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.