His name was Jason Tanner. We
were from different school districts, so I only saw him during the summer. The
ball diamond is where our paths would cross. On this particular night, I would
accomplish something that I would never accomplish again playing baseball, and
it was miraculous. Jason had a beard when he was 11. Ok, maybe not a full grown
but there were definitely whiskers. He was a good foot taller than everyone
else and he threw hard. Mustang League was the first league that players
pitched so it was the first time that the coach wasn't pitching the ball to
you. In the first inning I struck out on three pitches. I never even swung the
bat. My next at bat wasn't any better. 5 pitches, no swings, strikeout number
2. At bat number 3? Five pitches were thrown, no swings, strikeout number 3. He
was terrifying. Like a giant throwing lightening bolts mixed with a wicked
curve ball, we were dropping like fly's. You could hear the ball whiz past you.
The thought of that ball hitting you was the most terrifying thing you could
think of. Unless you were Joey Anderson. The only girl on our team who hit like
Ted Williams, ran like Ricky Henderson, and had the pain tolerance of the
incredible hulk. In the seventh inning, we were down a run with two outs and I
was on deck. I was was PRAYING, that Robbie Ratzlaff would strike out so I
didn't have to step into the batters box again. But Robbie Walked, and there I
was for my fourth at bat against Zeus, god of pitching. The weight of the world
was on my shoulders, and my eyes began to well up with tears...
Summer nights at Lincoln Park
were magical times. Mom and I would usually arrive early enough to grab a
snow-cone from the concession stand. Blue Raspberry was the flavor. If she was
feeling charitable she would buy me a pack of big league chew, which is quite
possibly one of the greatest inventions of the 20th century. My mother would
always bring a panasonic boom box (which is what we called them in Marion Ohio)
and play "Centerfield' by John Fogerty before each game as we took the field.
I pitched and played third base. Throwing the ball really hard was never really
difficult for me. Batters were often terrified to face me. Not because I threw
the ball hard, but because you never really knew where the ball was going to
go. It could hit the backstop, five feet in front of home plate, or if you were
really unlucky, somewhere on your body. They called me "Wild Thing".
Ed Mcleese coached me all through little league, and his son BJ Gruber
"caught" for me for all those wonderful years. Poor BJ. I think he
set a record for trips to the backstop to retrieve the ball. I did have a few
good nights. I threw a no hitter once. I walked in 5 runs but we did win and no
one got a hit:) Injuries were common when I pitched. I broke Matt Curry's
fingers when we played Millies Marauders. On one occasion, and I know this is
hard to believe, but Marsha Grate can confirm this, I knocked the home plate
umpire unconscious. He just fell straight over. I didn't have much empathy. His
strike zone was terrible.
Oh the memories and heartache.
Losses and wins. Championships and loosing seasons. Little league baseball was
life.
On this particular night thus
far, Jason Tanner had made it nothing but heartache. We were down one run, with
Robbie on first, and I was up to bat with two outs. As I stepped up to the
plate, my confidence level was zero. Hopeless and afraid, I was going to hope
for the walk and pass the torch of responsibility on to someone else. 1st
pitch- Fastball right down the middle, strike one. 2nd pitch- Fastball right
down the middle, strike two.
My Father who was standing behind the back stop
with his buddy Steve Jacobs saw the tears falling fast on my cheeks and said
"come here." Wisdom poured forth like a fountain as he said, "do
you know the number one thing you have to do to get a hit? You have to swing.
You have to swing the bat Jay. What do you have to lose? Now, he is going to
try and throw another fastball, and when he does, I want you to swing as hard
as you can. Who cares if you strikeout. SWING!!!"
As I stepped up to the plate a
renewed confidence came over me. Tanner pitched from the wind-up which
translates in baseball terms "I am going to strike this guy out, so who
cares about the guy on first." My Dad was right. Fastball on the inside
corner was Tanners choice. I swung as hard as I could possibly swing, and
BOOOOOOM! I hit it! I began sprinting towards first, and then to second! A
Double to win the game!!!! Then I realized that it hit the top of the fence and
went over. My first and only home-run in little league. Rounding second, I saw
my father chasing after the ball. He wanted his son to have it. I still have it
today. It sits in my office with a spotlight on it. We won the game 2-1. Every
Tuesday when I arrive at work, I turn that spotlight on first. Its a reminder
every single day that in order to succeed at anything you have to swing. We all
have those moments in the late innings of life where we are beat down, broken,
and scared. Failures have been the routine outcome. Circumstances have us
depressed and filled with uncertainty. Of course this applies to all of life's
circumstances, but it is even more evident in our spiritual lives. Wether its
addiction, lethargy, problems with forgiveness, or intense suffering, we find
ourselves standing in the batters box every single day, with two outs and a
choice. To try or not to try. To swing or not to swing.
Sometimes, you will swing and
miss. Thats not the point. God just calls us to swing. When you do, who
knows...you might just win the game.
So....swing.
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