The Boys are Back in Town

The Rockies’ home opener is tomorrow (Friday) and we’re sure to have a snowstorm the day before or the same day, just to remind everyone that springtime in Colorado means snow, snow, and more snow. Just ask anyone that’s been driving Vail Pass this year and they’ll tell you that winter is still going strong. At least now that we’ve got baseball back we can begin to look forward to lazy summer days, changing the oil in the truck while listening to the Rockies game on the radio.

I played non-competitive baseball as a kid. You know, the kind of league that gives you a trophy just for stepping out on the field and having your presence felt. For whatever reason I never bothered to try out for the “Major League” teams – the ones that required you to run fast, hit hard, and practice all the time. I was content to job, hit, and practice occasionally. We were having fun and that was all that mattered to my friends and me. Except for my very first little league season…

I was just 6 or 7 years old, it’s hard to remember now. I was playing for the “Rockets.” We were the best pee wee team in Denville, the town where I grew up. We were undefeated for the season and playing our last game. I was the best right fielder you ever saw, which isn’t say much since most right fielders are the worst players on the team. I guess I felt pretty lucky to be on the field at all, since the outfield could only accommodate 5 outfielders in total. I was honored to be the THE “right fielder” instead of the “right middle” or “left middle” or “just find an open spot somewhere” outfielder. In addition to my prestigious position on the team, I also had the distinct privilege of batting last in the line-up. When I asked the coach why his son and his son’s friends always batted at the top of the line-up, he just smiled and mumbled something like “you just get out there and have a great game.” Little did he know how important I would be in the final game of the season!

As luck would have it, we were down by one run in the bottom of the 4th inning (pee wee baseball only played 4 innings) and there were two outs. All the “A”, “B”, and “C” players had already been at bat in the previous innings, so I was the last great hope for an undefeated season. My coach was so confident in me that he didn’t even bother to give me a little pep talk before I got up to the plate. Instead he showed his confidence by having his son start to pack up all the bats and helmets. He even tried to pack the helmet I was wearing before I reminded him that I wasn’t done yet. I’m sure this was the coach’s way of psyching out the opposing team.

As I stood at the plate, taking a few practice swings, I looked into the stands for encouragement from my fan. The long faces and heads buried between knees told me everything I needed to know – everyone was cheering for me deep down inside!
In our baseball league the first two innings were T-ball and the last two were pitched by the kids. I don’t remember the pitcher’s name, but I knew he could bring the heat, mostly at my head, so I stood way back and gave him a lot of room. The first two pitches were strikes, which made my coach even more confident that he closed the scorebook and shoved it into the gear bag. What a champ! He’d already marked this game down as a win.

I inched in toward the home plate and steadied myself for the next pitch. I didn’t have any vision of knocking the ball out of the park, since I hadn’t clear the infield all year, but I did imagine squeaking one past the pitcher. With the tying runner on second I concentrated really hard and waited for the pitch. The ball sailed through the air, heading right over the plate. I swung with every ounce of energy I had and anticipated the “clink” sound of aluminum on leather.

”Boink”. That was the sound me taking a full swing and bunting the ball half way up the first base line. I stood frozen for a second, not sure what to do. The runner on second stood still, waiting for the umpire to call “Out!” so he could trot into the dugout and grab some snacks. Not wanting my coach to have to pull out all the gear and change the scorebook I charged up the first base line. The first baseman had the ball in his glove, but he didn’t run to the bag. Instead he turned around and ran toward me, wanting to tag me himself and take all the credit for ending the Rocket’s dream season. Without thinking twice, instinct took over and I lowered my shoulders, running as hard as I could toward the son-of-gun between me and my team’s undefeated season. As we connected, the ball flew out of his mitt and he fell over backwards, stunned that I didn’t just concede defeat and let him tag me without a fight.

I didn’t stop there. The ball rolled into shallow right field, so I tagged first and headed to second. Unfortunately the runner on second base was still standing there, wondering how he was going to get his snacks, so I had to yell at him to get a move on and start running for home. The second basemen ran over and grabbed the ball, hurling it toward third base. As the runner in front of me and I rounded third base the ball sailed over our heads and hit the fence in front of the other team’s dugout. The third baseman hustled over, grabbed the ball, and chucked it towards home plate. The runner in front of me tagged home plate and I tagged it right behind him. The catcher was still digging the ball out of the backstop as I jogged into my team’s dugout to the sound of screams and yells. My coach had a funny look on his face – part joy and part disbelief. I’m sure he was trying to figure out how to sign me for the next season before one of the scouts in the bleachers tried to sign me with another pee wee team.

After the game we all went out for ice cream and received our trophies. Unfortunately, someone had screwed-up at the trophy shop and forgot to put “Undefeated Champions of the Pee Wee League” on what should have been gigantic trophies. Instead we got, what I now know to be, “Participation Trophies” that indicated nothing more than an ability to walk or breath. I did get the game ball, and that was the best trophy I could have asked for. I still have that game ball and it continues to remind me to never give up, even if you bunt the ball down the first base line. I guess that’s why I now have a place in my heart for the Rockies, they’re the team that never gives up. Go Rocks!!