Hard work, sweat, and trophies....

It was late, and everyone was exhausted from three days in the oppressive heat of the endless Kansas summer. Now, even as the time on my dirty, sweat-stained watch approached the witching hour, I could barely keep the sweat from my bleary eyes.

Crack! That unmistakable sound of a well-struck ball brought me out of my stupor. My head jerked upward to see the baseball soaring into the night sky......it seemed to hang there forever, and time stood still.

I was coaching a group of fifteen year-old baseball players in the final game of the regional tournament. The winners could look forward to playing in the State tournament while the losers would see their season come to a sad end.

 It had been three days of baseball, played in 100 plus degree heat, and it had brought this group of young men to the point where they were pushing themselves beyond where they thought they could go. Physically, mentally, and emotionally, they were drained. We had lost an early game in this double elimination tournament, and through sheer grit and determination, had made it to the finals. We were down to our final pitcher and although he was tired, he had done a masterful job of keeping us in the game, keeping the opposing hitters at bay as he protected a one run lead.

In the bottom of the previous inning he had taken a wicked line-drive off his shin, and after throwing out the runner, had limped to the dugout. I grabbed a bag of ice, took a quick look at the growing knot on his leg, and knew that he was done for the night. I told him to keep the ice on it and stay on the bench as we went to bat. It was a quick inning, we didn't score, and I was racking my brain to think of who would pitch the last inning. When I got to the dugout to begin shuffling the lineup, I noticed a half-melted bag of ice on the ground.....

Barely able to walk, but limping out to the mound anyway, a boy was fighting his way into manhood. When I tried to stop him he waved me off and said, "I can do this coach!"

Against my better judgment I decided to give him a chance to finish the game. Four pitches later I was searching furiously for a replacement as the first batter trotted to first base, but again, he waved me aside. The next  batter hit a slow roller to third and the throw to first recorded the first out. The runner advanced to second on the play and was now in scoring position. A passed ball allowed him to move to third, and I was again searching for answers.

Earlier in the game I had moved our shortstop to second base to protect his sore arm. He typically would have been called on to close out the final inning, but his sore arm wouldn't allow it. Sometimes those coaching decisions pay dividends, and when the next batter hit a pop-up toward short right field, he made a nice running catch for the second out, and kept the tying run at third.

The sky was jet black, the stars were vivid, and the baseball appeared as large as the moon against that backdrop. Nothing a coach can do now; But, coaches don't play the game, players do. Our center fielder had a bead on the ball, and though he had been known to occasionally misjudge a fly ball, this was not one of those times. Every player on the field knew that he would make the catch, and he did.

Game over......Region champions!

I just stood outside the dugout and watched the joy in their faces as they piled on each other on the infield grass. There's nothing quite like that experience you know; being the underdog and overcoming adversity to beat the odds.

They had worked hard, fought through the heat and pain, and walked off with the trophy. It doesn't always work out that way, but on that hot August night it did. I believe it was meant to be, but really, what do I know. 

Who knows what lurks in the forest??

Kind of quiet here at the ranch this time of the year. Calves have been weaned and sold, feed for the winter has been arranged, and it's a good time to enjoy the beautiful autumn weather.

Last weekend all the kids and grandkids came for a visit, which called for the annual bonfire with roasted wieners and s'mores. I've never much cared for marshmallows, but throw in a little melted chocolate and a graham cracker and I can manage to join in the fun. Lot's of laughter, sticky faces and hands, and one little one who kept asking for scary stories which we never got around to telling....we didn't have to.....

It was a cold, dark night as we pulled our chairs closer to the fire. The heat from the dying embers felt good against the chill of the darkness, and the adult conversation drifted aimlessly from topic to topic. The flickers from the flames cast an eerie glow on the faces of those sitting closest to the fire, but no ghost stories seemed to come to mind. Soon, the grandkids lost interest and asked if they could take the lantern and walk to the playhouse at the edge of the woods.....

"Sure, go ahead, but be careful. " said Miss Elizabeth, as they grabbed the lantern and headed off into the darkness. We watched as they disappeared from sight except for the gentle sway of the lantern as they walked toward the playhouse about 100 yards away. I suppose when you're three years old it might as well have been a mile. Did I mention that it was a cold, dark night....

Soon we were back to our own thoughts and conversations, and forgot about the little ones playing at the edge of the forest. Oh, we could hear an occasional squeal of laughter drifting across the yard so we assumed that all was well.

