. That was the only way to get it to that upper market value.

If we could ever find a buyer.

What I am writing here is exactly what I told them. But I might as well have been their most mortal enemy. Or a five year old.

Because for all the aggravation, time, and expense of trying to grab a very remote twenty grand, they were going to hold onto the thing and keep trying.

But instead of listening to my input, they decided I was the problem. The roommate and I had to go. Because if it was empty then they'd get the magical buyer.

The pattern of treating me like less than them was nothing new and it severed my trust and feelings of familial affection.

The way they conducted themselves toward me for over a decade was never without a healthy helping of disregard and lack of respect.

I'd made many mistakes in life, particularly in my original career choice trying to be a lawyer. As a group they could never seemingly get past that. I was the one who lacked focus and personal discipline. The conversations were always oozing with judgment and lack of genuine support.

And I didn't like how it felt. So I avoided them when at all possible.

It was never big incidents. Just small repetitive interactions causing an erosion, like an island formed millions of years ago that was losing ground.

One thing I learned and swore to take forward in my interactions with other people is judging and opining from a position of strength when someone has a problem is toxic.

I wouldn't do that with the players.

Maybe it was me who took it wrong and maybe they meant well. But the point is how our family interacted with me was more about them being right, instead of helping me get it right.

So when the new conclusion became my presence at the house was keeping them from seeing some big windfall, I was happy to leave. It was the same old, same old. They knew everything. I knew nothing.

But the reality was I didn't have much time. And on top of all that, making time with helping with two All Star teams practicing every week night.

I blew through the house tossing out accumulated junk and sped on down the road in the matter of hours. It was slash and burn. The summer heat helping to soak me in sweat as I loaded up dollar store garbage bags of junk and tossed them on the curb.

I didn't have a place lined up and I didn't care.

I had my freedom and even though the old house was no more than a ten minute drive away, I never returned.

Home is the place where you belong but not always the place you live.
Chapter 72

I felt bad for C.J. It was his first time out of the nest living on his own. And I had to tell him he had less than thirty days to scram.

I returned his security deposit back immediately without worrying about damage. And he'd done some interesting artwork to my grandma's old room. No doubt I was going to enjoy handing the place back over to my conservative family with walls that looked like they belonged to The Grateful Dead.

"You want me to paint over it?" He asked as he hurriedly started moving his stuff out to his next party pad.

"No way," I said with a smile. "Perfect fit for what they want to do with the place in the future.

I was happy to be done with the relationship.

They were never bad people. And they treated me OK for the most part. But would I have wanted to spend time around them independent of the social contract that you should spend time with your family? No.

I came to the conclusion through life experience that time is precious. A person owes it himself to be doing the things he loves around the people he likes best. Anything besides that is wasted throwaway.

I understand the expectation that people should be closer to family. I just don't subscribe to it in all cases in my world.

My mom on the other hand, I have deep reverence for. We are close.

She had her problems through the years fighting panic attacks and mental illness. I didn't learn about any of that until around the time I started coaching.

I didn't really understand what mental illness was. It was for crazy people. Like the people who were housed with Jack Nicholson in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest". They weren't out and about unless they were homeless or something.

At first, I thought her problems were just moodiness.

But it was actually clinical depression coupled with clinically diagnosed anxiety. Without medication to alter her brain chemistry she would get worse.

It took me a while to get used to the idea. But this also the same time my cousin Jim was going through is issues with schizophrenia.

I always had my own issues too. So I did therapy.

My tolerance level went up for everyone but people who were intolerant.

My mom was always happy with whatever I did or accomplished. When I quit being an attorney I could tell she understood why. People who have experienced the real misery of being trapped or feeling like your day was hopeless, understood what my issue was.

People who liked to make others miserable along with them, couldn't understand why I quit.

So I got along good with my mom.

She'd come out to the games and was supportive of the time I was putting in to the coaching.

I only saw her a couple times a week. In like twenty minute to an hour blocks of time.

That had to be normal for most adults. Isn't that a big reason we don't live at home past a certain age?

Outgrow the relationship as it was when we were kids.

The thing was, I'd forgotten what it was like living at home. When I accepted her offer to put me up on her couch while I searched around for a new place, I'd convinced myself the pleasant half hour blocks of time we had a couple times a week would be extend smoothly. If we got along for an hour, we could get along for four, maybe even eight.

But it started with the questions about where I was going every time I left to do anything. Then it was her sleeping habits. An hour here. An hour there. It went like that all through the night.

She never left the apartment. Mostly because she no longer wanted to drive.

As I'd try to get what little sleep I could on her love seat sized couch, the refrigerator door, mere feet away, would light up when she'd search for midnight snacks.

That went on all night.

I realized why I liked being on my own. It was the "on my own" part.

Finally, after ten days with the sleep level of a long dead zombie, I got desperate.

Melanie level desperate. 
Chapter 73

It had been months since I'd had any contact with Melanie.

I guess languishing as my mom's house guest brought out the bad judgment in me.

I was also in a big drought in my social life. The season is always busy and in two seasons, the coaching turned into my primary mental preoccupation.

In therapy I'd talked about this and the professional conclusion was I was far better off being focused on something I really liked, then having multiple watered-down focuses. Doc C worked under the assessment that I had obsessive tendencies with my hobbies, but she did nothing to dissuade me.

Certain things are healthy. But if overdone they maybe are not.

So I pushed on. Outside of taking Bill out to eat or whatever I might do hanging out with Coach talking about the team, I wasn't getting out at all.

There was something about being under my mom's thumb with no place to live which gave me a feeling of failure. So thoughtlessly, I began texting Melanie.

It took two short exchanges back and forth for me to remember precisely why I'd quit texting her.

I didn't want to start things back up like before.

But I didn't not want to try the good parts.

Mostly though, I wanted out of my mom's place.

But I didn't want to pay any money unless it was my own place.

Even a night along the lines of the old days would have been great. As a diversion or whatever.

She was having none of it. And for a very good reason.

"I am with somebody."

"Somebody not your husband? The usual then?"

"Ha, Ha. No. I'm in a relationship. Getting a divorce too!"

The odds of her springing for a room for me went way down with that news.

I had to choose my response carefully.

She was at heart a good person. Not a great person. But how many people actually are?

Great is a high standard.

She deserved happiness I figured she didn't have in her marriage. She deserved more than a guy who didn't want her to come within a country mile of his little league field.

But man did I want out of my mom's place. And I was too scared to ask anyone I knew from the league. I didn't want someone like Coach thinking I was a total loser.

And I hated the idea of the two worlds mixing. Coaching Me was always separate from personal Me. That way personal Me couldn't corrupt coaching Me.

So I went for it. Probably because I knew nothing was going to happen and there was zero riding on whether I got a yes or no.

I practiced the routine I'd used and I dialed her up.

"Do you have room at your place for like a night or two?"

"What?"

"My mom is driving me crazy. I am between places and I can't take it anymore."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Come on Mel. You and I both know nothing is going to happen. You have a new guy and I am happy for you. I really need this."

"If Gar finds out though. I don't know how I'll explain it."

"Gar? Seriously?" I said as I giggled.

"So what's wrong with that. It's cute. He's cute. He's nice. He wants me around. Unlike another person I know."

"Yeah well I am sorry I laughed. Really. We always had this wicked sense of humor between us. I mean I'd hoped you'd laugh at me if I ever did the same."

"If you did what the same?"

"Got serious with someone with a weird name," I said laughing.

There wasn't any laugh coming back my way.

Suddenly being in the middle of the conversation was like being in middle of free climbing a very high steep mountain. Then suddenly wondering what I was doing and wishing I hadn't started in the first place.

And just when I was about to lose my grip and endure the very painful fall, a weird thing happened.

"Come on out. It would be good to catch up. I just won't say anything to anybody. You can check out my place. Well it's not really mine. It's my mom's. But she's out of town this week. So you asked at a great time."

Blah, blah, blah

She was rambling. Like all the sudden she took a hit off some premium double impact weed.

"Great! Awesome!"

With the surprise of yes, the excited words came out of me.

Her place was in a farming community out south and west of Merwin. About a half hour away.

The entire trip I had this foreboding feeling in my stomach I couldn't shake. Like none of what was happening made any sense. Her saying yes to such a preposterous request while in a serious relationship with someone else, made me think she had gone wackier than I remembered.

I sped along the back roads as the sun danced near the horizon. Even though it was an hour before dark, it had to be a million degrees out with a million percent humidity.

When I came out of my thoughts I saw the blinking lights in my rear view.

"Shit."

I had no idea how fast I was going. Or if I blew a stop sign. Out in those country roads, they are everywhere. I only pay attention to them if there is someone coming from the other direction. Otherwise, I roll on through.

He came to the door and I was searching through the glove box for my papers.

He was a bigger guy, but flabby. He was in one of those unmarked cars that were fairly common in our area. They'd use them to sneak up on speeders or create more effective speed traps. People's eyes are trained to look for lights on the roof and markings on the side. His car had neither.

I always hated when I saw police officers being sneaky like that and now I really hated it.

I produced the necessary paper work which he took back to his car. Minutes passed.

I hadn't been pulled over in a while so I couldn't tell if the whole thing was going fast or slow.

Finally he approached.

"Sir I don't play the game usually of asking the driver how fast they thought they were going. I figure they wouldn't speed if they knew they were."

He was more casual and almost friendly in his tone than I expected.

"Yeah. I never thought of that. You're right officer."

"Speed limit is out here is fifty five. You were going almost eighty."

"Woh. I had no idea. Honestly my mind is in other places."

"Oh. Well it's always safer to keep it on your driving."

"Yes sir."

The brief move toward something different in a driver and officer conversation had flipped normal. He was lecturing. I was groveling.

Then for a reason I didn't quite understand, I lapsed into a Doc C session.

"I don't even know why I am out here honestly."

"Pardon?"

"Um I mean I was coming to see a girl. But I wasn't. And the whole time, the more I thought about it, the more I thought it was a bad idea."

He laughed.

"Well I've been there. Got a new lady myself. Pretty excited about it. Time for me to settle down I think. Tell you what, I am going to let you go with a warning today. That's very fast. And I hope you realize how dangerous that can be."

"For sure. And thank you officer. I need to think some things over."

"Well drive safely and good luck."

I nodded my head and averted my eyes to his chest.

