Last night, my son's baseball team played a strong competitor, and felt that they needed the win to make the playoffs. (They didn't; due to other teams' losses, they are in, fair and square.) This game, played under the lights, on a steamy summer night, meant a lot to them, and the backdrop of the illuminated green grass, and dark tree line surrounding us all, made a serious impression as the first batter stepped up to the box. They tied the game with an inside-the-park homerun and kept it tied going into two extra innings. In the end, the other team had a walk-off hit, and won the game.
Some of our kids were upset. There had been a lot of drama on the other side: their head coach was kicked out for heckling the umpire's calls, and parents from the other side were joining in as a result. Then some kids on the other team were behaving badly on the field by kicking their batting helmets after a close out at first, or by throwing bats, and in return for their behavior they got yelled at publicly by their coaches - the ones that were left in the dugout. It was a dramatic evening for everyone.
But our coaches and players were gentlemen, and were appropriate with their enthusiasm. Don't get me wrong; they were hardly pushovers. But they were certainly respectful to the players, the official, the other team, and the game. It was probably the best game of the season, regardless of the loss.
Watching your child perform under pressure and with dignity is one of the most rewarding experiences as a parent. I was proud of all of the boys, and realized that, whereas I love the game of baseball and how it is an exact metaphor for life, I think I've come to love our team more. Their effort, joy, forgiveness, hope and success all come together to make a supportive unit for a group of boys that have all the luck they need, win or lose.
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