Suddenly, we heard a piercing scream followed by the appearance in the distance of the bouncing light from the lantern as it emerged from the darkness at a much faster pace than it had left. Ten little legs were pumping furiously and covering ground as fast as they possibly could.....back to the safety of the bonfire. Apparently there were unknown visitors lurking about....

Three year old Wesley, breathless from his run, was the first to say,

"Grandpa, there's a monster in the forest!"

Soon after, the others chimed in about the alarming sound coming from the darkness down by the shop.....a loud, unidentified roar that was certainly a threat to us all......"Can we go in the house now?" seemed to be the consensus of the group; the laughter at the playhouse long forgotten.

I've not yet decided whether to explain the noise to them, or to just let the legend live on. In time, one of them may figure out that it was just the air compressor in the shop, but for now, whenever they ask about the "monster in the forest", I'll simply say, What do I know??

Running north and south.....

Here it is again......college football season, and along with it, all the things that turn normal people into raving lunatics. Coaches who go crazy on the sidelines, fans who go crazy in the stands, and players who are just trying to do the best they possibly can.

At one time or another I've been all of the above, but as I've "matured" it's become easier to put the games in proper perspective. I enjoy college football, I really do, but despite all of the pressures to win, it's still just a game.

"Who is that with the ball?" Whistles blew, and that booming voice of my college coach rang out across the practice field. It was about two weeks into pre-season workouts, we were installing the offense, and several running backs were fighting for starting positions. We had just ran a short sweep to the left, and I had broken into the clear after cutting back behind a great block by the pulling guard. As our coach ran over to me, slapped my helmet and yelled to everyone, "Now that's the way to run the ball!" my mind drifted back to another coach, another time, and a lesson learned.......

"Jackie, where are you going with the ball? How in the world do you ever expect to score when all you do is run to the sideline? The goal line is that-a-way, and that's where you need to go!"

These were the words that were circling through my head as my college coach continued to rant about cut-backs, key blocks, and running north and south. It was all stuff I'd learned from a mountain of a man when I was in the fifth grade.

I was always the fastest runner on the team. From about age eight I was able to outrun all the kids in school, and during the playground football games, I would just run around all of the kids who were trying to catch me.

"The next time I see you running toward the sidelines, I'm going to be there waiting for you!"

Dan Meyers lived across the street from our family, and he and my dad were the coaches of our fifth grade football team. He was a big man and had been quite a football player in his younger days. At about six-four and two-forty he still looked as though he could play the game, and to a ten-year old, he might as well have been seven feet tall, as he stood there in his cowboy boots, blue jeans, and western belt with a big gold buckle.

I still remember that practice. The one that broke me forever from those long sideline runs, and taught me the value of running north and south.

Our quarterback called a sweep to the left, turned and pitched me the ball, and I headed for the sideline. About the time I  hit full stride, there he stood.....that mountain of a man was waiting for me. He had his legs spread wide, and in his hand was that big leather belt with the gold buckle. He raised his arm high in the air, belt hanging there for all to see, and with the other hand pointed toward the goal line.

He bellowed, "Git up the field!"

Message received! I cut up the field, and the rest is history. Never again did I even think of going to the sideline.

"Newcomb, who taught you to run like that? That's what we've been looking for with that play, and I think you just earned yourself some playing time."

The next day I was the lead name on the depth chart.....all of it that thanks to a big man named Dan Meyers....... Thanks Dan!

I was gone in a cloud of dust and gravel...

I just returned from a ride across the pasture, riding three abreast in the Ranger, with two of the passengers yelling,

"Faster, Grandpa, go faster!"

I guess when you're ages three and five, a fast ride across the pasture is akin to riding the bumper cars at the park. I, on the other hand, know of the hidden dangers of a fast trip across unknown ground......armadillo holes, rocks, and wash-outs are not pleasant experiences when they're unexpected.

So rather than going faster I let Lilah take over the controls. Standing on the floorboard in front of my seat, she navigated from left to right with no apparent rhyme nor reason, but at a pace that allowed all of us to enjoy the scenery......much safer too.

It took me back to a time when I learned to drive my dad's old GMC truck. It was green, and I suppose I was a little green as well. Powered by a trusty old six cylinder engine and a three speed on the column, it was the perfect teaching machine.

We lived on a dusty old road with trash trucks rumbling by every day as they made their way to the city dump. The dump was about two miles away, and when I was eleven or twelve years old, Dad would let me accompany him on the short ride to dump our two barrels of trash. On occasion, he let me drive until we arrived at the entrance to the dump, where he would take over the duties of backing the truck to the appropriate dumping spot. There was an old black gentleman who would walk slowly to our truck, take a slow walk around to check the contents, then point his bony finger to the area where he wanted us to unload......To me it all looked the same, but he had very definite instructions as to where our load would go.