"J. Garfield"

He waited for me to start my car. I made it as far as the next turn in to a farm house driveway. I got back onto the road headed back to Merwin

I didn't know if this Sheriff's Deputy Garfield was Melanie's "Gar". But I took it all as a sign.

I got back to my mom's apartment and texted Melanie.

"Found a place. Thanks for the offer though. You're the best!"

There I was, just in time for a rerun of "Gunsmoke". Another crappy night's sleep ahead.

Comforted in knowing I'd probably dodged a huge bullet.

Chapter 74

I had the two All Star assistant jobs that summer, but one ended up swallowing the other as far as mental energy consumed.

For the younger kids, I was doing a lot more at the actual practice as far as helping them understand where to go with the ball when it was hit.

With the older group and Coach Phelps I was more a batting practice pitcher and bullpen catcher. Still that one was a lot more taxing.

The biggest reason was the same as it was during the actual season. I wanted Bryce to do well and then with that experience, start to take baseball more seriously.

If he was more engaged, he would do maybe more for our team. The following season was our year. It was always going to be our year. Coach was definitely done because Xavier was going to be twelve and in his last year.

We had all six of those guys he drafted who would be in their last year.

Older teams win and I figured we were talented enough. That is if Bryce played like a second round draft pick from a good draft. He was a guy who could change a game with his legs and his ability to put the bat to the ball against really any pitcher.

The perfect leadoff hitter skill set.

But it was more than a feeling, but fact that he wasn't operating at anywhere close to his potential. Practices, if he made them at all, were his time to screw around act like a clown.

And it was always at the oddest times.

Like Coach would be having a serious discussion on a teaching point or going over things at the end of practice, and Bryce would be chattering about non-sense or jumping around with his hat on backwards trying to keep up a long-running gag with another player.

It drove Coach nuts. It was obvious. He understood that underneath Bryce was a kid from a bad divorce who despite his immense talent, seriously lacked confidence. The messing around was mostly immaturity but it was also fear about actually committing to being his best.

Like he feared putting the effort in and it wouldn't be good enough.

He was a strange kid. Probably more strange to Coach than he was to me. I understood the loneliness and feeling of loss that came with divorce. There was trauma too. Because in most cases you saw your parents fight and it could be uglier than anything you could dream up when you are that age.

You see your parents one way at first, then you see this crazy dark side and it's scary. And it can turn you weird in the process.

I knew there was no way to undo that. As coaches, we took what we were given and dealt with it.

But I saw a talented ballplayer there. And practically speaking, we needed his talent that next season. We were all of a sudden going from young and not ready to veteran in the matter of months. But we weren't necessarily talented. And when you looked around and examined the teams who would be giving us our biggest challenge, man for man, our situation was more hopeful than certain.

That first All Star practice I was there about a half hour early to help Rick and his assistant Chris set up the field.

As the practice time approached and the players filtered in, the one missing was the one I figured wouldn't make it easy on me.

Four minutes until 4:30. Then three. Then one.

Still no Bryce. No cars pulling up.

Then like a rare breed of fox in thick underbrush, he emerged from the dugout, face stone serious, glove in hand.

He nodded at me and partnered up with one of his new teammates.

I don't know how I missed him? I assume he popped in when I had my back turned.

What was strange was that for the last 15 minutes I don't think I took my eyes off that parking lot for more than ten seconds.

Anyway, I relaxed when I saw him. I took up playing catch in the line with the other players while Rick and his other two coaches talked.

I was the fourth coach and wouldn't be involved in any game work. Since I was there to study Rick and how he runs a practice and a team generally, I really didn't care.

Plus I always liked playing catch with the players, hearing what they are talking about and what interests them. My thinking was maybe they'd be more likely to come my way with a problem and give feedback if they looked at me as more one of them.

The whole time, I had one eye on the ball and one eye on Bryce who was twenty feet to my right.

He was catching everything cleanly and moving his body with energy.

On the spring team, he would be on the list of guys most likely to stand in one place and flop the ball with a limp wrist to his partner. The usual indifference to the concept of using his time to getting better.

Not that day.

And when Rick lined him up at third base, a spot he had worked at almost never in practice and never in a game for us, he handled it well.

His spot was center but far be it for me to question a guy with Phelps' track record.

I walked around offering encouragement to the guys as they took a fast-paced infield.

The test would be what would happen when Bryce bobbled one. Rick didn't sugar coat corrections on errors. He wasn't mean, but he was direct and to the point before snapping off the next grounder.

When it happened, Rick bellowed out "get your butt down and two hands!" Bryce dropped his head and his shoulders slumped.

My heart sank thinking the deal was about come unglued.

I walked over to him and offered encouragement in a low tone and then quickly retreated.

That was the pattern through the first week of practice. He held his own at an unfamiliar spot. He made errors. He got coached. He bounced back.

Rick didn't like how he felt for the ball with his hands extended when he hit and demanded he keep his hands in and attack more with his hips.

It was a concept I agreed with, but with Bryce's late attendance in preseason, our staff was left with trying to maximize him based on his ingrained habits.

Plus he didn't take to coaching worth a damn. At best he'd sulk, but normally he'd give some lame brained excuse for why he couldn't try the adjustment we were advocating.

But during the All Star practices he was holding it together. He rebounded from the friction of a guy like Rick who wasn't about to coddle anyone.

And the best part was the screwing around was non-existent.

I held my breath the whole time those two weeks.

Still he didn't seem to be gaining a lot of ground as a ball player.

Near the end of that first week, Janet took me aside in the clubhouse and mentioned in her gruff and cigarette battered voice that Rick told her after the All-Star vote that he didn't think Bryce belonged on the team.

It was a blow hearing it. My thinking shifted. The objective became getting through the experience without wrecking the kid's confidence more.

Or worse, chase him out of Merwin East.

Anything which could undercut that third year with Coach frightened me. First Xavier not making All Stars and then finding out Bryce was in the doghouse with his All Star coach before there was even one practice.

After talking to Janet, I was too stressed to enjoy any of it.
Chapter 75

Bryce was getting to play enough to keep him from sulking. The biggest deal was it was for a coach he apparently knew better than to challenge when he didn't play the whole game. It would have been great to have the same courtesy from him and his folks during our season.

The early tournament went by totally incident free. He was always on time and trying his hardest. Plus there were no oddball theatrics. Not one instance.

I was pleased overall.

I wanted him to play more but he was in the rotation. Rick liked to rotate guys in All Stars for the most part.

When I made sure I pointed out to him how other players were also sitting in the early games of the tournament, he acknowledged quickly that he understood.

I asked him if he was having fun, but I was still apparently in the "adults I mess with" wing of his existence. He gave me a grunt and a shrug of the shoulders.

Just enough to keep me wondering either way what might happen next.

On the flipside was Aaron. He barely said anything, but was doing everyone associated with our team proud in not just his play but how he went about his business.

There was good, mature players on that team from across the league. And once again he showed his standout results by comparison were about more than just his larger size and amazing talent. He was a workaholic.

But the pace and focus of how he worked was putting the rest of the field to shame.

He'd come through a very shaky, by his standards, early part of his ten year-old year and had closed that book.

He was starting to assault the ball at the plate and shut people down on the mound near the end of our season. And it was carrying over to All Star play.

One thing about the ten-year old tournament is it has a higher degree of unpredictability because the players for the most part are unknown. The twelve year-old tournament includes mostly guys who had been All Stars previously. If teams played tight games and were pretty evenly matched in district play at ten, they were likely to be that way when they reached twelve.

By the time the class reached twelve, everyone knew what kind of talent the other teams in the district had working for them.

But travel ball's emergence had made the ten year-olds less unknown. Guys knew from the travel teams they played on who the standouts were. But that information didn't readily filter to All Star coaches. A guy like Rick who loathed travel ball didn't have much access to that information and most likely wouldn't bother to ask.

The early round games played at our fields were against small town teams who didn't have our talent or depth. Those wins were almost predetermined. Although we'd looked dominant, Rick was quick to point out to the excited parents that those wins told us nothing about the team.

For the next couple games after, we'd be leaving the comforts of our usual surroundings and playing against better teams.

It didn't take long for our weaknesses compared to a couple other teams to be exploited.

In the first game we played a team from across town from an area with money and resources. They could be good in a season, depending on the cycle of players. It wasn't a year to year given.

They laid it to us really good. They made every play in the field and had good hitters. Plus the pitching was good. Not overwhelming but good enough to win most of the battles against most lineups.

But that defense. Their shortstop and third baseman were ranging to their left and right and effortlessly, releasing without hesitation and making difficult plays look easy.

At the Little League level, there is a deep psychological impact to a team which when the opponent keeps robbing hits from them. We looked more beaten with each play they'd make.

Worse, we were trying to walk the tight rope on pitching. A loss meant a game the next night. Then if we won, we'd get a rematch with the team that had just cleaned our clocks. With the same rules as the season applying to minimum pitching rest.

Pitching thinned out quick when a team got caught in the loser's side of a double elimination tournament. Worse was I questioned in my mind whether we had the horses to beat that first team once, let alone twice.

Even if we had our best pitchers.

I was watching and wasn't allowed into the dugout because the rule required no more than three. But I was close enough to get wind of some tense moments between Coach Todd, who had taken over for Russ with Union Party Store, and a couple players. Todd was a good man and a solid coach. But he had one speed. Full blast.

One or two of the players didn't operate that way. The type of kids that when they were operating with intensity, it was hard to tell.

Not Todd's type of guys.

As we struggled, the admonishments from him to some players to hustle were met with back talk.

It was a searing hot day and we were wilting under the pressure.

Good stiff resistance will do that to a team if it isn't ready.
Chapter 76

Since I was happy to be on Rick's staff and have the opportunity to learn what and how he coached, I was fine with not being able to actually be on the bench during games.

The goal all centered on the following spring and my last year with Coach and the team. I knew I'd have a lot more of value to bring to Ace Electric because of the experience.

Rick was a genius and that three weeks only reinforced that opinion.

An interesting side story which was unmistakable as the team started to wilt against stiffer competition was the alternate universe which existed among parents. Particularly parents of the more talented players.

I expected, probably naively, a deference to Rick's decisions. And I got that.

But only so long as the team was winning.

When the belt tightened after the early district games and the team lost its first game, the naysayers started cackling.

