All systems were go for a perfect weekend for an 8-year-old, baseball-loving boy. The anticipation of tournament games against real opponents, with umpires, strikeouts, score books, dugouts, and doughnuts, and not of the Krispy Kreme type, was palpable. He couldn't take his eyes of the brand new, slick uniforms with the cool, bat-toting knight logo resplendent with name and number across the back. Conley - 3! "Girls, look at my game jerseys! Name on the back too!" The love of the game was clearly growing and I could only sit back and enjoy, encourage and hope to say the right things when things didn't go as smoothly as expected. Somewhere, life would present a challenge and how he would face the challenges and fight through them (or not) is ultimately, the important stuff. That was the big picture and I expected those bumps to present themselves...only I did not expect one so early.
As the customary Saturday chaos evolved, I ended up leaving later than expected and rushed to the field in Summerville, SC. After warming up (as if the mid-day 90 plus temp and scorching sun were not warm enough), Owen stared intently at coach Daniel as he proceeded to shout out the starting DI Knights lineup. Ten boys' names were called out, not a single name included the word "Owen." Somewhat confused, Owen walked up to coach Daniel and innocently told him that he forgot to tell him where he was supposed to go. "You're not starting, Owen, hang in there, you'll get to play soon." Ouch. I could physically feel his disappointment and perhaps it was my own. I could see the joy seep from his body, his shoulders sag and then the hang-dog face and walk back into the dugout. My only solace must have seemed like hollow and useless advice to him: "Hang in there, buddy, stay positive, you'll get your chance."
Well, the game began and let's just say that the Summerville Sox were prepared. In the first inning, they proceeded to rip the cover off the ball, treating the "blue flame" pitching machine like Adrian Gonzalez treats fastballs left out over the middle of the plate. Simple line drives that would have been gappers in any league, one after another. Bubba's turn, then Critter's turn, then Biggie's turn (real nicknames, I kid you not) and meanwhile, the shell-shocked DI Knights were confused, intimidated and making every baseball mistake in the book. Finally, after six runs were plated, the half inning ended mercifully with a couple of DI putouts. Silver linings: Nobody got hurt and the maximum 7 runs allowed in an inning were not reached.
The Knights' luck with the "blue flame" was decidedly different. A few observers noted that the current machine was throwing 5-10 miles per hour faster than the machine the kids' saw for the first time the day prior at practice. Other than a hit by Danny and some contact by Omar, the blue flame was Nolan Ryan-like with a string of K's that would have made Roger Clemens proud. End result, 18-0 Summerville Sox over the Daniel Island Knights and our boys were not really sure what hit them, or what lay ahead for them. Another bump, but hey, there were three more games and plenty of room for improvement.
And improve they did. The team played better in each game as the confidence of the boys grew with each inning. Game 2 turned into a 8-6 win over a similarly talented team from Walterboro. Game 3 was a breakout game as the kids knocked the ball around hard and played some nice defense culminating in a 7-0 victory. Game 4, again facing the powerful Summerville Sox, the Knights turned in a spirited performance but ultimately fell 10-2 to a talented and well-coached bunch of kids. Over the course of 36 hours, the kids grew immensely as baseball players and as boys and took the first steps down the path to success in baseball and in life.
My little guy, Owen, has always made me proud and despite (and because of?) his intense disappointment of not starting the first game of the tournament, he showed what kind of determined and gutsy little boy he is. After a mostly uneventful first game (a strikeout victim of the blue flame), in Game 2 Owen bounced a hard hit ball past the first baseman and used his great wheels to leg out a home run and plate 3 runs to help DI take a 5-1 lead. As his teammates (and now newest close buddies) mobbed him after his safe slide into home, the disappointment of not starting the first game evaporated like a single drop of water in the Summerville heat. Game 3 saw more solid contact and two putouts from right field, one a force at second and the other a force at first, earning him a shot at playing second base for the final game of the tournament. He made a number of fine plays in the field while booting only a single hard one hopper. His focus, determination and talent simply shined brightly. Kudos, little man. I have a very strong feeling that you will take the right steps that will lead you to success in baseball, in school and in life.
What about my performance as a dad? I spent lots of time analyzing my son's performance and also tracking the game statistics in the score book, but how did I do? As a first time participant to the travel team gig, I thought I showed good restraint in resisting coaching Owen on the field. Other than giving him the encouragement needed and a few positioning adjustments (along with the Gatorade, grapes, water, chewing gum, equipment, ride, et al), I let the coaches coach and tried to observe. Admittedly, I did have one gaffe, and I owe both Owen (I already did) and the coaches (I will on Friday) an apology. Early on as Owen and the team struggled to gain confidence with the speed of the machine, the coaches told the players that they could bunt the ball if they felt that they needed to make contact to get a better feel for the velocity. Well, after two strikes, struggling with his confidence, Owen squared up to bunt and me, in my infinite wisdom from behind the backstop, told him unequivocally to "not" bunt. The good news, he listened, the bad news, he struck out and was pissed at me. The irony is that Owen and I had practiced drag bunts on numerous occasions and he's a fine bunter from the left side but I did not know it was even legal. Result, I caused a strikeout and some disappointment and I take the heat. Lesson learned: dads should stick to the encouragement, not the strategy. Too much input from too many sources leads to confusion, doubt and ultimately failure.
Final results, 2 wins, 2 losses, cool runner-up trophies and a number of important lessons for the players, their parents and coaches. I've got a feeling these were the first steps down the path to success as athletes and as young men. I cannot speak to others' expectations for their sons, but I can only imagine and dream of the joys, thrills, spills, disappointments, and ultimately triumphs that lie ahead for Owen and his dad.