I hadn't completely mastered the use of the clutch, and had never used reverse gear, when I decided one day that there was no need to have Dad come along on that little old trip to the dump. After all, he was busy, the trash barrels were half full, the truck was parked in the alley, and I knew the way. Good to go!

I was a strong kid, so loading the barrels was no problem. Neither was starting the truck. Finding first gear, and setting the whole thing in motion was a different matter, but finally I was pulling out of the alley and on my way to the dump......alone. I suppose I might have wandered from left to right a little aimlessly, but I never went all the way into either ditch. Those old trucks tended to have pretty loose steering, and power steering was unheard of for an old work truck. Soon the entry to the dump rolled into sight, and I saw the old gentleman rise from his stool and get ready to meet me at the gate.

I sat up straight in the seat and waited for him to point the way. He raised an eyebrow, and for the first time ever I heard him speak, "Old Jack lettin' you come by yourself today?" Uh oh, two things immediately hit me. He knows my dad, and next time he sees him I'm in deep doodoo.

Oh well, too late to worry about that now, as he pointed to the assigned area for my load of trash, and I realized it would require a new skill.......backing-up, or should I say backing-down, a slight incline to the trash heap. I concentrated mightily, used all of my abilities, and did it. I really did it! I was feeling pretty proud of myself as I dumped the barrels and climbed back into the cab and engaged the clutch......

Suddenly the truck is rolling backwards down the incline......Oh #$%$#%!

I slammed on the brakes, calmed my nerves, and thought it through....I can do this.  So, with my heel on the brake, toe on the gas, left foot on the clutch, I started that little six cylinder motor......It was all good until I tried to take off....buck, buck, die.....and again, and again. Then, I looked up to see the black gentleman shuffling his way to where I was sitting. In a panic, I repeated the process, gave it a "little" more gas, and let it fly.......literally!

Gravel was flying, barrels were flying, tires were spinning, and that little old black gentleman.....he was flying too as he scrambled to get out of the way of the wild-eyed kid in the out-of-control GMC truck.

No harm, no foul.....I was gone in a cloud of dust and gravel.

I'm not sure if my dad ever found out about my escapade.....if so, he never mentioned it. Soon after that, the trips to the dump became a part of my regular chores, and with experience, I became a better driver. As for that old black gentleman........after that first experience he would just shake his head when he saw me coming. Then, while still sitting on his stool, he would point his bony old finger to a nearby pile of trash.

Funny thing though, he never again came out to look at my load, and he always directed me to the flat ground......I suppose it was out of respect for my driving expertise.....but really, What Do I Know.

Tilting at windmills....

You know what I miss?

Character!

No, no, not "Characters" 'cause I'm well acquainted with a lot of "characters" who make my life quite entertaining, and in some instances those folks are people of character as well. In fact, I had breakfast this morning with a few friends who fit that description.......but I digress.

In my work, and that's a word that loosely describes what I do for a living, I have the opportunity to interact with a lot of different people. Some of them are quite successful, while others are striving to be, and others are simply looking for a way to get there without putting forth the effort it takes to make it happen.

Studying people, and what makes them tick, has become a passion of mine. What I've found is that the folks with character are the ones I'm attracted to. Not necessarily the ones who have attained some level of success, but the ones who, whatever their status, have developed core values that make you want to see them succeed.

Sadly, it seems that those traits are becoming less and less prevalent in our society. From our highest elected officials, to the people trying to scam the system for all of the "free stuff" they can lay their hands on......Oh wait, I can't tell the difference anymore. And, you know what's missing, character!

Has everyone abandoned the concept of right and wrong? Have we really become a society where anything goes as long as we get the things we want? Have we become so intolerant of the views of others that we refuse to acknowledge that we can have different opinions about the same issue? It certainly seems to be the case.

Yes, I miss people of character. In fact, I think it's high time that we reintroduce this concept that seems to have taken a leave of absence. Lets start with our families, our schools, in the workplace, and in life. Surely if enough people begin to demand honesty, integrity, and accountability from everyone from their own family members to their elected officials, we can make a difference.

Of course I was raised in a time when we listened to Paul Harvey on the radio, watched Roy Rogers on television, and witnessed Billy Graham impact the lives of thousands with his sermons. Was it a better time, or just a different time that's now a distant memory?

