The Journey of a Coach

Chapter 1 – The Hutch Award and Betrayal

In early May, 1988, the father of one of my former players came into my tax office. He looked at me and smiled. “Roger, congratulations! You are going to be the recipient of the Hutch Award!”
I just had to look at him. Was this a joke? The Hutch Award was for the likes of Paul Brown, Joe Nuxhall, Waite Hoyt and Sparky Anderson. It was for people at the professional sports level. I was certainly aware of what had been accomplished with my Sweeney Chevrolet Softball Teams over the years, but I had never dreamed my work could catch the attention of the nominating committee.
The award was named for Fred Hutchinson, a Cincinnati Reds’ manager who, in the midst of his career, was struck down with cancer. It is dedicated to sporting figures who hold to the values of Fred Hutchinson and who are involved with youth. Remarkably, in 1988, the award would be presented to me! It was hard to believe.
The ceremony for the presentation was scheduled for Sunday, May 29, at Riverfront Stadium, in Cincinnati, Ohio, just prior to the Reds-Pirates game. I quickly looked at my calendar; this was just three weeks away! There was a serious conflict. The Sweeney team’s Round Robin was scheduled for that same weekend. We had been traveling to Columbus, Indiana each year for that event since 1976. It was our pre-season tradition, when new girls are initiated into the Sweeney Club and our team begins to gel. I could not cancel it.
I called the tournament organizers and told them of my dilemma. They were familiar with the Hutch award, and appreciated the prestigious honor that would be bestowed upon me. They agreed that I had to be at Riverfront Stadium on May 29.
We had been scheduled for five games on Saturday, May 28, and three games on Sunday. The officials said they could rearrange the order of the games, if our girls had the stamina to play eight games on Saturday.
I called my coaching staff and the girls for their opinions. They were all excited for me and said to go for it. They also all wanted to be with me on Sunday for the presentation of the Hutch award.
So, the stage was set. Eight games in one day! We had never played that many before. Even five games in one day had been daunting. … I took a deep breath and told the Hutch organizers and the Round Robin planners that we would attend both.
We took to the field early Saturday morning for the Round Robin competition in Indiana. The girls were excited. Eight games were ahead of them. They were going to prove to me they could do it.
We began our first game early in the morning, and played the first two games without incident. However, during the third game we lost a player due to a sprained ankle. We won our fourth game, but the girls were starting to wear down. We won our fifth game, but at a cost: Debbie went down with an injury that was so bad the ambulance had to take her to the hospital.
We won our sixth game, but another player went out with a sprain. The girls were putting themselves in harm’s way with their determination to win. We won our seventh game, but another player sustained an injury that was serious; we had to call the ambulance again. I considered forfeiting game eight.
I appreciated the sacrifice the girls were making for me. By the eighth game, it was 11:00 pm and the girls were so tired they were slap-happy. I decided to play the last game only because the girls convinced me to finish it. They were playing on adrenaline. In one of the closing innings, a batter hit a high pop foul along the left field line. My outfielder, Sabrina, raced to make the catch. She was running as fast as she could and ran smack into the fence. Her head snapped back and everyone in the stadium went silent, gasping. I ran to her as fast as I could. She was lying there crumpled and crying. Her face was a bloody mess and her front teeth were missing. For the third time, the ambulance came onto our field. I wanted to scream.
I walked back to our dugout, sat down, and began to cry. It wasn’t worth it. I was concerned for the welfare of our players. The girls were doing this for me, busting themselves up, quite literally, so I could get a plaque and smile for the camera the next day. Again and again, I had tried to push too hard; to do too many things all at once, in an effort to have it all. And now Sabrina’s teeth lay somewhere beyond the left field line. I was ashamed.
We eventually finished the game with a win, but I didn’t even care by then.
The next morning, we were a collection of walking wounded. Casts, crutches and slings were all around me. Again, I cried. Tears came to the girls’ eyes, too. They knew how much I loved them.
By the time we reached Riverfront Stadium, I had regained a level of composure. The girls and I wore our green and white Sweeney Chevrolet uniforms. We stood in a semi-circle near the pitcher’s mound. Tens of thousands of people were in the stands, including over 100 of my friends and family members. The award was presented and I walked to the microphone, wondering if my voice would hold or if I would succumb to tears. I winged a speech, and again, looked around at my players and coaches. The Sweeney Team stood there smiling. In the stands were my parents and many of my friends. These people were the real rewards in my life.