You could see this odd mingling pattern among parents take hold. Where in the early games everyone was in a big united group, the first loss broke everyone into smaller globs of two to four. A couple next to the dugout with me hanging over the fence. These were the ones who knew the game a little, didn't claim to be experts (their words) then spent each bad inning shooting off their expertise.

The main gripe was twofold. One, they didn't like Todd and how gruff he was with the kids. Two was they kept wanting Rick to stop pitching our best guys once we fell down a couple runs declaring "there is no way we can beat this team right now".

I remained quiet and on occasion throughout long innings of listening to it, would offer variations on the same vanilla response.

"Todd is a very good coach and he's a demanding guy. He wants players going full blast all the time."

I was hoping the point came across that their kids weren't doing that which is why Todd jumped on them about it.

But one thing I learned fast through the dialogue was parents see a different game.

Parents saw everything with both a deeply biased and deeply emotional filter. I really liked their kids too. Which fundamentally was why I was coaching. I understood, to the degree it was possible for a bachelor with no kids, their emotions that entered into conclusions about what they were witnessing out on the field.

It was part one, the bias, that didn't sit well with me. And I found that to be rampant. As I spent the next game after our loss moving further away from the dugout and mixing with different sub-groups of parents, I saw it almost across the board.

Strangely, Bryce's mom Nikki, who had an in-your-face type personality and had already expressed displeasure to me about Coach yelling at Bryce during spring, spent the tournament seemingly serene.

It probably seemed that way because all of the sudden she was hanging with a set of parents of really good players who eclipsed her in the emotional and bias categories.

In game two of the difficult part of the tournament, she sat there quietly as Bryce played even less than he had in the first loss.

The game was against the host team.

A loss and we were done.

Rick had a simple tournament philosophy: win today and let tomorrow handle tomorrow. It could rain. Your next day's opponent might have an off day. Whatever.

He'd won two State Championships and countless Districts. He understood what we were up against better than anyone.

He went with the best we had left right out of the gate. Because he knew the opponent would do the same. And they'd be at home with a sizable, lively crowd giving them energy.

Based on tradition we had the better talent, but we were talking about ten year-old players. How much does the tradition of your league matter really in a game with that backdrop?

His strategy was proven correct. Without sticking with the best available arms on our roster, we would have lost and lost big. As it was, it took a two strike single from none other than Bryce to put us over the top.

That team had players, particularly offensively. One guy hit a ball so far off probably our second best arm, that it would have threatened going out on your average high school diamond. It had to be 300 feet.

We'd used up our top two pitchers to get a rematch with the team that beat us in Game 1. But deep down I didn't care.

Listening to the griping from the parents about the use of the pitchers had finished my resolve.

We were in a tough spot the next day. But there would have been no next day if we didn't throw our best in game 2.

I'd gotten what I wanted out of the experience and many of the parents were so disappointing in their lame and poorly considered criticisms, I thought they didn't deserve better. They definitely didn't deserve the quality of managing a guy like Rick provided.

I was proud of Bryce. I traded messages with his mom the day after the tournament ended. He was suddenly excited about baseball.

It was Bryce however and I knew it might not last, but it was definite progress. A couple days later down at the fields, I saw him hanging out with the other guys on the team. Guys who were serious players.

I wished more than anything that his self-confidence was coming alive and he was seeing he belonged. It could only mean great things for us. We needed his talent.

Aaron was in a different place. He came into the All Star experience with the weight of the world on his shoulders. He could never do enough. And Rick was quick to point out to me after the tournament:

"Aaron missed a few in the field he normally gets. That hurt."

And it was correct, but at the same time if you subtracted his offense and pitching from the equation I think we lose two straight and never get our rematch with a very good team. A team that went on to win the State Championship.

It's about perspective. And we had a good team. But there were others which were better. Rick, Aaron, Todd or whomever else were not going to change that reality.

With Aaron, he starts out from a place of being unfairly hyped, and can't win.

I told him I was proud of him and I'd see him in February.

I was happy to turn the page and get on with the league business that mattered most.

Our last spring team.

SUBJECT: All Stars

Great to hear it was a positive experience for Bryce. I wish we could have seen more of that from him during our season. Maybe he is turning a corner or maturing a little. I really hope so anyway.

From where we sat as coaches, the under card was over and it was time for the main event. We had two years of experience in spring, a Fall League (soon to be a second), and between the Coach and I, multiple All Star runs. He'd actually ran an All Star team.

So the collective experience in our staff and with our players was at its high point as a combined unit.

We'd won at a high level in year one and lost until it made us wretch in year two.

And it all led to the last go around. It was the season we talked about even before I agreed to finish the three years.

I was a huge fan of Coach and loved every second of working for him. We'd become fast friends.

What could be better?

Obviously, it could be a lot better if we actually won.

That goal, which I had left behind in the middle of all the defeats in season 2, was back front and center in my mind.

I know it was his too.

The league was a very competitive set up. The managers and coaches. Then you had the parents who all knew each other. And of course the players who all went to school together, played other sports together, and in many cases were so close they slept over at each other's' houses on a Friday night.

It was all very tight knit. And it was impossible for people not to attach their egos to the results. Parents and their kids who played on the league champion had definite bragging rights at the travel tournaments throughout the summer.

The managers measured themselves against each other. One guy might have had it in for the other on some level over something or a series of somethings.

I could talk and everyone could talk all they wanted about how winning wasn't the central reason we were down there, but it was hard to overcome how we felt deep down about what it meant to win. To not be part of a losing team.

It hung over you just like being part of a winner lifted you up.

And if the cultural reasons in the league weren't enough of an incentive, if you were a competitor you moved heaven and earth just to win whatever moment was in front of you.

And Coach was a competitor. To the max. I was right behind him and that side of me was growing fast.

There was a center that got lost inside me.

At the time things were churning forward fast.

It was still the players. Particularly Seth, Tristan, Mitch, Bradford, Jett and Xavier, our veterans, who would make it what it would be.

And I was blind to the reality that I couldn't will a certain results to happen. Or worse that I had any right to choose the results players should want.

It's not like my intentions, or Coaches' intentions, or any other manager's intentions were bad. The problem is defining success and enjoyment so narrowly.

It doesn't leave much room for contentment if things don't right.
Chapter 77

"So how is the new place?"

"You know what's funny about that Doc?" I said, bouncing my feet up and down as was my habit during my therapy sessions. "I didn't want the place at first. I knew it was on a one way street with a lot of traffic. Some of those houses along there are pretty sketchy too. But good thing I went and checked it out. So far, so good."

"Why didn't you take it before? It was available? Because it was dumpy or something else?"

"I just said because I thought the neighborhood was lousy."

"No actually you said a lot of the houses along there were "pretty sketchy," she said. "That surprised me and didn't make a lot of sense. Because I know you told me you've lived in some dingy houses before."

"Well there were other reasons. The biggest was my dad lived on that same street. And I thought it was kind of eerie. Plus I used to hate going there to his place when I was younger."

"How are things with him these days?"

"It's funny. Probably better than they've ever been. But no closer. If anything, less close. He's way the hell out in Idaho in the mountains. Ready to take on the government the second they try to come take his guns. He treats me now more like his friend than anything. I like that because he isn't passing judgment reminding me what a failure I've been in his eyes."

"That's good. We talk all the time though about how you need to be less judgmental yourself about other people's motives. Like your family, you have to understand they maybe don't have the capacity to see the things they tell you might be destructive. Yet, I can tell they are good people. Every time you describe one of them, I don't see any bad eggs in the group. Good jobs, raising families. You don't seem to think they are bad people either."

"That's right. Same with my dad. In fact, really good guy. Willing to drop everything to help anybody at any time. Sticks strongly to his beliefs," I said, letting a small laugh out as I trailed off.

He was his own guy and for that I admired him. I was big on that and tried to live that way too.

"I think he's happy out where he is. Living according to what he believes. And the great thing is he's less likely to be messing with me like the old days."

"Shifting gears a little, how is life with the coaching and the team?"

"It's great. The best. Learning stuff as I go. Things I can bring to the players. Excited about next year."

"Have things calmed down with your head coach there. Something to do with his child not making an All Star team."

"Yeah. I stayed clear of it and got through All Stars. Once Fall approached and we were back both fully focused on something that didn't make one of us uncomfortable, the whole thing seemed to blow over. I know he's still sore. When I brought up him coaching the twelve year-old team next year, he shot me back a message about having no interest. I don't know. Maybe I could talk him into it if we were the top team in spring league and had the chance. I just want to be the top team. Show everyone what a great job he is doing and has done. Get the stink off us from last year."

"You talk about these things-little kids playing baseball- with such seriousness. I can't believe it's that big of a deal to everyone like you seem to believe it is. Is it just you making more out of it than it is?"

The idea wasn't one I wanted to think about it. Not at that point. I was up to my neck thinking about our last season coaching. If a player wanted extra work, I was providing it. Even thought it was early August and it was still a dead time in the schedule. No time breaks. Just eyes on the goal.

Questioning the goal in my mind was a threat to my meticulously crafted world view.

"How much time do we have left?" I responded, hopefully making it obvious I'd rather talk about something else.

I'd confront that one another time when it didn't make me so uncomfortable.
Chapter 78

Twelve year-olds win games and we had six of them coming back.

The math and path to success was simple.

Closer examination would have revealed to a person less optimistic than me that the road was loaded with pot holes.

Xavier and Jett were players. Jett had one of the better years of any eleven year-old in the league. I considered him a star. He had a season where he hit over .400, struck out only three times, pitched fairly well, played at times spectacular defense at three different positions,

Whatever happened with his inconsistent hitting that second year, Xavier could do everything on a field and I'd already seen glimpses of his potential as a shut-down pitcher. The other thing about him is he was moment elastic.

Meaning he didn't seem to get nervous in what many would consider a pressure situation.

Bradford was on the rise. He worked for it and there was no doubt in my mind, he'd be a tough out by the time spring rolled around. He had a beautiful swing. One that Lonny, our first year hitting guru, said was the best on our first team. There was some All Star stud level veteran hitters on that team too.

Then there was a drop off. And on the other side of the line were the other three veterans. Tristan, Seth, and Mitch had definite holes in their games.

And they also had the spottiest work habits. Tristan was a hockey player and baseball was his second sport.

Coach took him off the cut pile before our first year. It was a steal. He'd hit well at times as an eleven despite not giving much to baseball in the pre-season, let alone the off-season. That strange throwing motion he had when he was ten which looked like the combination of an Olympic javelin thrower and an uncoordinated daddy's little princess, had mostly whittled itself away.