I sometimes lose myself in the thoughts of an old man who seems to be out of step with everything, and who like Don Quixote, is tilting at windmills. Is it worth it......I think so, but as always, What Do I Know.


 

A sad good-bye....

Well, I'm about to become "unemployed" again. You see, the funny thing about being self-employed is that every time you lose a client, or have a contract expire, you're technically unemployed. How long it lasts is simply a matter of how quickly you find another client and sign another contract. Sometimes it's a matter of weeks, sometimes a matter of months......either way it's still a stressful time.

This time it's a big one. In 2002 I contracted with a start-up group in Southeast Kansas to provide business assistance to area residents. The intent of this fledgling Non-Profit was to stimulate the local economies by helping local businesses succeed. A great and noble effort it was, but it has now run its course. In other words it has run out of money to continue.

It's a sad day, for in fact, the effort has been highly successful in accomplishing its goal. Over 120 new businesses were started, over 350 new jobs created, and nearly 700 clients were served. Think about it, in four of the poorest counties in the state of Kansas, with a population of less than 20,000, we were able to create a glimmer of hope. I am very proud to have been a part of it.

But, now it's time to shift gears and find new challenges. At age 62 it becomes more difficult, however, business consulting is one of the few careers where a few years, and a little gray hair, works to one's advantage. People have more confidence in your knowledge if it appears you've experienced the ups and downs of business cycles a few times. It's too bad that same thing can't be said for jobs in the corporate world where youth is king. The thought of hiring some old fogey like me never crosses the minds of the twenty-somethings working in the HR office.

I've been self-employed in one form or another since 1995. I do a little ranching, own some commercial real estate, and have started a new venture with a colleague which appears to be promising. Yet, I'll truly miss the people, who with a hope and a prayer, created the QUAD Enterprise Facilitation Program. They are fine people, and good friends.....

Life goes on, and no doubt I'll survive until the next contract comes along....sooner than later I hope, but as always, what do I know!

A little slice of Heaven....

My eight year old grandson, Jaxson, is playing his first "real" baseball this year. He's played T-Ball and the YMCA league, but this year he's playing in a league where they actually keep score, there are winners and losers, and the coaches are trying to teach the importance of fundamental baseball. And, most importantly, they have real uniforms and nice hats......or so Jaxson says.

Of course being an old baseball player, coach, umpire, fan, father, and now grandfather who's followed the game for over fifty years, I have my own opinion as to what's important and how it should be taught. I'm a real stickler for teaching fundamentals, including the fundamentals of sportsmanship, gracious losing, and even more gracious winning. I was pleased to see all of these things taking place when Miss Elizabeth and I attended one of his games a few weeks ago.

But as everyone knows, the real reason grandparents go to little league ball games is to cheer for their grand kids, and if we're to be perfectly honest, to see them show that spark of potential talent that may set them apart from the others.......or maybe that's just me with the old competitive juices flowing.

Anyway, it was a great time to be out at the ball park. It was hot (of course), but one could find a bit of shade if you were skinny enough to take advantage of the long shadow cast by the light pole behind the bleachers. I do believe it was the first time I've seen a bleacher full of fans sitting in a perfectly straight line....

Jaxson had been to bat a couple of times and had hit the ball to get on base; nothing dramatic, but he was doing okay at the plate. In the field the players were alternating positions each inning and Jaxson was at shortstop when a pop-up came his way. This was his chance to shine.....he circled under the ball, ready to make the catch when the third baseman tried to make the catch as well....oops. An unexpected trip to the dugout, ice bag applied to the bruised lip, but none the worse for wear.

Hey, it's baseball; "rub some dirt on it and play", "don't let the other team know that it hurts". We've all heard that advice.......but, this is our grandson we're talking about, and Miss Elizabeth is sitting by me saying, "poor baby".....What's that all about! There's no crying in baseball!

Late in the game, the team is down by a few runs, and needs a big rally to win......and, yes, winning is important. Jaxson is at the plate with a serious look on his now swollen face, but he's a gamer and will give it a shot. Trying to make us all proud, he pulled one to right field, over the fielder's head, all the way to the fence for a triple. It was a stand-up triple, but he slid anyway just to get his uniform dirty. He scored on the next hit and slid again, just because he was encouraged by the amount of dirt generated by the first slide.

Oh, the joy of baseball. At any level it's great fun, and if you happen to be a grandparent, it's gotta be, as a friend of mine once said, "a slice of Heaven".

Hopefully I'll get to see another game soon....before I get to Heaven, but what do I know.