Heroes

The Conestoga baseball team played its final game yesterday—out on the green fields of Hershey against a dignified, blue-shirted opponent. But it's not the heartbreaking, 4-3 loss I'm thinking about today. I'm thinking about the pitcher who took a smacked-out line drive to the ankle, and yet stood to deliver the ball to first base. I'm thinking about the quiet—yes, masterfully quiet—leadership of the team's co-captains. I'm thinking about the coach who yells and the coach who watches, the coach who suggests and the one who insists, and how it's all one language in the end—how it comes from the same deep, honest, admiring, coaching because they love the game but also coaching because they care about the dreams of young men place. I'm thinking of the parents and girlfriends and siblings who all drove hours so they could be there while the ball got pitched and scuffed and powered and snatched. I'm thinking about how lucky I was to sit among them.

My son has helped to manage this glorious team for the last three years. In choosing to sit in that dug out and mark down those pitches, to wear that white shirt when he wasn't wearing the orange one, he has given something deep and good to me. A reason to stand by, and, finally, to join in.