There were reasons to believe he might be a massive success story for us at first base in the spring. And there were reasons to think he wouldn't progress at all. As much as I wanted him in Fall league that year and as much as he needed to be in Fall league, there was no chance of it happening.

Exactly the same as Bryce, Tristan was a hockey guy first who had a hockey obsessed mom.

I never figured it out. Both guys had the tools to be excellent baseball players. Baseball had less expense, travel, and actually greater opportunity at the collegiate level to get money for education.

Tristan especially seemed like he would have liked to play more baseball. Not that it burned in him. But like his nice, but almost docile dad, his mom called the shots. She had an unreasonable, even kooky obsession with hockey. So her son and her entire family were left to pull the cart full of rocks across the coliseum floor for her amusement.

The whole thing bothered me for totally selfish reasons. As single minded as his mom was about him playing months and months of hockey, I was just as obsessed about the following spring and our baseball team. I didn't have a lot of tolerance for dissenting behaviors or opinions.

Mitch was probably at the outer reaches of his potential. He didn't move well and his hands were spotty. He had a slow bat. Being twelve, he had his own personal expectation that he would win the first base job. There were a couple problems with that. Big ones.

The first was every throw over to him from an infielder had to be perfectly chest high for you to feel good about it being caught. Even then, it was still a bit of a dice roll. The other was Tristan had the same expectation about first base.

Two twelve year-olds with similar skill sets, both lacking athletic ability. The thing I overlooked was they were twelve and if we hid them in the corner outfield, they would look at it as a demotion.

Mitch could hit a little as long as the pitch was throwing slower. In a league like ours, usually the pitches were faster.

Coach and I both hoped we'd get the twelve year-old bump from Mitch, but it was quite a leap to actually count on it.

Seth could run. Really run. But he lacked an aggressive side or instincts to translate speed for base running. His hitting hadn't really improved and he waved at the ball on defense rather than get down and in front of it.

The hitting especially I felt bad about. I wasn't much of a hitting instructor. I could help a kid that was already good to get better. But I struggled mightily with guys who were still fighting to get to average.

He wanted to play second base for his twelve year-old year. He had started the prior season as the second baseman and it didn't go well. Besides pitcher and catcher, I believe second the most important position in Little League. It was high traffic for grounders and at an age where being good at defense was probably the biggest hurdle, you couldn't have anything less than 90% outs on balls to second.

I didn't know if there was enough time to get him where he wanted to go before spring.

At least he and Mitch were playing Fall League. They needed the work. I cross my fingers and set out to work them hard as I could with the two months the fall season provided.

But my priorities were straight. If they couldn't make the grade, they'd play where the team most needed them in spring. Where they wanted to play wasn't relevant.

And that way of doing things has consequences for any coach. Particularly coaches at the Little League level. 
Chapter 79

The Fall season was about the simple task of maximizing Bradford, Mitch and Seth.

I didn't say anything to Coach but I thought the job was made easier in some ways because he wasn't going to be in charge of the team.

Xavier was playing tackle football for the first time and Coach wanted to spend time attending the practices.

I figured he needed a break too. We'd been going hard those first two seasons and the obsession over the upcoming third and final season had been growing.

Seth and Mitch particularly didn't respond well to extra pressure.

Coach was a demanding guy. He communicated on a genius level with the players, but he had expectations on game day. It was just plain hard for guys like Seth and Mitch to execute to that standard.

The reason was part preparation and part their games suffered because of nerves when the lights came on.

Bradford was a whole other story. He was going to keep working all winter. There was no doubt of that on any level and the mission with Fall was to just to keep honing things.

If we ended up with 3 potential All Star twelves plus Bryce and Aaron as All Star level elevens, that would be a competitive hand any night.

Instead of Coach Reynolds, I was working with an assistant from the Bilco Food Service team that had just rolled up twenty wins and a County B Division Championship.

I knew Chad from the mid-major scouting I'd done after our first season. He was on the mellow side which I anticipated being a great fit for Fall.

I wanted Seth and Mitch to get better and in a perfect world get good enough to let me go to Coach and say with confidence: we have legitimate threats to take those first and second base jobs.

Those are demanding positions.

I kept my thoughts to myself. As much as I was rooting for both guys to make their twelve year old year special, it wasn't going to enter into my thinking or how I would report back to Coach.

I'd messed up the Bryce evaluation and left us saddled with a talented but aggravating presence.

Everything I told him had to be spot on, conservative, and leaning toward pessimistic.

I had good rapport with Mitch's dad Kirk and Seth's mom. I was looking to parlay that into the best possible effort from both guys. There wasn't any excuses. They would probably come out of the line up only an inning or two over the entirety of twelve games.

As practice opened, we hit on some mild and pleasant early August weather. The pace of Fall, without the demands of winning games allowed me to take my time working with the players.

They looked good and like they were enjoying themselves. Seth wasn't one to ever smile. Mitch was looser by nature, but could swing suddenly in the other direction. As soon something didn't go just right, he'd sulk. I chalked it up to the negativity and loss of confidence he'd suffered through the years being the worst athlete in a family of serious jocks.

His uncle had played in the Major Leagues for a couple teams and his dad was good enough to play in college.

Coaching Mitch and getting to improvement which was more than fleeting, meant fighting that history of negative environmental talk.

Baseball is no game for perfectionists. And everything that didn't go quite how Mitch wanted sent him mentally sideways.

Every time you could see the shoulders slump and the head droop.

I was going to do what I could to make strides in that area as well. But time was limited. Spring was going to be there before we knew it.

And the expectations in my mind were swelling regardless of anything I saw out of Mitch, Seth, Bradford or anyone else.

It was win or bust. 
Chapter 80

I couldn't come to any new meaningful conclusions about our spring team after Fall Season.

Truth was probably that there weren't any I wanted to face.

Seth and Mitch were my top priorities and I wasn't sure I'd moved the dial forward for them. Time and experience made it easier to accept my own failings with certain players. I only knew what I knew at the time I engaged a player. Then I could search out more information and bring that back to the situation.

My concern was how salvageable both guys would be in relation to what they desired from the experience. I knew their impact on our team would be middling.

They wanted to start on the infield. They weren't good enough and that was proven by barely being good enough to hold down spots in the much less competitive Fall.

I knew from my playing days and life in general that desires were not the same as goals. Desires often were unrealistic if the person was not willing to treat the desired outcome as a goal. In short, desires were possible if a guy like Seth and a guy like Mitch put desire into the work they needed to do.

I had serious doubts they would. Those doubts were reinforced by what I saw in Fall.

At the time, Coach was busy watching Xavier play football and having an obvious great time with that. He'd pop over now and again and was more than casually interested in what our guys were doing.

I played it down the middle about Mitch and Seth. I wasn't going to lie. What good would it have done? The truth was bound to come out in spring.

Coach and I were of like mind on basically everything.

I didn't get there as a result of coercion. He'd proven his chops as an instructor and game day leader. He wanted to win. I wanted to win. What he said went and there was no qualms on my end.

That mutual desire to make that last year special by having a truly dominant team was bound to back us into a corner dealing with under performing twelve year-olds. 
Chapter 81

I was becoming increasingly hard hearted about the possible issues we'd face in the spring on a roster with only enough spots go around in any game.

The practical problem, is on average night we had enough innings to play six guys all game. And we had 6 twelve year olds.

So what was the big deal?

Simply that Aaron and Bryce were two of our best 5 players and they were only eleven.

There wasn't a coach in the league who would sit either guy for any innings outside for some brief disciplinary reason.

The roster we had was top heavy in age. And what looked like a positive in the two years leading up to what we believed was our coronation year, was now looking like a problem.

The solution Coach opted for and I supported was the same solution that had put us in the pickle we were in with the roster.

Coach had given me marching orders to scout the hell out of the mid-majors. Then he stuck to the simple formula of drafting the best player available.

Load the roster and let them compete.

And the logical conclusion to that approach was best the players would play. Age, experience was not a consideration.

By that criteria, a couple of the twelves would be sitting for parts of games in the spring in favor of younger, better players.

We both had a feeling there would be blow back but that was all months down the road. The best way and the plan we agreed on was letting everyone in on how things would go with playing time as early as possible.

Playing one of my strengths as a barely professional writer, we crafted a letter which stated:

"Playing time would be earned according to merit and not due to age"

The statement was crafted and weaved inside a larger player evaluation we sent out for all returners.

We braced ourselves for questions from parents and maybe some opposition.

There was none. In fact there wasn't even a response. Not one.

I let out a sigh of relief and my natural naiveté had me believing the problem was solved.

But the menace was creeping and two off season events made the issue of allotting playing time even more complicated.
Chapter 82

We'd been planning the October draft for quite a while. It was an easy one to get ready for. At first the issue of adding to the roster was built around getting some help from outside the pool of available players.

We were far from set at the second most important position on the baseball field: catcher.

Where everything else seemed like it was set and trending upward with our important players, catcher lingered as a road block. It spells doom if you do the rest right on defense but balls keep squirting to the backstop for easy passed balls.

Bryce was no longer an option. Coach had seen enough.

As had his teammates.

Jett had come off the field during Season 2 and was near tears with frustration.

"Coach. No more Bryce back there. Please. He doesn't hustle. It's hurting us," he screeched it more than said it. It was done with total disregard for whether Bryce heard him.

One of the strange things about Bryce was what type of interpersonal incident would set him off. He didn't get bothered by what Jett did. But he'd be quick to go to his mom or dad and proclaim Coach hated him after Coach did little more than mildly correct him.

But center field was his spot. He'd made a couple highlight reel plays the previous season and the lack of pressure in the outfield suited him.

Bradford had caught a little and wasn't bad back there. He was talented enough to do the job. The issue was that his offense was coming on and he was also a fine third baseman.

SUBJECT: Catcher

Bradford does a nice job at catcher and we will be OK anytime he plays back there but here are my concerns:

  1. We need him to pitch too and the limits on pitching and catching in the same game means we need a solid catcher if only for the games he pitches.

  2. He's a solid third baseman and would fill a hole on the infield if we could play him there most of the time.

  3. I get the impression he doesn't enjoy catching but does it because we need him to. He's had a great attitude about it and I'd rather put him where he's happiest.

