We had our first U9 baseball league game tonight. It was at Hawthorne Elementary School in Waukesha, the site of some wild rides last year. I could write for hours on this, so I’ll try to give you the story as quickly as I can.
Our uniforms are not in yet, so I made the executive decision to have them wear the oversized ones on a temp basis. So kids had to change into socks and jerseys. Everything was rushed. I posted the batting order and game lineup. We did OK in the first, scoring one run. The bottom half of the first we looked like the Bad News Bears in the field. I didn’t think they could play that bad. Throwing the ball around, not covering bases, it was painful to watch. I have to chalk it up to first game jitters. 8 runs in, 8-1, them.
The second and third innings were better, although we couldn’t hit their flamethrowing pitcher. I would tell kids to get in the back of the batter’s box and they would not listen. We made a few more mental mistakes in the field. At the end of three it was 11-3, them. I was hoping to find offense with a their second pitcher, but no dice. At the end of four, it was 12-3.
We scored one in the top of the fifth. So now we’re down 8 with one at bat; might as well give someone else a chance to pitch. So I pulled the accomplished Kellen for the greener and promising Henry. Henry settled down and did OK for his first time. He snared a line drive and almost turned a double play, five runs scored. 17-4, Blazers. (I told the boys ice cream was on me if we got a DP in a game.) No worries, we hit our end of the inning, and they won’t need to. They might even call the game for the two-hour limit.
The fifth ended and the umpire said “10 seconds left, let’s start the last inning. Apparently the practice is to start another inning even with seconds left before 8:00. Did we want to hit? I was on the fence. The Red Wings were on, and I was spent. Coach Smith said “might as well let them hit.” Both teams agreed to begin the next inning.
Here’s the top of the sixth: Henry-walk, Trey-walk, Logan-hit by pitch, Jackson-walk, one run in. Nathan struck out swinging, one out. Tre’Vaughn walked, two runs in. Sam walked, three runs in. Kellen walked, four runs in. Caleb walked, five runs in. Riley singled for six runs in. Henry walked, seven in, then Trey for eight. Logan struck out swinging for the second out. Jackson doubled to right, cleared the bases, and got to third with aggressive running. Eleven runs were in at this point, and I started paying attention to the score again. We were only down by two. Nathan walked and stole second. Tre’Vaughn walked to load the bases. Sam walked to bring in another run. Kellen singled, Nathan scored, and Tre’Vaughn scored with aggressive baserunning. We’re up by one! The inning ended at some point, although my scorebook doesn’t say. Mr. Witty lost track, but I can’t blame him. He did a great job scoring, and I would have missed more.
We have a one run lead, and I, with poor pitcher management, have pigeonholed myself into doing the last thing I want to: put Jackson in to close the game.
Jackson can pitch, there’s no doubt about it. However, he inherited the nervous neurotic gene from me. What happens if Jackson blows the game? Will his 9-year-old psyche ever recover? He was mentally tight in his last game and looked like Nuke LaLoosh. Coach Smith had the same reservations, but Jackson was our only option. Dusk was gone, and it was getting dark. Nicole couldn’t even watch.
Jackson misses a liner, runner on first. Somehow he got to third. (The scorebook is once again missing the details.) No outs and a runner on third. A Major League Manager would pull in the infield to get the runner at the plate. But these are 9-year olds, and the bases are 60 feet apart. No realistic chance to get a tag at home. Maybe Jackson can strike out the side or get a pop-up. The next batter dribbles a ball three feet in front of the plate. The runner is going from third. Nathan astutely fields the ball and tags the runner. One out, no runs score. C’mon, too good to be true. I don’t remember how, but somehow we get runners on second and third. Jackson is going to full counts with the hitters, but just missing. Time for a visit to the mound.
I am his coach and his dad, so I know him pretty well. I look him in the eyes.
“Jackson, are you nervous?”
“A little.”
“A little or a lot?”
“I’m nervous dad.”
“Are you afraid to blow the game?”
“Yeah.”
“Listen Jackson, I could care less if we win this game. We’re lucky to be here. Got it?”
“Yes.”
“I know you can pitch; you’re trying to aim the ball and lob it in there. Just go through your motion, and trust it.” I felt like Obi-Wan telling Luke to use the force. “Are we good?”
“We’re good.”
“Go get ‘em.”
Jackson was different after that. He struck out the next two swinging, and we won the game.
Then another drama started. The coaches for the other team began to say that the last inning didn’t count for time limit. It was too dark, we started one minute late, anything they could come up with. A long and legalistic discussion ensues, and the best I can tell, they are wrong. The thing is, they never objected to playing the last inning, but now that they lost, they wanted it thrown out.
Never mind that. I feel like Steve Martin in Parenthood. All is right with the world.
Here’s the score:
|
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
Final |
|
| Red Knights |
1 |
0 |
2 |
0 |
5 |
14 |
18 |
| Blazers West #2 |
8 |
3 |
0 |
1 |
5 |
0 |
17 |
