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??