  4. Ace Electric will need a catcher after this year anyway. I can't leave the cupboard bare.

The biggest deal was we had a better option sitting out there.

Logan Brown was eleven rather than ten and I'd taken a liking to him when he played on the tournament All Star team I'd helped coach the prior summer.

After seeing him catch for multiple practices and two games, I knew he'd fill our need perfectly. We were picking second and since Union Party Store had already announced to the world who they were taking, we knew he was going to be there.

I'd heard horror stories about Richie's parents from basically every other parent who had encountered them in travel leagues.

They were different people, kind of kept to themselves. I'd interacted with them enough see they weren't going to present enough of a problem to worry about.

He would have met a huge need for us. He would be a stopper back there. Not Tanner level, but better than most. And he'd play every inning. It would reset our defense all along the infield and make us that much tougher.

The issue was our roster was so top heavy in age, that if we went eleven year old like Logan, we'd be in violation of a league rule requiring at least 1 ten year-old.

The idea was not to have any team leave the cupboard bare in any class. We had just experienced a season where we had a very small number of veterans and it was a tough ride.

Coach and I understood. But we went for board approval to waive the rule anyway.

We enlisted the support of Larry, the player agent. He was receptive.

In retrospect I am not sure why he was willing to help. I think he liked us, but the bigger thing was I think he had a soft spot for Logan.

He should have been on majors as a ten, but the talk around the league among parents filtered to coaches. He was left behind because of the widespread dislike for Logan's parents.

The funny part was I kept hearing criticism from parents who were even guiltier of the bad behaviors they attributed to Logan's parents.

Whining about playing time?

Questioning coaching moves?

Griping about the skills of the other players on the team and how they are inferior to their own child?

Snarling at umpires?

They were all checking the boxes with regularity.

The board meeting was a blood bath although we did get a few votes.

In the final analysis the board was concerned with teams being drained of veterans for a season or more. When that happened, it meant bad teams who struggled to compete.

With that defeat in the books, we had some decisions to make.

One of my favorite things about Bradford was the quality of person he was. It showed in how he worked to improve.

Going after it and practicing hard when practice isn't officially called by a coach, is measure of true character.

But he had more to give than just that.

With the Logan option dead, and a thin draft of two rounds Mitch, there was no foreseeable help on the way at catcher.

When I addressed the topic to Bradford and told him we were looking at taking the best player available in the draft (a likely smallish middle infielder) he quickly volunteered to take the catching job on.

It's an element of great mystery in coaching any age group, but kids in particular. What makes one kid buck an idea and what makes another embrace the very same idea?

I never was much of a salesman. So if a guy is going to give up his twelve year-old year for the pain of getting pounded for twenty plus games behind the plate, he has to be wired in a certain way. He has to have that mindset and outlook that looks out for the team. An ethic of toughness.

Bradford was a kid who was in working on his hitting the day after the previous season ended.

That's extraordinary. To have that understanding of cause and effect. That work equals results. And to put it into motion when most players would be taking a week or more off.

His attitude had me even more charged up for the season.

Coach and I were free to draft in our team's best interests.

The goal was simply about getting a placeholder. As Xavier and Jett were the first season, the number two pick in this draft would play a similar role. We already had a stacked roster and even with the letter to the parents about playing time based on merit, I was still uneasy.

The draft would be a gift left for the next coaching staff and not much else.

But like everything pertaining to our last year together, simple gave way to complicated. 
Chapter 83

With Logan out of the picture as a potential draft pick, and the draft being thin and weak with players, my attention was elsewhere as mid-October approached.

The pick was about the future. A future which was not ours.

The team we were most concerned about would be playing in the spring and would rise or fall based on older players.

Such was Little League baseball.

Still Coach and I wanted to get the best guy we could. Like any other team.

I had a pretty good feel for the potential selections having coached the All Star team full of all the top players the previous summer.

There were two guys who would have been a good fit. Two very different players.

We couldn't necessarily lose either way because they were both great kids with top notch parents.

Shane was small and thin but unbelievably polished as an infielder for nine. He really made every play. He had sneaky quickness, understood angles, had good arm, and was extremely intelligent.

My misgiving was he was undersized and the game seemed to overwhelm him physically at times. That appearance really came out during All Stars.

But he was facing good players and for the most part, guys who were a year older.

So I kept those memories in the back of my mind as we came to the field a week before the draft. I was starting to make noise to coach to take a close look at another kid named Jordan. He was a strong, stocky bull of a player. An all-around athlete who could play either catcher or middle infield. He had raw power and played with animal desire.

Intangibles favored neither guy.

My thinking was if we took him, we'd get a potential catcher in the package. Plus there was no danger of him being physically overwhelmed. He'd be the one doing the overwhelming. Especially as he grew.

But then we got to the tryout.

Mile's moved around like a cat and the biggest thing was how effortless he made all the plays look. At one point where his colleagues seemed to tip toe carefully trying not to make mistakes, he gobbled up a grounder to his left and fired a dart from behind second right on target and did it while nursing a monster bubble gum bubble fluttering in the fall air.

I watched Coach and said nothing. I wasn't going to bring up picking Jordan again. I knew there was no chance of him changing his mind. And he shouldn't have.

Shane was the guy. There was something advanced, something special in that skinny little frame.

He wasn't ever going to shrink from the moment.

Which, for a ten year-old in a twelve year old dominated league, is very rare.

So rare I didn't stop to consider how a guy like that would impact our more immediate future in the spring.

But the pick set in motion an unstable fault line that changed our team. As far as coaching went, the fun would soon be mostly gone.

We just didn't know it yet.
Chapter 84

It was full speed ahead after the draft.

One thing I have a hard time measuring in anything I am really into is how much steam I am burning off.

It wasn't just the baseball. I was writing a crazy amount on the side. Sometimes as much as five thousand words a day. I'd moved into a new apartment and gotten the freedom I'd craved for all those years. No more having to deal with family-related obligations or answer to anyone.

The couple weeks at my mom's in mid-summer had seemed like a year. After all the months and years of traveling on my own for work, living with an elderly woman who had little to say, and doing business online as a writer, I discovered I needed a huge amount of personal space in my day to day living arrangements.

And if I wasn't careful and I overdid things, I'd need extra space in my daily activities. Including space from things I really liked.

The callous of coaching through a difficult season, the blow up of family relationships culminating with being forced out of my grandma's house, than coaching two All Star teams plus Fall League had worn me down.

Besides the excessive volume of writing, working for Bill was taking even more of my time and energy. With every month, he was exhibiting a loss of mental faculty and physical ability. He was starting to have a hard time getting out of bed on his own.

One morning I arrived at what was my normal 8 AM to an empty chair in the living room. He was always there and only got up to walk (with my aid) to the bathroom.

But that morning, no Bill.

His wife Suzanne had a nervous look in her eye.

"Come in. I didn't know what to do. I knew you'd be here so I didn't call any of our friends. I don't know if they could have helped anyway. And..." she could barely keep her breath as she rapid fired her explanation.

I'd had Bill fall on me before. In the parking lot at the mall where he hit the concrete curb by the first handicapped spots face first. His head splatting straight to the pavement without his hands breaking his fall.

It was one of the most awful things I'd ever seen in person.

But she hadn't been around one of his falls in over a year. And this one was way different because for the first time he couldn't get up, even with her help.

I walked into the bedroom to him sprawled out on his back, his usual unfailing smile on his face.

"Hi Bill. What the hell happened?" I asked trying to match his smile.

The guy's positive energy was remarkable with everything he was going through. I was able to get him up. Barely.

He was a bear of a man at over 220 pounds.

He wasn't injured and we went about our usual day preparations. I'd give him a shave, brush his teeth, and help him shower.

I knew what was coming next. Suzanne, his wife, wanted more hours. Specifically, me showing up before seven to actually get him out of bed.

The exhausted feeling deepened inside me. I couldn't say no.

I liked the extra money and was still in recovery from a year down turn in my income culminating in working the late shift at a fast food restaurant.

It was real life I was dealing with. It didn't stop or disappear just because I was immersed in a kid's game being played by little kids.

Besides the money, I knew how she felt about making sure she could maintain normalcy and keep him close to his usual surroundings as his condition worsened. I agreed to the new arrangement.

If my situation and Bill's were reversed, I knew what it would mean to have someone who had the ability to make things better, step in and work on my behalf. What he was dealing with was through no fault of his own. What I could reasonably do, I would do.

I was going to be juggling three time-consuming things at once. At least baseball was headed into an off season. It was much needed.

My frame of mind was fresh and anticipating but also nervous.

The expectations and the pressure of feeling like we had to do something big, totally sucked. It felt nothing like the freedom of the enjoyment I'd experienced during the losing of the previous season. 
Chapter 85

I wasn't getting enough sleep and becoming grouchy at every little thing that didn't go my way.

It was all me. I'd been too deep into the scene. Enjoyment was replaced by pressure to do something which I wasn't qualified to assume we could do.

Fatigue had set in by late fall and my work product in all areas began to suffer.

On the baseball side, things were also becoming increasingly tense. As we looked to gather up the players, including the guys we just drafted for a late October practice, I became surlier over nothing of consequence.

Instead of backing off and going into a needed winter hibernation, I was at Coach to schedule more practices after the short ones we did in October.

When it was clear he wanted to bag it for a couple months, I kept pushing. I volunteered to work with the players on my own, especially the new guys.

He emailed me back that he wanted to be there if we did any such work.

I took a simple and well-reasoned request and went into a one man pout and fit.

I shot him back a terse email and brooded for the next couple days.

I had no idea how dog tired I was in all aspects. There is such a thing as too much of a good thing.

It all blew over but I wasn't learning from my mistakes. The obsessive mind stuck indoors for months amid the winter isolation was not a healthy thing.

I'd cut off the therapy with Doc C to focus more on writing and to save a few bucks. I already decided to ignore invitations to family Christmas gatherings.

I had no outlet but more of the same of what I was already overdoing. And didn't try to plan any.

I needed spring and the season as salvation. Because I wasn't capable of providing it for myself.
Chapter 86

Compared to our first year when our veteran studs rolled in and then rolled out depending on busy winter schedules, our twelve year-old attendance was pretty good right from the beginning of preseason.

Xavier, coach's son, loved the game and I don't know if he ever missed anything in three years. And the thing was I never got the feeling he was doing it to please his dad.

