the gGame

In the beginning, there was baseball. The debate whether it was created as a purely American game or evolved from the primordial soup of English cricket or rounders rages on but misses the point. Likewise, it doesn't matter if Doubleday is wrongly given credit or if Cartwright's Knickerbocker Rules, well, rule. The theory it was originated by Native American Indians is just too ironic if true. Think about it - the island they sold for $24 in trinkets produces the greatest lore in the game taken from their culture. Murderers Row. Da Bums. The Shot heard 'round the World. The Bronx Bombers. The Miracle Mets. Oh well, at least they have tax free casinos as retribution.

The Game in its essence is pure and discernable, unlike cricket. It provides simple, yet infallible, truths that are sustained through generations and which can be embraced by all peoples.

Or so I used to believe.

Let's be real and start with the basics. Who holds Little League baseball tryouts in the beginning of February? I don’t care if we are in Atlanta, the first town that comes to mind to many folks when asked to name a town in the deep South; it is down right cold in the beginning of February.

I can only assume Dave thought Brandon had tired and lost his stuff. I can only thank him. We had Peter on deck, and, in six previous at bats against Brandon, he had struck out six times. I felt certain the outcome of their seventh meeting would yield the same results. Maybe Dave didn't keep as detailed statistics as I did. Maybe Dave was just over managing the situation.

Like they don't do that all the time at the big league level. To hear the announcers in the booth, you'd think it takes a PhD to play the game of baseball. They spin long tales between pitches of every scenario possible, conceivable or not.

"With the runner on first and one out, the manager could put the sacrifice bunt play on even though the batter at the plate leads the team in home runs and extra base hits and hasn't attempted a sacrifice bunt in his entire nine year major league career. The manager could have the runner steal second although he has only stolen twice this season and been caught stealing the other twenty-seven times he attempted to steal. The manager no doubt will signal the batter the pitch could be a low outside curve ball and therefore will want the batter to hit behind the runner to the right field side to give the runner a chance to make it to third on a single. Otherwise, the manager will signal the batter the pitch could be a fastball up and in. In this case, he wants the batter to hit the ball deep enough to left field to give the runner the opportunity to tag up and make it to second. In the event the pitcher throws a slider, the manager could be thinking the batter should hit a line drive that hits just in front of the shortstop because he knows, on just such a play in the Costa Rica winter league two seasons ago, the shortstop failed to field such a hit cleanly resulting in an error. Oh, what a brilliant move by the manager to have the batter step out of the box and adjust his batting glove for the third time since stepping to the plate. This tactic is really getting into the head of the pitcher, which is what this game is all about…"

It's an absolute deluge of nonsensical blather between each and every pitch forced upon any listener not smart enough to watch the game with the sound down. The strategy of the game is pretty simple and doesn't require nearly as much analysis as the announcers provide.

As a batter, you start at home plate, and your goal is to return to home plate. The players in the field have the diametrically opposite goal of preventing you from even reaching first base, much less making it back home.

All the other analysis and insight serves only to confuse the basic issue and distract from the mission at hand. And, in this case, all I knew is, somehow, someway, we needed Peter to get safely to first to drive in the go ahead run.

To be kind, he was struggling at the plate. After beginning the season respectably, he was 0-for his last four games. It would be nice to say it was the breaks of the game. It would be nice to say he hit the ball hard but always right at someone. The simple truth was he could barely put the bat on the ball.

There were as many opinions as to what ailed Peter as there were people offering their two cents on the matter. It was amazing the poor kid could even get the bat off his shoulder given the amount of information he had to process with every pitch. Lay off the high pitches. Hold your hands higher before you swing. Don't drop your right shoulder as you swing at the pitch. Your hips are way ahead of your hands. You have too much weight on your right foot when you swing. You have too much weight on your front foot when you swing. Get your wrists through the ball. Get more leverage from your legs. Begin your swing earlier. You are starting your swing too early and can't adjust.

From my spot in the third base coaching box, I encouraged Peter to wait for his pitch to hit. While this is common advice doled out by coaches at all age levels of the game of baseball, this philosophy is fraught with errors in logic. There is no guarantee the pitcher will be kind enough to throw you your pitch. As a matter of fact, a good pitcher armed with a proper scouting report will throw you anything but your pitch. As such, you need to be able to hit the pitcher's best pitch. If you become able to hit the pitcher's best pitch, only then will the pitcher begin to throw you something else which may, over time and the process of elimination, be your pitch.

It was Chris' turn to be first base coach. As Peter stepped into the left hand batter's box to face the right-handed pitcher, which is the norm in baseball, Chris yelled down, "Peter, bat from the right side."

Peter was hitless from the left side; so, I didn't argue with this unconventional approach.

Chris was relentless with his instruction. "Look at me, Peter, focus and concentrate. Come and see me at first, Peter. Put every other thought out of your mind. I am telling you, you can do this. Listen to me. I know. What seems impossible is possible. Look at me. Peter, you can do this. Believe me. Come and see me down at first base."

Peter looked intently down the first base line at Chris. He seemed to nod in agreement with the encouraging words from his teammate. I am not a hundred percent sure he looked away even as he stepped into the first pitch and connected solidly. It was a hit up the middle. Peter ran fast to first base, no doubt with a huge smile on his face. The monkey was lifted off his back. He had produced a hit in the clutch.

He made a big turn at first but stopped as the ball was fielded cleanly and crisply thrown into the shortstop. With no opportunity to advance to second, Peter turned and slowly made his way back to first. In the process, he looked at the stands to receive the acknowledgment of his achievement from those applauding his exploits. He was pleased with his accomplishment.

Before he realized what was happening and before anyone could warn him, his momentary foray into self-acknowledgement for what he had just accomplished turned into a painful lesson. Realizing Peter wasn't paying attention, the shortstop quickly threw the ball to first. The unmistakable popping sound of ball hitting glove snapped Peter back to reality. It was too late. Despite a sudden frantic slide back to the bag, Peter was tagged out by the first baseman.

Chris extended his hand and helped pull his teammate up without comment.

Peter trotted back to the dugout to pick up his glove with his head down.