More Than Just A Game

I promised to update everyone, so now I finally will.

After much rescheduling and venue searching due to weather, my seven-year-old did play his championship game last Saturday. It was a match for the ages.

They were playing against the best team in the league. My son’s team has also played very well, but the previous meetings between the two always seemed to go the other team’s way. To be honest, I was braced for disappointment. But, I’d had the opportunity and the privilege to help coach throughout the entire season and I knew that whatever the outcome may be, it had already been a very fun and rewarding summer.

So, the three inning contest began with us at bat. The first inning saw both teams exchange runs. Nerves were visible. Inning two saw our run production slow slightly while the other team kept its pace, pulling ahead by two runs. In the top of the third inning, we were only able to score two. The game was tied, but the other team would have last bats. Their best hitters were due up.

Our head coach gathered the kids around before taking the field. He told them it had been a great season. Then he asked them a simple question. “Wouldn’t you like to play a little longer?”

A rousing YES echoed from the group and they charged out to the field to take their positions.

Three outs later, not a single run had crossed the plate. The kids had done it. They had stayed alive for another inning.

To be honest, I can’t remember a baseball game that I had been more excited and interested in, and I don’t find this sad at all. Here was my son and a group of kids he had spent the last several months forming a bond with, pulling off a miracle, holding the best team in the league scoreless in the championship game with their best hitters at the plate, no less, to take things into extra innings.

During our turn at bat, the other team hunkered down defensively as well. With two outs, however, two runs scored and we were in the driver’s seat for the first time in the game. The kids came back to the bench, ready to receive their fielding assignments and with a confidence in their eyes that was electric. They had held them scoreless the last inning with the heart of their order at bat. They knew they could at least hold them to two runs or less.

And they did. With two runners on base, none having crossed the plate, our shortstop picked up a hard grounder, made the throw to first and it was over. The kids went nuts. Hats went into the air, jerseys came off and parents cheered.

But along the other baseline, kids hung their heads and cried. Yet still, they gathered themselves, raised the shoulders on their tiny frames, lined up at home plate and gave each other five.

“Good game. Good game. Good game.”

And as the other team accepted their second place trophies, our players gathered together and clapped in quiet respect for their competitors. They did the same in return as our kids accepted their trophies.

On that day, my son’s team came away victors of the game. They had played hard, rallied together and earned the win as a team. But every kid there did something far more important. Each and every one acted with class, dignity and sportsmanship. Not a single kid argued or said anything mean to a rival or teammate out of frustration. I was proud of this.

Sure, learning how to play the game is important. Yes, it’s nice to get better and win. But learning to lose gracefully and learning to accept winning with tact and compassion is something that is truly impressive.

They all acted like champions.