He was a gamer. The thing about him was he was such a pleasant, happy acting kid, it was tough to sense if being left off the All Star team after year two provided him additional motivation.

It was not a topic I ever remember bringing up to Coach after the June day when I broke the news to him. I am sure it did come up, but in the context of Xavier being extra motivated to turn the tables, I didn't dare say it like that.

The whole thing was a raw spot with Coach. I didn't want to bring him down or take his mind off the business of our team. I wanted him to have fun with everything we were doing.

I wanted that for me even more. But for a few months leading up to the beginning of practice, finding enjoyment was difficult.

My schedule was not getting any lighter over the holidays except for basically no baseball.

But when late January came around, seeing the guys, especially the guys I had been with for the previous two seasons was just the medicine I needed for the winter blahs.

Those little guys were now the big guys. They had a new poise to go with the larger size. Even the less talented players like Mitch and Seth looked fresh and just more game worthy. You could tell from them doing simple things like playing catch.

The familiarity was there among all of us and the talk was more conversation. More of my focus had shifted to helping the rookies. Like the previous two seasons, we'd talk about basic things like the right way to catch a ball, throw a ball, prepare the feet to move or throw, and how swing the bat.

But the old guys were more like buddies and it was a very cool and comforting feeling.

Four of the six were regular attendees at practice right from the start. Seth, Mitch, Bradford and Xavier.

Jett and Tristan were in basketball and hockey respectively and we'd see them more regularly hopefully after about a month.

From my point of view, everyone who was showing up looked great and much improved. My worries about the lack of work in the off season on the part of Seth and Mitch went away. They weren't All Star level players but my eyes told me they'd do what you expected out of twelves. They'd hold their own because as Coach liked to say: "they were older than two thirds of the league"

Besides we still had Bryce and Aaron who were All Stars and back for their second year. Aaron particularly was can't miss. The way he'd finished our spring season was predictive. Finally he was just seeing the ball and attacking it, there was no doubt the ten year-old adjustment and discomfort was a distant memory.

But it wasn't just the hitting. Aaron had continued growing and his arm was stronger than any other on the team. It was to the point that Coach admitted 46 feet was too close for him to be catching him without gear.

It was a brute strength not common to many kids who usually get their velocity from being tall, or stronger, or more coordinated. Aaron had all three.

With Xavier and Jett we'd have two really good twelve year old pitchers and a phenom in 11 year old Aaron.

It was only January, but everything looked on track. There was no reason for anything but optimism.

The whole world could have crumbled around me and I didn't care. We were finally at the point in time we'd schemed and wrote endless emails over.
Chapter 87

Each preseason, somewhere around the start of practice, the Merwin East world comes alive with real action and what passes for competition.

It takes place over the span of about twenty minutes in late January and unless you happen to do a scrimmage, you don't see much of the opposing managers and coaches until the season starts three months later.

The preseason draft for out-of-area players was either a lot of something or a lot of nothing. And it all depended on which number you drew out of a hat.

Our first year it was a major something. We got Tanner and his dad Lonny as our hitting coach.

It turned out we only got one year of Tanner rather than two. But it was one heck of a year. His catching was basically perfect and it was the only position he really wanted to play. Plus he was an outstanding hitter.

When I looked back on the season (and I did often after it was over) it was easy to overlook what he meant to our team and focus on those twelves. But the fact is we might not have cracked .500 without the player we got by random luck in the winter draft.

We went into our last hat draw not looking for anything in particular. Our mindset as a staff was definitely a defensive posture.

We couldn't really absorb any more twelves because we already had six.

We would have taken on a ten for the future maybe. Or maybe an eleven.

The maybe part was whatever addition would have meant saying good bye to Steven.

He was an eleven year old catcher who I had thought should have been up in majors when he was ten. We'd drafted him to help fill a hole at catcher. He looked like the real deal in sporadic winter workouts.

But the way our roster was laid out with those 6 twelves and 5 elevens (including Steven) and only 2 tens presented a challenge if we wanted to make a roster move. We'd tried and failed to get permission to go below the required minimum of two players per class.

So the only move we had if we wanted to add a player was at the expense of Steven.

Not only did he look like he could be a decent contributor, but he was a super kid with good parents. I took a liking to him and so did Coach.

It never got to the point where we promised him he'd make the team in so many words. But we never acted like there was any way he wouldn't make it.

It was unspoken between Coach and I that we didn't feel urgency to add new talent.

But of course, like the draft pick being used on Shane and the edict that the best players would play in the spring regardless of age, we were having to deal with another tense dilemma.

The draft had some good players. A little more than the year before. So there was temptation sitting there to be indulged. Then we got a decent draw in the middle of the pack of teams.

An eleven year-old, clearly on another higher level as a hitter versus Steven, sat right there. He would have been another weapon. But we were sure had enough firepower as we were.

And we knew we couldn't do that to Steven. We couldn't break his heart. Besides we knew Steven could play catcher which was a definite need.. This other kid was an unknown.

We passed and went forward with what we had. We were sure it was enough, but the day left both of us with the unmistakable feeling we'd passed on a big opportunity.

And the obvious fact was if we wanted to avoid the situation in the future, we'd have to be careful how much we liked or empathized with the kids.

It all proved once again this was more than altruistic volunteerism or fun in the sun. We were desperate to win. So I doubt either of us got over choosing someone we liked rather than someone who we didn't know but who stood to make a difference to our results.

I know I didn't. And thought about it a lot.

The path to what I hoped we'd achieve was neither smooth not straight. And even though we'd barely started practice, the enjoyment was slowly draining from the situation. 
Chapter 88

It didn't take long to see that one of our best and steadiest players was ten.

Shane was fitting in to the point of disappearing. Where normally big chunks of practice time were devoted to instructing the rookies, I was spending next to none on Shane.

He worked harder than anyone and if there was something worth correcting, you'd say it in a couple second burst and the correction was made. You never had to repeat it.

That quality was admirable, but not one that would take an undersized rookie to the status of regular rotation player. Especially on a team with six established veterans.

But our team was different and it went back to the catching issues. When we couldn't get it solved with a special exception to draft Logan from my All Star team. Bradford solved it but in doing so, he also opened another issue on the infield.

We were veteran but an odd make up of talents on defense. Xavier was a pitcher and an outfielder. He was a ballplayer so he could do anything. But he was not a deeply experienced middle-infielder. Seth was able to do both but unproven on the infield. Mitch and Tristan were athletically suited for first or nothing. That left only Jett among the vets who were suited for second or short. Aaron was shortstop without question, but when he pitched, there was a hole at one of the infield positions.

The door was open for someone to join Jett and Aaron in that infield rotation.

Shane blew through that opening. While others couldn't seem to see it. It was year three and Seth couldn't seem to walk through an open door. He was only able to play a sometimes passable second base where Shane could play second, third, or even short.

And Seth struggled with the routine plays at the one spot he could play.

Coach wasn't numb or heartless to him being twelve.

But in the merit-driven culture we'd believed in and instilled, we couldn't hold back the best players from seeing the field when it mattered.

The numbers and the rules that everyone play a little, made the dividing up of innings even tougher. With every option it seemed we'd be pulling time from older players who had waited their turn.
Chapter 89

We were convinced we had the right roster to compete and win any game against any team.

In my mind it would be 180 degrees out from the previous season. Those ten run mercy blowouts were a thing of the past.

Coach always displayed an uncanny foresight about what we needed to do to prepare. Now he had the weapons where we could be on par with the talent of the other teams. When that was the case our first year he could find ways on game day to shuffle the deck.

What we hadn't explored to any great degree was growing to the greatest level possible using by tweaking practices.

Practice for baseball in a cold weather climate can be an unscientific exercise in trying to get a few of the basics done. The reason is you are indoors and often forced to use an elementary school sized gym. Guys can get their arms ready. Pitchers and catchers could get a lot of reps. Everything else was far, far removed from game reality.

If you had a net, you could do some tee or soft toss hitting. And if you were really creative like Coach you could actually go live, pitcher to hitter. He'd borrowed Rick's sock ball idea that he used for his Auto King teams and it had become a vital preseason tool.

We played games in April and in the northern Midwest that's more a winter month than anything. Whatever you could do to make the gym as much like a real outside game as you could, it was to your advantage.

The problem was playing indoors is basically nothing like playing outdoors.

The advantage in the real games stood with the teams who had guys who actually played indoor games in dome bubble facilities during the winter. Travel players.

They had the leg up because they'd faced live game resistance weeks if not months ahead of everyone else.

I looked around the league and each team had at least one travel player who was also of veteran age. Guys who could possibly win a game on their own and would show up in April ready to roll and produce those cold first couple weeks.

Each team except us.

Coach and I shared a concern that we'd use the first couple weeks of games getting warmed up and dig ourselves a hole we wouldn't get out of in the first half. Each half was twelve games and half of those games would be in the books inside two weeks.

If we stumbled, all the pressure would fall on the second half. And who ended up playing in the County tournament might have come down to total wins.

Those early games where many players were fighting the weather and rust might also represent an opportunity. But you had to crack the code of game type preparedness with the preseason.

With baseball and the space restrictions inside a tiny gym, the type of drills were pretty vanilla and likely were the same ones used by any team.

So Coach at my suggestion decided to change how the drills were done. Where before there was always an expectation to do your best with the best technique in anything you did as a player, we'd up the stakes.

But if the feel and pressure is closer to the tenseness of a game, the benefit from each repetition can be raised above the norm. And if you do that at every practice, your improvement would add up to more than it would have been otherwise. And hopefully more than the other teams who were definitely not doing it that way.

So each drill was no longer a drill. It was a competition with points and things on the line. Maybe it was post practice sports drinks. Or maybe cutting in line for batting practice.

And everything the guys did in practice, they did for their team within a team. So every move and result by the individual player mattered for his team. Which mattered for what prizes the team earned.

Basically we as coaches wanted to transfer to practice the same pressure they'd feel in games.

It was a hit with the players. Each practice everything we did took on a greater importance. Getting the player's full attention and energy in everything we did went from the usual cajoling of certain guys to super easy. So it made the process of coaching much smoother.

Every practice was its own separate battle in the larger war for supremacy for your team.

Attendance was even better because missing meant hurting the total value of your team's points for that day.

And at the end of each session, a championship belt was handed over to the winners. They'd get a picture posted online posing with the belt and then their names affixed to it with a permanent marker.

We didn't know really and truly if it was making guys better for actual games. But they were doing drills and competing with more energy and focus. That was very obvious.

I was sure we were getting more than the other teams from our indoor work.

SUBJECT: Practice scoring

I have to admit I really didn't think this was a great idea at first but I really like this. Scoring all or most of these drills the kids are moving with a purpose and concentration a lot more. Who knew a dollar store belt could be such a prize?
Chapter 90

Coach switching the entire practice approach made it more exciting for everyone who showed up every day.

As far as who was improved, it was the same guys who had been enthusiastic about working in the off season or who were already good players.

The three twelve year olds whom we kept looking at wearily because they seemed stuck in the mud in their games were Mitch, Seth, and Tristan.

Their parents, like the rest, were made aware in the memo sent out months earlier that the best players would play.

And while all three players would play a lot, they were also likely to sit. If they didn't, much more productive and impactful players like Aaron and Bryce would have to sit. That's just how Little League mandatory minimum play rules worked.

That kind of substitution pattern was laughable and would have risked a loss any night against any team.

Plus Shane, the ten year old, was outplaying Seth. He was more versatile, a better hitter, and had a better mind and feel for the game. On top of that, he fit perfectly in an unfilled positioned at third.

There weren't any easy answers to please everyone.

We had to trust that between the off-season memo and the emphasis every practice about competition and glory belonging to the winners, we'd made the expectations clear.

I knew when I talked to coach about his plans for the lineups he wasn't backing off. It was win or not win. And every night was a playoff.

It was obvious that some kids were going to be disappointed. The issue was that none of them were the type to decide to change the situation by working harder. That meant the more likely move was to mope and complain to their parents when they weren't playing the spot or the amount of time they wanted.

I know when I was twelve, my first impulse was normally to seek help from my mom to make whatever situation better. So it was hard to blame them on some level. But we weren't going to change our direction.

The whole thing was headed on a collision course.

My personal feeling was the only band aid for the wound would be winning. Being part of a winner might have made the kid feel better about getting less glory. Or if nothing else, the winning would keep their parents more subdued. They'd feel like selfish people if they griped while the team was having success.

But it wasn't just the parents of the twelves. There were brush fires spreading with other parents too. Particularly Bryce's mom Nikki.

She was a fire breather from the beginning and had expressed issues to me the previous season about how Coach would raise his voice at Bryce during games.

The fact Bryce was prone to embarrassing displays of poor effort didn't matter.

Despite a late rally that resulted in an All Star selection in year one, year two was starting out exactly the same as year one. He was missing practice left and right in March and early April in favor of hockey. Then when he'd make a rare cameo, he was mostly useless. He'd expend what little energy he had left from pulling two sports and school, on horse play with his hockey buddy Tristan.

Coach had enough of the whole thing in year one. The fact of Bryce making All Stars hadn't changed the dynamic. Baseball was still sport number two. By a distance not unlike the ocean gap between the US and Asia.

So nothing was different except we had high expectations for our last year with the team. Those expectations weren't focused on having fun and chilling with a losing record. Winning would drive the bus or it would all be a huge disappointment. That was our mindset as coaches.

When the weather broke enough for us all to get outdoors for a hitting session at the league cages, we were all excited. Coach had broken up the team into two hitting sessions. Session one was older guys including Aaron. He had always gravitated toward the older players in both skill and temperament.

It was a rare time for me to be around my favorite players in one small group. We goofed around between rounds in the cage and took some pictures. The atmosphere in the darkening twilight of a cold gray skies on a raw day was memorable.

With only a couple days until the opener, I left the fields relaxed. And I could tell the guys were too. That wasn't a feeling I'd had much with baseball since the prior season ended.

The peace and contentment all of two hours.

Minutes after I dropped a picture of me and the older guys onto Facebook, a snippy question came through in the comments from Bryce's mom wondering where the rest of the team was.

It wasn't because she was looking to make idle conversation. She was making a point.

That being that Coach favored certain guys and not Bryce.

When I told coach what had transpired his reply was not surprising.

SUBJECT: Bryce part 723,833!

The season hasn't even started and we're dealing with this drama! How can that bitch dare ask where the rest of the team was when her son misses the most team events of anyone?

My chest tensed up. I felt more burdened and weary than excited. That feeling stuck with me through the opener and deep into the season. 
Chapter 91

The slate cloudiness and cold drizzle that had hung over April finally gave way to sun just in time for our opener with Union Party Store.

We knew they were a far improved outfit from the one that played mostly indifferent under Russ that first year and for chunks of year two.

Unlike the year before where the smart money was on both teams to finish far back from the front, we were both veteran and ready to make a move.

They had been drafting high for a couple seasons. To go with three returning All Star twelve year-olds they had two more All Stars from the lower levels. Plus the top player from the incoming top draft choice.

Then there was the coaching. Todd was a different animal than Russ had been. He had a hockey background and he was pure blood and guts.

Closing in on fifty but with a ripped physique of someone half that age, he was demanding and would accept nothing less than a grinding, relentless mentality out of his players.

They had been practicing since early January, a good month ahead of everyone else. On the bitter cold and windy evening in early April where the league held it parent's night, Todd's bunch came in barely on time. They'd been pounding out a practice on the partially frozen turf of the park across street

When I saw them enter the gym that night, faces red and raw from the cold, I knew they'd be prepared for the opener.

The guy was serious. I saw it in All Stars the previous summer. He was one of Rick's assistants and game coaches for the ten year-old team which included Bryce and Aaron.

He was knowledgeable and hard driving. His motor ran one speed. Full throttle all the time. Guys who didn't keep up, he was going to call out. A player's feelings were secondary to results.

The opener was cool and crisp, with a clear sky and no wind. Everything about the atmosphere around the park looked and felt fresh.

We'd made it to opening day without any big injuries. After our problems the previous year, not something to be taken lightly.

Bryce was still a pain in the ass. He'd barely practiced leading to the opener. He'd been tied up with hockey and Coach was going to send a message. He hadn't done enough to be prepared for any of the basics like signs for the bunt or the running game. He'd been on the team in name only and the worst thing was he didn't act like he cared.

But Bryce being a problem was about as eventful as a gray sunless mid-April Michigan sunrise.

The decision was made: He wasn't playing the whole way and would be subbed at some point. The issue hung over the game plan in the opener and would continue. We had to find innings for the twelves, Shane and a kid like Tucker who was also ten but quite a bit behind in talent, had to play a minimum under the rules.

When I messaged Bryce's mom about the issue of him sitting, she gave her typical huffy and short response.

The thing that always struck me about her and other parents of players who didn't earn their keep, is they would be the first one roasting another kid who wasn't pulling his weight. Or dropping a post on Facebook about the "great lessons" sports teaches kids.

At any rate, the curtain dropped and the first test of our practice methods would be on full display.

By the time the game ended we had our answer. The day was the beginning of the endless discouragement of inconsistency.

We managed three hits and a measly run. Xavier at least hit a home run, his first at any level.

The thing that discouraged me the most was when we hit the ball well, their defense was lock down. They looked somewhat unbeatable that night and we looked a step behind.

I told Coach that I thought we'd need to hit liners to score on them. Lots of them.

And I knew we weren't looking like a line drive hitting outfit. At least not against quality pitching.

The schedule being what it was, there was no time for dwelling.

The second game was against Auto King and I was already nervous.

Were we good enough to be a contending team? Did we have enough talent? Did I do enough to help develop that talent?

After the opener, the worries were non-stop and scatter shot. I knew there wasn't a lot I could do about it either way at that point. Which made more me even more stressed.

Overreaction or not, we had our issues. And they were issues I thought age and improvement would make better.

I spent that evening after the season opener sick to my stomach over what our actual ceiling appeared to be.

Chapter 92

The rest of the first half was uneven. In game two, Xavier's heroics saved us in a thrilling come from behind win over Auto King.

Even with that, the feeling was more relief than actual accomplishment. I wasn't enjoying what I was seeing or experiencing.

It wasn't the players. They were giving it their all. Guys like Xavier, Aaron, Jett, and Bradford were locked in. But outside of Xavier, they were definitely tense. Almost robotic. I knew the feeling.

There weren't any magic words. If there were, Coach always seemed to find them.

Win one, lose a couple. There was no consistency.

The biggest problem was the energy of a real divide running down the middle of the team. There was an unquestionable lack of unity.

Shane was only ten but he was too steady and smart to be held back. On the other hand, Seth, Mitch and Tristan looked slow both in the plate and in the field.

They were playing more innings than Shane, but the perception was overtaking reality with the parents. On a couple occasions, Coach received toxic emails from parents of the twelves. And it was after games we won.

The priorities were clear. They wanted their kids taken care of. The fact of winning or losing didn't matter. The fact of merit by work or production didn't matter.

The truth I knew from observing parents and playing time griping those first couple years was now right in Coaches' face. That truth was there was something about baseball. Where sports like football or basketball or hockey, it was acceptable for a kid to play less, not in baseball.

That's how parents saw it.

Tristan's mom tried getting at Coach with her grievances by catching me in the parking lot after a win.

She informed me she talked to a former coach in the league and our not playing Tristan the whole game as a twelve wasn't "right".

The problem was there wasn't really a problem. Or at least not much Coach could do about it. Mitch and Tristan both played the same important position. And neither was making routine plays there. Outs on clean throws were being lost by drops

Neither Mitch not Tristan were hitting the way experienced burly twelve year olds should hit. And all around we were not the hitting team we envisioned. So our margins were tighter. We couldn't overcome simple outs being anything but.

But I didn't tell her that. I didn't try to do anything but get through the uncomfortable exchange. I promised her I'd bring the issues to Coach. Which I did but with the preface that I thought she was full of crap.

Then things cratered below mere inconsistent. It hit a low point with a blowout mercy loss to a below average Coney team. It exposed all our weaknesses graphically. Then at about the very moment when it looked like we were about to roll over and die, we'd take the field in the next game look great.

Xavier shut down a very good hitting Matthews team and Aaron took one of the best pitchers in the league deep. His blast cut through a stiff wind and was still rising well beyond a fence that suddenly seemed too close for a bruiser like Aaron.

The positive was our front line guys were playing well and had room to play even better.

Because of their efforts, we managed to pull to .500 by the end of the half. Considering all that went on with the off the field junk, Bryce being Bryce and half our veterans sleepwalking rather than producing, it was a miracle of a record.

Xavier was playing out of his mind. Every big moment when he needed a strike out on the mound he got it. When we needed a big hit, he came through. Unlike the year before, the All Star talk was on his side. It was by far the highlight of the early part of the season for me.

He'd worked hard and he'd earned it.

The easy answer would have been to ignore the complaining parents and let them know their kid had the same opportunity to work like Xavier did. And they chose not to. But logic wasn't going to cure the problem.

We needed twelve year-olds to give us something. Only half of them were.

But things were not completely dead. We had a fresh start for half two, a couple wins for momentum, and warm weather that I thought might snap everyone to life.
Chapter 93

We'd somehow kept it together enough to get that .500 record. But the truth was it didn't feel like it mattered.

Auto King had taken the half by four games. We'd played them twice and split, but no one else was putting a dent in their armor.

Rick was doing his usual incredible job hiding their weaknesses. In terms of talent, he'd had better teams by quite a bit, but there he was with 10 wins out of the 12 games.

I thought we matched up fine with them but no one else was beating them.

My thoughts of us winning the whole league were disappearing into the open air of reality. We probably weren't as good as I thought. A pitcher short and at least a couple bats.

Bryce was an All Star level talent but got off to a very slow start. Once he got it going, he got on base like ten straight times and we started winning.

We finished in third place in the first half, but our stock at least looked like it was slightly on the rise. If we got off to a fast start in the second half, the elements of momentum might push us out in front.

We drew Auto King right out of the gate. The first of three times we'd play them in the second half.

One thing hadn't changed even after we played better to conclude the half: we still weren't doing much smiling. It didn't look or feel like we were having any fun. Except Xavier. He was feeling it, especially on the mound. Making a clear and convincing statement that the people who didn't put him on the All Star team the year before had seriously whiffed.

He was blowing hitters away left and right and hitting rockets in all the big at bats. The deeper into the game with the most at stake, the more money he was.

But he would have been happy at the field even if he wasn't playing great.

I worried about the rest of the guys and their mood.

The faction of disgruntled parents were closing in, pitchforks and torches in hand. 
Chapter 94

I should have known that baseball and for that matter life, doesn't operate for or against you based on calendars or changes in the weather.

The undercurrent of discontent among certain veteran players and their parents wasn't going to magically disappear because it was the second half and not the first. Or because we were winning or losing.

Coach and I talked about it too often. Taking up our energy in what should have been time spent talking about the games and the players and ways to improve both.

He was tense and at the same time still had the magic touch to make sure he was exactly the same calm, cool guy around the players. It was impressive because we were under performing and not showing any great promise toward getting hot.

Beyond the lack of any feeling of easy togetherness and joy about being there, we were coming apart health wise. Like the year before, a key injury was threatening to drastically lower our ceiling.

Xavier had been unbelievable pitching throughout the first half. And he had to be. Aaron was our bigger power arm with the greater domination potential.

And at times he showed it.

But he was uncomfortable. Word circulated around the beginning of the half that that he was experiencing pain in the shoulder area. It was located in a weird spot. It was not so much in the rotator joint area which is common for tendonitis or worse problems. It was almost like it was in the upper back near the deltoid.

But it was pain. We consulted with his dad who was on the bench as our third coach every game. He felt the issue was under control and he got the ball for the opener in half two.

But by the second inning he was clearly laboring. And he was the type who would hide it if he could. It was abnormally cold and I hoped a faint hope that he just hadn't warmed up properly.

But his days as a starting pitcher of any real effectiveness ended that day as we fell in the opener.

It was one loss in a half with eleven more games, but I couldn't help but conclude that realistically without him pitching we'd be lucky to reach .500.

We broke with a win in game two. But even that was tempered by more parental unrest.

Mitch, who wasn't going to be confused with an Olympic sprinter in this lifetime, had a nagging cut on his knee that was taking forever to heal. It was past the bleeding stage but it was right on the thin skin on the cap which sits over the joint.

He could barely run.

The pain was awful and he agreed to limit his play to rest it. Coach pulled him and I let Mitch know we were going to let him take it easy.

Shane was again playing his usual role. It was less than the twelves and that was true of every game. But it was prominent. And it was on the infield which meant he stood out more.

Somehow he always got the blunt end of things. The parents would use him being ten and playing as much as he did as an example of Coach's unfairness.

So that night, with Mitch sitting on the bench and us about to finish a much needed win, Mitch's dad Kirk approached me from behind. I was outside the dugout talking to fielders.

"Why is a ten year old out there rather than Mitch?"

Looking back I knew he probably didn't have a clue we'd had a direct discussion with Mitch and he'd agreed to come out of the game to rest the knee.

But at that point all my frustration with what I considered to be both selfish and ill-informed parents drove me over the edge.

"Really Kirk. Right now!? Really?! I mean we're about to win here. He's hurt. He could barely walk!" I snarled and turned back to the action.

The collection of parents hanging out on the dugout turned their attention from the game and were looking in our direction.

He backed away from the fence and surprisingly walked away without much to say.

I was at my last point of tolerance with everything and I just wanted it to be over.

I could have never imagined feeling that way about something I once loved.

Chapter 95

It took a while to diagnose but it was finally revealed that Aaron's pain was due to an issue with a growth plate in his shoulder. It wasn't due to any overuse necessarily, he was just growing so fast not everything was keeping up.

It was near comical how deep his voice was and how he towered over most of his peers. Strangely one of his strengths had come back to bite him at the most crucial point of our time with him.

He could hit and play defense like normal and the doctors wouldn't even rule out pitching. The situation was determined by his level of discomfort. Coach was relieved that he hadn't done anything to cause an injury to a blue chip athlete. Still the pain was there when he made a routine throw. Barring a miracle Coach decided Aaron's time on the hill was over for the season.
Chapter 96

We were below .500. Again. And worse yet, we were no closer as a team. If anything, we were more divided.

The lead dog camp: Jett, Xavier, Bradford, Aaron. All trying to squeeze more out of their game to change our fortunes. They were just kids and I figured they were entirely unaware of the bubbling over of problems with camp number two.

I'll call that camp the disenchanted or disinterested camp. There you had Seth, Tristan, and Bryce.

The rest of the guys were role players in the larger soap opera. Shane was on the field more than Blake, Steven or anyone else from this group. But he was just following and contributing. Trying to help the team. Still he served as the centerpiece of the negativity from the parents in camp two. He was the miscast villain.

Things had a toxic feel as we slogged forward through the early part of the second half. I'd had the run in with Kirk, Mitch's dad during a game. Over nothing. And Coach was getting septic emails, even after wins.

And even though it was a small event in the overall roster make up and success of the team, we had another casualty that dug deeper and harsher at us.

Evan was our stud during the painful four-win season the year prior. His brother Kyler was back on our team and just eleven. He'd played and contributed somewhat decently for a ten that first year. But in year two his game was backsliding. I thought it was his eyes because he was making such little contact. And on a team with veteran stars and a mandate from outgoing coaches to field a winner, he got lost in the shuffle.

Baseball wasn't really his first game. But it didn't explain the diminished performance.

We tried to get it back on track. He came early a few times working in the cage, but it wasn't improving.

Coach had larger worries and if in the system of merit-based playing time, Kyler was buried as mandatory minimum time guy.

But it was still a shock when his parents emailed Coach and informed him Kyler was quitting.

I personally felt like I was under an avalanche and breathable air was disappearing.

It was late enough in the year we weren't required to fill the roster from the minors. So the roster was back to twelve. This was no small thing as it opened up another spot on any night with a full squad for another player to play the whole way.

Ultimately, the issues which were causing acrimony weren't about Shane or Coach. It was about kids who had split time their first two years, who weren't playing the full game like they'd seen other twelves do in past seasons.

But there was still time to turn our roster of less players into some sort of advantage. If nothing else it stood to make life a little easier from Coach.

At the same time, reality was reality. Shane was sizzling hot. He was playing like an eleven in the second half. This was a pattern of progression you'd see in all the top players.

Coach was playing him more and more, but still not more than any of the disgruntled veterans.

In game four of the second half, it was Coney Plus. I was deeply wrapped up in the game, totally unaware of the storm brewing in the stands. As we pushed into the later innings we led, but were bleeding quality pitching.

Like the weight of it all became too much, the team and season crashed.

Earlier Coach had benched Bryce for failure to do something he was supposed to do. Slide into second base on a close play. And it wasn't the first time. Early in the year, he'd created such a raucous over it with Jack, our bench coach that Bryce ended up sulking near tears in the corner of the dugout.

This time with Shane on the field and Bryce off it, the fuse was lit. Nikki, who had the diplomatic finesse of a speeding Sherman tank, came to the fence surrounding the dugout and saw her son crying and called for him to get his stuff and leave.

We'd dealt with her earlier in the game in a similar ugly and public incident. And it had been simmering from there. She and Bryce's grandma approached the fence and began to inquire about Mile's playing over the twelve year-old players.

When I offered to show her the spread sheet proving that wasn't the case, she responded that she didn't "care about numbers".

Coach got riled up enough to tell them to leave the fenced area and let him do his job.

So later when Bryce was benched, it was smart money that there would be more ugliness.

While she created her second stir it all came apart. Bottom of the fifth and we were struggling to hang on against a young, talented, but beatable Coney Plus team. Bryce was pulled out of the dugout by his mom and taken home in tears.

It was like the energy on the sidelines had spilled over onto the field. We went into total collapse and lost bigtime.

We were 1-3, one of our best players looked to be gone for good, our best pitcher could only lob the ball from short or hide out at first, and Coach and I just wanted it all to be over.

Chapter 97

To hell with it. Play them. The dream was over for us as coaches. Not being fixated on winning for the first time in forever, and the whole was fun again. I was going to enjoy these players.

All the stuff about first place and going to the County Tournament. Those were my goals. My issues.

We were going to send the older guys out with a great experience. They'd earned that. Because life gets tough and mean the further you get from twelve.

They'd have to earn things in life and every adult in every organized sport until the end of their child hood would beat them over the head with that fact.

What we were there to do was let them be kids. To protect that.

Finally. For the first time in a year, I felt nothing but relief and even excitement.

It was the right way to do it.

Coach and I got there eventually.

The dreams of an ending worthy of a movie were just dreams. But what remained was something real. 
Be sure to stop by Author Tim Mathers' blog to sign up for special content and advance copies of Future Books From This Series.
